Getting a diagnosis of cancer is a life-changing experience. That’s what Noa Sorrell realized over the past year.

“I was diagnosed in January this year with Hodgkin’s lymphoma,” the 11-year-old Texas girl said. “I was kind of scared, but the doctor said that it would be treatable, very treatable, even if it wasn’t a simple thing. So I wasn’t too worried because he said that, but I was a little worried.”

The treatment left Noa Sorrell with a lot of time on her hands.

“I was in chemo for three months,” she explained. “And I didn’t have anything to do. So I would have really bored, if I hadn’t started sewing and designing clothes.”

Make-a-Wish

Noa learned how to sew from her grandmother, who passed away last year. She always dreamed of becoming a fashion designer and the Make-a-Wish Foundation made it happen. The nonprofit group grants wishes to children with life-threatening illnesses, and they arranged for Noa to show off her clothes during Los Angeles Fashion Week.

Using her late grandmother’s old “Singer” machine, Noa created a clothing line, a spring collection for preteen girls, inspired by flowers and bright colors.

“I was very nervous because I wasn’t sure if I was going to finish my work on time,” Noa admitted. “But at the same time, I was very excited for the Fashion Week and I was working really hard because on top of trying to sew a collection of 10 pieces in a month-and-a-half, I also had school and many other things."

Determination and love

Noa's mother, Maralice Sorrell, says the idea of producing something during the time her daughter was receiving her chemotherapy was very empowering for her, adding that her determination and love for sewing helped her meet that goal. She recalled that, at times, Noa was so tired she had to wheel her in a shopping cart into the fabric store so she could pick material for her designs.

“She’s a very dedicated student,” Sorrell said. “She would do her homework and then sit at this sewing machine, sometimes four hours a day. Sometimes she would sit until 4:00 a.m. She said she wanted to have a website. So we bought her a domain and told her, you have to learn how to do it. So she would sew while she’s at home and when she’s in the hospital she would work on the website.”

Working, and still dreaming

Noa continues to design and sew clothes for her friends at school and her family.

“Her friends do a lot of sports and biking," Sorrell explained. “She made them reversible tank tops. For herself, she made a dress for the fashion show that matches her personality. She dressed her sister with a black dress that also matches her sister. She has the eye for creating things that match someone’s taste and personality and we would like very much help her grow that.”

Noa says her dream is to become a well-known fashion designer.

“I want to start selling my designs," she said. “I’m not sure how I’m going to do it, but what I know I want to see people wearing my designs.”

Her mother also has a dream.

“I want to see her growing up. That’s my wish. I want to see her happy.”

Noa says she is happy. She has a new sewing machine and keeps busy, studying and creating her fall and winter collections.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney

www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses

Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaay?
Proputty, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'em saay.
Proputty, proputty, proputty--Sam, thou's an *** for thy paains:
Theer's moor sense i' one o' 'is legs, nor in all thy braains.

Woa--theer's a craw to pluck wi' tha, Sam; yon 's parson's 'ouse--
Dosn't thou knaw that a man mun be eather a man or a mouse?
Time to think on it then; for thou'll be twenty to weeak.
Proputty, proputty--woa then, woa--let ma 'ear mysen speak.

Me an' thy ******, Sammy, 'as been a'talkin' o' thee;
Thou's bean talkin' to ******, an' she bean a tellin' it me.
Thou'll not marry for munny--thou's sweet upo' parson's lass--
Noa--thou 'll marry for luvv--an' we boath of us thinks tha an ***.

Seea'd her todaay goa by--Saaint's-daay--they was ringing the bells.
She's a beauty, thou thinks--an' soa is scoors o' gells,
Them as 'as munny an' all--wot's a beauty?--the flower as blaws.
But proputty, proputty sticks, an' proputty, proputty graws.

Do'ant be stunt; taake time. I knaws what maakes tha sa mad.
Warn't I craazed fur the lasses mysen when I wur a lad?
But I knaw'd a Quaaker feller as often 'as towd ma this:
"Doant thou marry for munny, but goa wheer munny is!"

An' I went wheer munny war; an' thy ****** coom to 'and,
Wi' lots o' munny laaid by, an' a nicetish bit o' land.
Maaybe she warn't a beauty--I niver giv it a thowt--
But warn't she as good to cuddle an' kiss as a lass as 'ant nowt?

Parson's lass 'ant nowt, an' she weant 'a nowt when 'e 's dead,
Mun be a guvness, lad, or summut, and addle her bread.
Why? for 'e 's nobbut a curate, an' weant niver get hissen clear,
An' 'e maade the bed as 'e ligs on afoor 'e coom'd to the shere.

An' thin 'e coom'd to the parish wi' lots o' Varsity debt,
Stook to his taail thy did, an' 'e 'ant got shut on 'em yet.
An' 'e ligs on 'is back i' the grip, wi' noan to lend 'im a shuvv,
Woorse nor a far-welter'd yowe: fur, Sammy, 'e married for luvv.

Luvv? what's luvv? thou can luvv thy lass an' 'er munny too,
Maakin' 'em goa togither, as they've good right to do.
Couldn I luvv thy ****** by cause 'o 'er munny laaid by?
Naay--fur I luvv'd 'er a vast sight moor fur it: reason why.

Ay, an' thy ****** says thou wants to marry the lass,
Cooms of a gentleman burn: an' we boath on us thinks tha an ***.
Woa then, proputty, wiltha?--an *** as near as mays nowt--
Woa then, wiltha? dangtha!--the bees is as fell as owt.

Break me a bit o' the esh for his 'ead, lad, out o' the fence!
Gentleman burn! what's gentleman burn? is it shillins an' pence?
Proputty, proputty's ivrything 'ere, an', Sammy, I'm blest
If it isn't the saame oop yonder, fur them as 'as it 's the best.

Tis'n them as 'as munny as breaks into 'ouses an' steals,
Them as 'as coats to their backs an' taakes their regular meals,
Noa, but it 's them as niver knaws wheer a meal's to be 'ad.
Taake my word for it Sammy, the poor in a loomp is bad.

Them or thir feythers, tha sees, mun 'a bean a laazy lot,
Fur work mun 'a gone to the gittin' whiniver munny was got.
Feyther 'ad ammost nowt; leastways 'is munny was 'id.
But 'e tued an' moil'd issen dead, an' 'e died a good un, 'e did.

Loook thou theer wheer Wrigglesby beck cooms out by the 'ill!
Feyther run oop to the farm, an' I runs oop to the mill;
An' I 'll run oop to the brig, an' that thou 'll live to see;
And if thou marries a good un I 'll leave the land to thee.

Thim's my noations, Sammy, wheerby I means to stick;
But if thou marries a bad un, I 'll leave the land to ****.--
Coom oop, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'im saay--
Proputty, proputty, proputty--canter an' canter awaay.

I lost cuntrol when I was nine years old.
Mother took my hand off my crotch yet left my brother to the confinement of his ****;
Girls good, boys bad, and oh no sweetheart your beauty is your only power.
And I’d blush; not in the way she’d hoped through the sweep of a brush but rather when my teacher left her hand lingering on my back as she bent over to tick the formula of the female form and cross out what the chimes of the church commanded.
I looked at the curve of the x she used to mark the spot and sighed.

Teach me. Teach me your ways so I can breathe in the sweet blossom of your hair as I rest in the bossom of your heart, its smells like lavender. Lavender.
Lavender sweet dreams honey and I will see you there tonight.

It was then I began my perpetual low earth orbit from dream to dream and departed from what mother said that day when I asked the question that makes mothers quake as they smooth out the creases in their dresses and tuck their unravelled hair behind bitten ears.
Making love. We made love only to make you, darling.
Mother smiled sweetly and turned her back on me as her mind traced back to that morning when she made mad passionate love with the milkman when daddy wasn’t looking. I am still waiting for my little sister.

If practice makes me perfect then meet man, mother.
I used his rocket to launch myself into space where I spelt her name out in the stars and jumped over the moon to Venus. I felt the warmth from her skin like the sun that keeps me alive. Alive. Alive.
Warm me, darling, just with the nestle in my vessel in my veins in my sugar coated spaceship.
We found sticks and made smores and we floated together, with my hand tracing your V in that three-dimensional galaxy between your legs we fell in love. No void existed between our celestial bodies as gravity pulled me into your arms.

He came as I came back from space thinking of nothing but the soft shape of her hips and the trail of her spine that led me back to earth.
There’s man with his grey socks still on his feet, dark matter on the sheets and a wrapper on the floor.
******* I thought, but in the sky…
That night my mother asked me why I am smiling.
I said I have become an astronaut in orbit with a woman who I love in space.
She cried shes lost it.
I smiled, nodded yes, I've lost it to her.

I lost cuntrol when the earth, heavens and waters fell in love and sailed and soured as we danced on the tree tops of your garden, with waves crashing beneath us leaving salt shimmering particles like diamonds on your feet.
You were my alphabet soup that filled me with too many words, the thrill of the prize at the bottom of the cereal packet and the noble intentions of stopping the Titanic from sinking with the touch of button.
We had love at first sight like David and Jonathen, Ruth and Naomi who boarded the ark as my back arched in passionate throws below deck, as Noa held Emzaras hand smiling.
Adding a letter to her name on Transgender Tuesdays was just an afterthought.
Opening her drawers to pack up her boxers and bind her ******* Noa smiled as the clock cocked Tuesday.
She entered her escapism; what the Bible calls a natural disaster, I just call natural.

I lost cuntrol when I re-arranged the stars like pick and mix, so I could always find my way back to you. When you said I love you I wondered whether I’d had too many dolly mixtures and where jelly babies came from.
Sugar rimmed your lips like salt on a martini and left me drunk with desire as I licked around your edges. You slipped a haribo ring on my finger and I gave you my loveheart.

I lost cuntrol one day when my lover Alice said eat me. She showed me Dinah who hide beneath her skirt and I followed curiously.
I didn’t ask her to say please but that’s another story.

After her lesson I was told the Sputnik satellite was man-made and I laughed.
Oh no, women have been launching rockets with complete cuntrol between their legs for years, leaving the earths atmosphere and dreaming of everything else but ***** ****’s ****.
During countdown they think of shopping lists, whether they’ve burnt off enough calories for wine with their girlfriends, and sometimes, sometimes, of her.
Do good girls go gay?
In space, my mother said, in space.

it feels like pulling fabric out of drawers
and none of it fits
last night, you put everything in the dryer
and fell asleep while
the things you thought you knew
tumbled and knotted and turned into
an unfamiliar mess

it feels like a bumblebee landing on your shoulder
you’re supposed to stay still
and wait for it to move on
until it realizes you are not a flower
it doesn’t
it stays and buzzes in your ear until
you turn to dust or learn to scream

but then, one day
it’ll feel like waking up to
rays of sun through the window
when you haven’t slept in weeks

like forgotten pocket change
like a present on your half-birthday
like an entire april without rain

and it’ll feel like
it was always there—
you’d just forgotten
to turn the light on

And then there was orange, glinting in a pile
from the ground outside my second story window.
I sit and count the scattered papers on my
bedroom floor, thinking, "Maybe someday the
past and present will meet," though I know full-well
that they already have.
Now it is twofold, it is insult to injury, it is
twenty seven eleven.

We are lies, aren't we? We are thankful for
the unknown. My father sips scotch and devours the
truth. I catch my connecting flight and travel back
in time. The man in the blue coat is replaced by
the man in the black hat, the man with the feather
hat, and the man with naught but war paint.
It is like the movies, I decide. I settle on a log bench
and read the classifieds in the newspaper.

Mother and father tell me to count my blessings
as if they are sheep. I tell them that their analogy
is flawed. Morning comes and I tie a string around
my ring finger, proclaiming, "I am here to collect
thanks! Bring out your wish lists and your tattered
diaries!" I am a liar; I am thankful for nothing but
sickness and ink. I write "twenty seven eleven"
three hundred times and vow to make a difference.
I fill my car and my fridge and roller blade up
the mountain, chanting, "Noa! Noa! 'Oia'i'o! A'ole
mahalo nui!" My cries go unheard and I sulk
back down, a landslide for the ages.

I begin to write poetry that oozes pretension and
reflects obsession. I try to pronounce the disease
and instead find myself bound to a table crushed by
feast and fear. I have written "twenty seven eleven"
on my forehead and am forced to listen to the "Lord"s
and "grateful"s and "God"s and I have had enough.

I break free and head for reason.

Dear Golden Gate Bridge,

    Can you give her back to me?
Split the water in two and I will be Moises
Angry and scared,
desperate and delusional
like Dolly was about Jolene

She fell in love with your edges and your deceiving depths
And you never saw right through her and thought that maybe she just wanted you to be the sloppy second for once. Rebound to a better life.

                                         Splash!

You are a ruthless lover but I'm starting to understand the fascination with that edge of yours.

                                          Breathe in. Breathe out.

Jolene, I need to be baptized in your love
And I will assure you that I can swim and you will pretend to care.

Moises will fly to a sure fall. Let him drown. He would have never made it to Noa's arc anyways.

Let me drown.

Goeie avond nostalgie,
wat fijn dat ik u zie, zien
mag. Sinds FIFA veertien
lag ik al aan uw voeten,
fijn dat ik u mag begroeten.

Vanavond gaan we drinken,
tuimelen, duiken, vallen, zinken
in een zee van liefde voor elkaar.
Eenmaal, andermaal, niemand bezwaar?
Dan leg ik mezelf in de watten,
vanavond gaan we boiten.

The mourning is
about it never being
the way I needed
it to be.

My life itself a
disturbance of mourning

Stands in my life. Before me. The
dead girl under the bed
her skin transparent as mine

disappears. I come out
and there is no mother. Sometimes
she appears and there is no telling what
attracts her warmth. Approaches and departs.
Becomes desire,
the loot of her mourning.

Empty womb pillow. I am not
enrapt. Its’ tufts flap my fringe.
Behind me, at my sides
stands mourning.

I have only to be busy with your burial.
Sharpening flint to a pillar
pile to a mound
and turn from it.

It is gone
forever.
And I am.

By Noa Vardi, M. D.

It is Maori language week here in NZ, so...

Ko te ahua o taku aroha

He ngawari taku aroha
Ka pupuhi nga puawai ngawari
i runga kahui puna mahana
Kei te takaro toku aroha
he matotoru
kopikopiko i roto i te tito aroha
Ko taku aroha he ra raumati
takai te kare
ite marama me te mahana
Aroha katoa ahau
te kotahi te honi pi
huri noa i ahau i roto i toku ngakau
~~~~~~~*~
and in translation..

The nature of my love

my love is gentle
soft petals blown
on a warm spring breeze
my love is playful
a tender tickle
enveloped in a loving tease
my love is a summer day
wrapped in emotion
clearly felt and warm
my love is all for you
the one true honey-bee
as around my heart you swarm.

J.C. honey-tiger 09/09/2019.

If all you have known is a ****.
Then you will never know a man.
If all you have dated is a *****?
Then you'll never know a woman.
But changes within can make them very appealing.

If all you have been insecure.
Then you will doubt yourself?
When you know for sure.

Examine your life and mindest?
And you realize why you where you at?
Blame noa person?
Unless yourself.

Blame not the system.
Whenever you mess up?

The greatest thing about life?
Is it's a wonderful gift to enjoy?
Even when you select the wrong love?