Change of Plans

Okay, so I have a bit of a change for Halloween, well, to be specific:
COSTUME CHANGES.
So, all over I searched for this Tinkerhell costume, and I found one, but to be a zombie Tinkerbell, I had to ruin the costume. But what if I ruined the ruining of the costume? What if it looked weird? So my problem was this exact thing. My previous stage costume was the cat in the hat Dr. Seus, so this year I am now changing my costume to...
CAT IN THE HAT... Pretty version... And it has a skirt!

-Immortal Beloved <3

WATCH!!!

Watch this video... AMAZING!

<3 BEETHOVEN

-Immortal Beloved <3

FOLLOW!!!

Okay, I know this is an important, serious, LEGIT blog about Beethoven and piano, but, I have something totally out of the question to debate about... HALLOWEEN! Just the name makes me smile. This year I am going to be a mix of Tinkerbell and a zombie. Thank you to all my friends at school who helped me with the name, so I wouldn't have to say Zombie Tinkerbell. You know who you are!
So this is how this whole name went over at school:
 Random Person (Lets call them RP, OR... RIP!!! For Halloween sake..)
RIP- " So, what are you being for Halloween?"
ME- " A mix of Tinkerbell and a zombie!"
RIP- "How are you going to say that all night to people? Do you have a name for it?"
ME- "Yup!"
RIP- "What name?"
ME- "Tinkerhell."
RIP- "WAIT! Tinker'HELL'? What type of bachagaloop are you?"
ME- "It's just a name..."
RIP- "Yeah, and to little kids it's a new word for the week!"
ME- "Okay, okay, okay. To little kids I will say Tinkerbell. Happy?"
RIP- "And lie? What Halloween spirit do you follow?"
ME- "Zombie?"
RIP- "And scare them to death?"
ME- "Tinkerbell as a zombie?"
RIP- "Did I mention your costume is totally un-realistic?"

So, if you feel my pain of choosing a name for your WHACKED UP costume, I am here for you, buddy... I'm here for you.
\
And when I told an old lady: (Let's call her... OLD)

OLD- "My dear, what is your costume?"
ME- "Oh, I am Tinkerhell!"
OLD- "Oh I remember my grandfather telling stories about Bethany Anne Cart and her lovely-"
ME- "Any comments other than the usual out of the blue stories?"
OLD- "Hahah... I remember Pa's favourite color was blue... Oh how he had no money, but still had time to wear is overalls!"

UH.
Any way, I know it is hard for me to find the PERFECT costume, so...
GOOD LUCK to all of my followers and subscribers at your HAPPY COSTUME SHOPPING! I know you will just have the best of time!
:)
LOL.
:P
Anyway, if I don't get to you guys before Halloween, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
Click this video to see the best of videos IF your birthday is in October!

Oh...
How people these days waste their precious lives on this.. This...
I don't even know what to call it. :S

THANKS FOR READING... luv ya!!!

And a spooky Halloween to all of you!!!



-Immortal Beloved<3

FINALLY... I get it right!!!

I have been trying to get the song by Ludwig Van Beethoven: "Moonlight Sonata", for sooooooooo many years! GUESS WHAT??
I FINNALY....
GET IT RIGHT!!!!! :)

Click the video below to here the song... :)

Hope you like it!
-Immortal Beloved <3

HEEY

Heeeyyyyy everybody!!!
You have Immortal Beloved here and I just wanted to show you this GREAT VIDEO... WATCH!!!

Song I am playing but that's not me... I'm a girl... :P


-Immortal Beloved <3

So hard...

Oy and vey... How this is sooooo hard. Grade six piano...
Sometimes I just look at the book and I am blank. I know the notes, I know the song... but it just looks so challenging to look at it and play. So... if you guys have any tips...
COMMENT BELOW, or...
FOLLOW MY BLOG.
My blog address is:
http://knowitallbeethovina.blogspot.com/
If you happen to play piano, and have any questions about it, or you want some tips...
COMMENT BELOW, or...
FOLLOW MY BLOG.
It is best to follow my blog so you get weekly news and topics about piano, Beethoven, or myself. And, if you are in grade 6 piano or higher, once again...
COMMENT BELOW, or...
FOLLOW MY BLOG.
So you can tell me any tips or ideas you have for my blog, or piano practicing, or I can tell you!
And, if you don't play piano...
COMMENT BELOW, or...
FOLLOW MY BLOG.
So you can get other ideas for instruments like:

• Guitar
• Flute
• Recorder
• Drums
• Trumpet
• Clarinet (Only if you are not Squidward)
• And others.

If you would like to here about different composers or instruments, or if you have any questions...
COMMENT BELOW, or...
FOLLOW MY BLOG.

I would also like to promote my best friend's blog, who shares her story about trying to recreate her beautiful mother's, Carol Joy, recipes, after she becomes ill. Her journey through finding these recipes and finding new family members, is amazing, and I really think she deserves more views for her wonderful blog. I love you Carol's Girl!
This is the link for her blog:
http://mymotherstreasure.blogspot.com/
I hope you enjoy, and good luck Carol's Girl!
Well, this is it, and for the last time...
COMMENT BELOW, or...
FOLLOW MY BLOG.
:)

-Immortal Beloved <3

A NEW SNEEK PEEK!!!

Here is a sneak peak of my story: "A Hero's Story."

A Hero’s Story

“Admit it! He’s a smoker. Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not playing dumb, and he just has a bit of smell on him.”

“You’re sugar coating it.”

“Not sugar coating, telling the truth.”

“Be blunt. He has a problem.”

“I am being blunt, he has issues, but no help is needed.”

“Just shut up. You’re only a child.”

“A child I am, but old at heart.”

“Did I mention dramatic?”

“Why, yes. You did.”

For heaven and heck’s sake, what was so wrong about sharing my dull, simple opinion about whether Steve was a smoker or not, I had to admit though I could smell it on him. It was completely scary for two un related orphans to be experienced like this. Steve was in the main office speaking to Katie, the lady at the front desk, learning everything about us. He would be taking us home tonight, and Sheryl just couldn’t breathe any longer. It wasn’t the fact that he smoked that bothered us, but the reason why he smoked was left unsaid. Our real father had told us before he put us in the orphanage, that no one smokes for no reason. They don’t just pick up a cigarette, and have nothing to it. There always is a story. Now, I wouldn’t usually remember his occasional stories, but the night he told us that story, he sent us to the stupid orphanage. I spent the last 18 years of my life there, and finally I come out feeling owned, but I feel sick. Nauseated to be exact.  I thought once I found a home I would feel good, safe, and happy, but I just feel like a dog. I can’t be bought or given to, I am only able to be loved by my real family, and this man obviously isn’t my real father. Why should I trust such a… a… Man? He wears worn out converse high tops, Ed Hardy tops, baggy jeans that fall to his ankles, and backwards flat hats with logos that little girls aren’t supposed to know about.

Sheryl and I were walking meters behind Steven Forshenelle, watching his every move. I saw him look at his blackberry glaring at it, put it away, and grab another cigarette. I always would want to ask him, but wouldn’t that bother the man? The first day, while everyone is supposed to get to know each other by asking questions like, “What’s your favourite colour?”, I ask why he smokes. And I would look crazy if I asked that. It is just like asking, “Why do you eat?” The response is either he needs to, or has quit starving himself. I think it is because he needs to. But I always have been the most curious girl in all of the orphanage, and Sheryl always was the least curious, and now being adopted by the same man, made me curious, but she annoyed.

“I don’t understand it, Sheryl. He stands in a way that he has something in his pocket that is not to be seen by any others. He looks as if he is hiding something from everyone. But what? What if we are being adopted by a top secret spy, or a… Um… a… Criminal! That’s it! I have to tell Katie that this man is forbidden to take us home. This is far from okay. We have to tell her, this is scary… I mean, is he going to kill us? Take our brains and- GASP! He will eat us which means he’s a…. he’s a… Human cannibal! What will we do? Escape, run, Sheryl! Before he sees, we don’t have enough time. Just run!” I whispered anxiously awaiting a time to escape the horror scene, but Sheryl looked as if she was watching a comedy show, and I was the comedian. But it looked, and sounded, just as I explained. But maybe I was being unrealistic, and exaggerating the story a bit, but I truly had a hunch, and it didn’t feel good.

Steve finally turned around and tapped his shoe, watching me lean close to Sheryl, and a frightened look on my face became more clear to him now. He waited until I stopped walking so I could look up at him, and explain why I was at least 18 feet away. “You scared? Or you just like the old orphanage better than a life in the city? I get that a lot. I’ve tried eighteen orphanages to make my wife happy, because she is unable to have a child, but every one of them has either run away to the orphanage again, or put themselves in front of-never mind. You can run off, I just don’t know how to explain this to my wife for the 20^th time.” He looked down, and smacked his lips, and laughed while shaking his head. “I’m sorry I put this on you girls, just go back to the orphanage, don’t hurt yourself, I would hate to see it for the 15^th time this year.”

Sheryl looked at me with shock, and like sappy Sheryl, she ran to Steve and hugged him tight while tears ran down her cheek. “We just wanted a way out, Mr. Forshenelle, out of the orphanage. After all that has happened, we need a real guardian right now. It doesn’t matter if it’s real, but it just has to be. Oh please, let us come home with you and bring a smile to Mrs. Forshenelle’s face!” Sheryl smiled and hugged tighter so she could feel a hug coming back, but she felt nothing but a slight push as a signal that was too dramatic.

“So, Zelia, you want to go run off, hurt yourself and make my life miserable? Or keep telling Sheryl how you are so suspicious about me, how I don’t wear the fanciest clothes because I don’t have enough money to get all suits and black leather shoes? How I am not educated? Well you can shut your mouth, Ms. Queen, I’m sorry I had to listen to that the whole walk here. Oh- and one last thing, I am sorry I took you to a real home so you can have real parents other than the parents you call real who left you in this dump in the first place… So, SORRY. I didn’t know the queen was coming to my home, or I would’ve put on some decent shoes.” He stormed off, holding Sheryl by the hand, and she kept looking back at me motioning not to leave, to stay with her. I could hear his loud, obnoxious voice cursing at his (and by his exact dialogue), ‘Little “BEEP” of a key! “BEEP’in” orphans! He’s “BEEP’in” done with his life’. And then I heard a tumble, and I saw Sheryl crying on the floor repeating over and over, “Don’t swear! It’s wrong!” But Steve wouldn’t listen and pulled Sheryl into the car and slammed the door. He took one look at me, bowed his head, and opened the door with a nod of the head, “My queen.” He said.

I was disgusted.  The first day of our new lives I was greeted very rudely in fact. To be frank, very dumbly. You never tell a girl that has been in an orphanage for 18 years and has been tortured greatly and made fun of too much that she is selfish and spoiled.

You just don’t.

But when Sheryl and I stepped a foot into the Dodge Caravan, Steven yelped and cried as loud as he may, “Do not, and I repeat, DO NOT STEP ON THE SEATS.” Sheryl and I jumped at the sudden demand and pushed our ways off the seats. We smiled awkwardly because of the constant glances we received from Steve, which made us very uncomfortable. We couldn’t help but to keep looking at the rear view mirror. We were too worried that he would freak out at us again, but we couldn’t be sure that he would do anything. His jerking of the car, and his cursing at other drivers really scared the heck out of Sheryl. For she had never heard one word outside of, “May I please have some peas? But if I am not to have a second serving, may I be forgiven.” But I have chatted with the senior students at Forstreet High Secondary  School.  I have been taught some new words.

We carefully made our way out of the car and opened the door to Steve’s home. We heard a loud scream as if someone had been scared inside. Out popped a lady with long, shaggy grey, greasy braids, and a stained apron.  “Oh, ladies! How you scared me, deeply.” Sheryl replied nervously, “S-sorry m-madam.”

The lady laughed hysterically. “Why, I do declare! How new you are to this town. Wait, you must be the orphans! Zelia and Sheryl! Well, I am Mrs. Forshenelle, nice to meet you. Do you girls fancy some tea?” Mrs. Forshenelle smiled, revealing her yellow, piano key teeth. “Thank you Mrs. Forshenelle, but we had just eaten.” Mrs. Forshenelle replied sharply.

“Steven Forshenelle! You fed these girls junk like the last orphans? You knew-and I repeated it several times- I prepared a feast including real beef… Steve, meet me in the kitchen, THIS INSTANT.” Sheryl and I awkwardly stood listening to the yelling and banging of Mrs. Forshenelle’s rolling pin hitting Steve’s forehead, and we were worried to see the result of his noggin… We never experience that. Well once, when we were taking a quick peek in the orphanage lounge where they were watching Bugs Bunny. But other than that…

Never.

Steve walked out looking traumatized. “Well, well, well. Look what you idiots have done. My wife hates me for feeding you. You look like you are ready to die from embarrassment, and I have a broken skull at this point. Anything else you want to ruin?”

I glared unintentionally. And of course that just set Steve off. “ Go to your room, lock yourself in there. Fast for a day, don’t talk once, and just sit without any entertainment. Then tell me you know how I feel.” Steve stormed off once again, slamming the kitchen door, and it got the attention of Mrs. Forshenelle. She ran out and brought a questioning look to her pasty, pale face. “What has happened with Mr. Forshenelle?” Sheryl nor I wanted to answer. Her dull brown eyes and greasy grey hair would give you the image of an evil woman, filled with anger, but she honestly was a kind woman. The reason Sheryl and I were frightened of her was because of her strong love for her husband, whom was the complete opposite of herself. She would stand up for him if it meant living a shorter life than he.  “Nothing, Mrs. Forshenelle. He has just been a bit grumpy from us… The trouble orphans cause on the first day is very large, madam. It usually drives people crazy!” Mrs. Forshenelle giggled.

“Girls, call me Nancy. And Steven usually is in the jerk mood, but this is over than usual. You girls must be a real pain…” Nancy giggled slightly, and went back to her cooking in the kitchen. “Girls.” She said. Sheryl and I nodded plainly. “Has Steve mentioned anything to you about his work?” I shook my head. “No, Nancy.”

“Oh.” Nancy breathed with a look of relief. “You know, sometimes it slips.”

What does that mean?

“Oh, and girls. I registered you for school. It starts tomorrow and I will be taking you for supplies tonight. So be ready at 7:00 PM. Do not keep me waiting, or I will ask just like Steve. I say it once, not twice, so be prepared. It would also be helpful if you wrote a list of the supplies you need. Anne Marie is just upstairs doing homework- Oh, fettuccini. I forgot to introduce you to Anne Marie. She is Steve’s ex-wife’s daughter whom Steve does not want anything to do with. Go upstairs and ask for a piece of paper and pen for both of you- she is quite a nice girl. Who knew Steve was the father, eh?” I giggled. Anyone is nicer than Steven. I motioned to Sheryl to come upstairs to meet this Anne Marie. I wondered what she looks like?

A girl version of Steve… Uh….

We knocked on the door with embarrassment lurking in through or stomachs. A girl with long, red shiny hair opened the door. Her shirt was filled with rips and tears, and her jeans were sparkling with pink, sparkling spray paint. Her shoes were grey, knitted Uggs, with threads sticking out the back, and salt stains surrounding the front of the shoe. Her eyeliner was black, which looked like Smash Box. Her pink lip stick was perfectly smeared across her lips. The blush on her cheeks looked like it was glued on with super glue, and her nails were painted with a shade of red. “Can I help you, ladies? Sorry to be uninviting but I am working on a sculpture for my art exam. Come in! Come in! I would like some constructive criticism before my examination.”

I hope you enjoyed! Until next time...
-Immortal Beloved <3

I need a Therapist.... And more ideas for poems... HELP!

Every day I am thinking t myself, "What if apples are the fruit that Adam and Eve ate?" And I have avoided apples ever since grade 1 when I first thought of that... But today I had one and it was so good.... I couldn't get enough and I kept on eating, and eating... and eating, and eating... and eating, and eating.... AND MORE EATING....  I coulf write more about my eating, but I think it may go on for ever... So I'll stop....
(A sigh of relief)
And I also think, if I even betray God, I will just never eat apples again, and for those reasons...
I need a therapist.
But not to worry because I love pears too! Pears are my favourite fruit, and so they are my substitute! I know this is a piano blog, but I will just share a poem I wrote about my locker... 'My Stinky, Stinky, Locker...':

I have a locker,
I had it all year,
When I see my teachers,
I sense their fear.

I wonder what I did,
They were holding their nose,
Was I stinky?
Did I need a hose?

But the janitors ran too,
It was a big shocker,
But then I knew,
It was my locker!

My stinky, stinky locker!

It has...
Banana peels,
Maps,
Sparkly heels,
Caps.

Nails,
Rocks,
and Dirty,
Dirty,
SOCKS.

Apples,
Text Books,
Pants,
Net books.

Cats,
Hoses,
Hats,
Noses.

Giraffes,
A funny smell,
Graphs,
A deep, deep well.

Expired mayonnaise,
A cookie tray,
A big long maze,
And a cat that's stray.

A bucket of goo,
A hallway of doom,
An old donkey's poo,
A monkey's room.

A dad's TV,
A mom's kitchen,
A sister's CD,
And my kitten.

A swimming pool,
A life guard,
A big fat fool,
And an ocean of lard.

A piano made out of chocolate,
An old ugly man,
Ice cream, but you still need to top it,
A pop can.

Mr. Welburn, our dead janitor,
Mrs. Bensky, the teacher who dared go near my locker,
My sister, don't forget her,
But that's no shocker.

Math homework,
Nail filer,
A drawer of pork,
A Ferrari tire.

My dad's big mole,
My mom's old shoe,
Mr. Santa's coal
And my 'once-friend', Loo.

As you can see,
My locker is amazing,
But don't try to flee,
Especially after I did all this phrasing!



Thanks for reading!
-Immortal Beloved <3

The Beethoven Mystery

Hi again, and thank you for all of your views.

I have my mind boggled over many topics, (if you know me, you can definitely figure that out just by asking me how my day was), but the most intriguing question I have ever asked myself is: 'Who is Immortal Beloved?' If some of you have never heard of Immortal Beloved, she was a lady whom Ludwig fell in love with, and left her a note before his painful death adressed to Immortal Beloved. And not one soul has come up with an answer to this question. People have done as much research as they can to find out, but all they can see clearly is she was Beethoven's main focus after he had become ill. So who was she? This post is not to tell whom, but to discuss the facts we can piece together to figure out just a bit more...

We know she was Beethoven's life's focus and we know she was the mother of Karl Van Beethoven whom Beethoven adopted from this Immortal Beloved. She had been in jail for years because Ludwig claimed that she was a criminal since her previous relationship with Ludwig's brother, Maria, when Beethoven was her boyfriend before him.
Though we have no evidence of any woman Beethoven had loved, we do have one. Her name was Elise. The song, "Fur Elise", is dedicated to a woman that Ludwig loved deeply, but could no longer be with because of family and personal issues. The personal issues could've been her love for his brother, and the family issues were that Ludwig's brother hurt him and disobeyed his wishes.

Beethoven loved this woman deeply and it was described in this beautiful letter.
I also have an announcment that has nothing to do with this post:
'I now am officially playing hands together, full songs, almost to memorize, scales (PERFECTION!) in my 2nd grade 6 piano books. It might be like, 'WHAT EVS... " to some of you, but for a 2nd lesson, anyone that knows piano, understands it is a humungous achievment.'
Thanks for reading, and have a great night!
-Immortal Beloved <3

Beethoven vs. Mozart=

So as the day went on, I am still sitting exhausted. I wake up at 6:30 AM. And dance from 11:00- 2:30 PM., and am currently having a hot flash, and tired to the point where I just want to fall asleep and never wake up. But the day goes on, which means, I must stay awake and be active for… Another 12 hours! It’s okay, I think I am going to just go to sleep… J

I still am disappointed that no Beethoven songs are found in the grade 6 book, Royal Conservatory, but I do have the famous song, “Toccatina” by Dmitri Kabalevski, and it is just beautiful. But nothing is quite as beautiful as Beethoven’s work and music, and this whole post is to explain why, and my thoughts about him and the comparison between Mozart and Beethoven.

I am always told, “Mozart is better!”, just to get under my skin because everyone knows that Mozart isn’t my biggest idol. Even if people do not believe in either, the one they know most about from their friends opinions are the ones they go with, and to be frank, they usually choose Mozart in that way. But if you spend your whole life knowing about Beethoven, you aren’t in for a surprise, but if you don’t know the most about him, you will be out of your shoes in just a moment.

In 1700’s people were able to abuse each other, and Beethoven was the victim of that. So was Mozart. When Beethoven grew older, all the hitting went to his head and gave him bad childhood memories which caused anger management, but he truly was a kind man. Therefore, Mozart (even without the beating) still would’ve been a cruel angry man.

This post is not in any way against Mozart, but telling the difference between the two composers and how they grew up and were taught the same way, but were produced different.

Beethoven grew deaf, and still lived to play the piano and composed some of the most famous compositions ever in history, and Mozart never had any career stopping experiences that would stop any normal person from not doing their job. Another comparison that the results have been very different.

Thanks for reading, and until next time!

-Immortal Beloved <3