Peaks, Valleys, & Surprises

Waken up by an aunt wearing a safari hat, binoculars, and a sign reading, "Thornton Family Adventures", my reaction is a sincere "Ohhhhh!" After a night of blasting Taylor Swift jams, dancing like fools, and gabbing in the jacuzzi, the visiting cousins are greeted in the early morning by their Coachella Valley aunt with a sparkle in her eye and an adventure on the horizon.

Whenever I visit my Thornton family in Palm Desert, I am always impressed by the vast mountain ranges that majestically rise from each cardinal direction I look. The mountains are so impressive because we sit so lowly in the valley and they protrude from the ground so suddenly. We stare as they show off. 

Coachella Valley is perhaps best known for the large music festival that takes place in the Spring, now expanding to two full weekends of music. Yet Adventurous Aunt Sheila has something else in mind for her nieces and nephews to explore. Did you know there is a humungous 45 mile long body of water within the Valley that, using handy binoculars, you can see a mountain range in Mexico? You don't believe me? Read it and weep.

Salton Sea, Courtesy of Creative Commons

Yup, the Salton Sea is where Adventurous Auntie takes us, complete with a educational lesson. This sea is the largest inland body of water in the Western U.S. and one of the largest in the world at 45 miles long and 20 miles wide. Wow. Yet not until you are standing on the shore and looking out at this oasis in the middle of the desert that would appear to be an ocean, can you grasp how long 45 miles appears. Our safari aunt distinguishes a point in the skyline where we can see a neighboring Mexican mountain range at the south end. Wow. Adventurous Auntie also explains an environmental concern- an algae in the sea has one massive bloom once a year, hogging the oxygen from the Tilapia fish trying to live in it, causing many fish to die off and creating a stench that covers the Valley. Most recently, the stench has reached Los Angeles too. Now, the issue is being addressed and is in the workings. Yet I was the fortunate few that got to see this Salton Sea before it became big. Well, big in the sense of popularity.

I couldn't help but think about the massive peaks and valleys and the surprising bodies of water in relation to, well, the human living experience. Okay, I studied Comparative Literature; I can't help but make outlandish comparisons! Though this one makes sense. Back in college, my good friend Jenny started a Spiritual Sisters group in our sorority and we would share our peaks and valleys of the week with the girls. As obvious or redundant or corny as it sounds, I haven't said it yet so let me rant for a second: inevitably, life has its peaks and valleys. Through it all, we need to be wide-eyed seeking the new adventure because what may lie beyond the horizon is a huge surprising body of water just 30 minutes away via safari bus and a kooky aunt.

A fishy smell in the air, along with a satisfied bunch of adventurers, the cousins retreated to a date farm for their specialty date shakes and "How to get a date" video. 

Nobody likes to be barked at

The other day I saw a very common thing happen. I was at the park going for a little cruise around the lake, and I saw a runner pass by a couple with a medium-sized dog. Barking madly, the dog startled the runner. The owners proceeded to quickly apologize to the runner, and then scold the dog. The runner uncomfortably accepted the apology, gave a nod to the dog to say "I mean peace", and moved on with his midday jog. Dogs do it and people do it too, though the latter more harshly. Words hurt, especially when you bark them.

Dog taking a listen; courtesy of Creative Commons

That is why I was shocked for an OC driver to take the time to roll down his manual window and call me an asshole after I changed lanes in the lull of traffic. I was even more appalled to hear of a holiday shopper at Target who profanely insulted one of my best friends. I know things get dogged out there that bring out the inner 'bitch' but the next time you find yourself losing your temper, picture yourself as a madly barking dog. Try the cat's sly approach instead. Take a chill pill and a second to observe your surroundings before overreacting. Taking yourself, and the emotion, out of a situation can do wonders.

That being said, I bought two of my three Christmas presents online. Perhaps a turtle approach is best during holiday shopping season. Merry-done-with-shopping-day, also known as the eve before Christmas Eve, readers!

Standing up, and standing strong

Saydee, the 4-month-old angel I nanny, is learning how to stand. A great example of perseverance, she is not discouraged by a minor setback. Wobbling as her knees bend, she topples back into her safety net, or my arms. Wouldn't it be easier to let someone else do all the work? Her mom has been helping her meet the basics to grow: food, sleep, love. I guess growing up also means standing up as well.

Standing up is not easy; standing strong is even harder. I finished a book today, a series of essays written by a variety of educated, busy, and/or successful women who (not so) incidentally are practicing Catholics as well. As a maturing Catholic woman in America, I struggle with how to stand up for what I believe. I struggle with understanding what I believe in and why, for that matter. Maybe it starts with a lot of wobbling, a lot of practice, and some confrontation with the intended belief. Many of us take on a belief from our surrounding influences, but I challenge you, reader, to do some inner digging, some research, and figure out what, why, and how you believe that. Don't forget to consider the other side of the argument. I indeed have some work ahead of me.

In the case of Saydee, she's got some time before she is standing strongly on her own without arm support. In my case, I need all the support I can get- from books, to friends, to God. We all ought to take some time to figure out what it is that we stand up for, and then stand firm in what we believe. I could imagine it takes a lifetime of setbacks, questions, research, and supportive arms to persevere. For a little motivation, this song might do the trick:

Getting Festive: Tamales & Mariachi Divas

Tamales are a big deal. They come around once a year and are the center of attention at las posadas festivals, particularly one in Placentia, California. Going with my parents makes for an adventurous night of tamales. First, we made a bee-line for the beer, which helped us sustain through the long lines for tamales. I was amazed at how many people came out for a bite. Not knowing what I was walking in to, I immediately found myself enraptured in a crowd of ravenous stomachs. Fortunately, I was not what they were there for. This story would have another end if so.

After waiting in line for a good 45 minutes in a line 30 people deep, my parents decide to chat up the cashier in classic Palmer style. "So what's on the menu tonight?" We had been looking at it for 45 minutes. "Oh you don't have any green chili ones?" Never mind that the stand had hundred of people coming through before and after the Palmer Parents. Finding the need to spare the impatient cashier, I jump in and order a dozen. Meanwhile, my dad has his eye on something else on the grill. "What's that on the grill, chorizo?" he asks the cook. The cook explains it has been there all day, no good. My dad persists, saying oh no that looks good, I'll take one of those. As hard as my dad's stomach is, I'm glad the cook was not easily coaxed, and that the sausage wasn't in arm's reach of my dad. Leave it to the only Polish guy in the crowd to find a chorizo sausage.

Happy with our tamales in hand, after guzzling down our bud lights, we're about ready to go. Then. On to the stage. With a dramatic turn of our heads. Cue Mariachi Divas entrance. Cue trumpets, cue violin, cue accordion, cue vocal chords coming from the depths of those ravenous stomachs I mentioned before. Vocal chords that hit the sky's ceiling, and break through the atmosphere creating another ozone hole, and blasting into space. Needless to say, these women were great. My mom got enthusiastic when she heard they won a Grammy and bought a couple CDs, including a Christmas album.

This year I'm not coming home for the holidays. I am in the thick of it, whether I like it or not. I'm beginning to like it.

Bitter is Better

Birthday morning at Kean's Coffee

Profile: Kenny Palmer
DOB: 12/5/1985
Age: 27
Acts like: 12

Today is Kenneth Joseph Palmer's 27th birthday. Kenny Palmer is the type of guy who falls asleep on hardwood floors, who prefers plain donuts and his cinnamon rolls without icing, who daily rummages through his stuff looking to get rid of junk. Kenny can play a tune on the harmonica and loves cowboy books and movies. Evident in his donut preferences, Kenny prefers bitter over sweet. Coffee black, beer dark, wine dry, hold the icing. Yeah, he's a unique type indeed. Some may call it weird. As my grandma said when she would spit little wisdoms in her old age, "being picky is good, it makes life interesting." Preferences make life interesting, and wow this kid is a marvel!

Peace in the...Peace?

Courtesy of Creative Commons 

In big crowds, for instance at a music festival or marathon race, I can find peace by being an observer amongst a million others. With so much going on, so much to absorb and take in, I can comfortably be very silent and just look around if I please. Comparatively, when I am alone, I start to hear the beat of my own drum. Thoughts can grow and even develop into a hectic music festival inside and the more I think, the louder it gets. With the compounding thoughts, the more anxious I start to feel.

I have a lot of peace living back at home. I live very comfortably here. I don't have to start paying rent for another three months, my meals are provided, and I keep peace by doing dishes and other household chores to make Mama Bear happy. I'm over the stage of fighting with my brothers and sister, and I love going on runs with my dad. I have my own room, my own desk, and a window to open and listen to the rain fall outside on this quiet Saturday night. I am living in a peaceful environment indeed.

Inside of me, do I have peace? I get anxious when I don't have plans, when I don't hear back from the job or the boy, when I start trying to plan so much. I overwhelm myself inside, before I step back and decide not to fret but to trust in a divine plan. Then I reconcile with the gift this time at home really is. When again will all 5 of my family members and I be living under the same roof with such peace? I doubt this will last forever. As for now, I move north, south, east, and west with polar feelings, but I try to come back to earth and center myself so that I can enjoy this peace in the peace. I'm sure a storm is just over the hill. 

Grandpa's Fishy Scene

This is the kind of place that is busy from 4:00pm to 6:00pm for the Senior Special. This is the kind of place that has loyal customers that drop the line, "I'll have my regular". Where the waitresses have cute coffee shop names like Esther and Judith, and chat you up like they were your aunt catching up at the holidays. Seafare is all of this, that which makes it great.

Seafare is also the midway point between Grandpa McWeeney's house and ours. It has cozy booths and Manhattan clam chowder. It is the first restaurant I came to when I flew back from eight months in Spain. It is the only restaurant I have never seen change since I was a kid. My grandpa confirmed that they really haven't remodeled at all, other than adding in a scenic ocean scape to the back wall.

McGrandpa kickin' it before Thanksgiving dinner

My grandpa knows fish. At 97, he doesn't remember every detail. He does remind you of his age when he is forgetful, to give him a break. But McGrandpa recalls the important stuff, like where to get the best rye in town, how much the iced ginger cookies cost at Food4Less, and jokes about dying. He also knows where to get great fish and appreciates a fresh trout finished with a glass of wine or beer.

For some time now, I've been suspicious of my Grandpa's fishy aging rate- still driving, walking, and cracking jokes as if he was a 32-year-old chap back in New York courting his soon-to-be bride. Perhaps it has been his dedication to moderation in life. Maybe his 30 plus grandchildren make him youthful. Could it be the bike rides? His punny nature? Daily mass? Not popping pills?

 Or, perhaps, there's something in all the fish he has had over the years.

Best Craigslist Finds

Courtesy of Creative Commons

In the past I've used Craigslist to find an apartment, a great vintage bike, and most recently... a soccer team? Indeed, and it has been the best thing yet in the midst of the job search. Not only does it force me to remember what day of the week I'm on and make sure I talk to someone outside of my family that day, but I also regain some youth on the team. I don't mean physically, because gone are the days when I could sprint for ninety minutes and then go do a triathlon if I wanted to. I don't mean all my soccer-genius comes back once a week. Gone are the days when my teammates could read my mind and we mesh like butter on hot toast with the same delicious goal- a goal.

No, but age-wise I feel young on the team. After listening to side conversation between halves and pre/post-game, I started to notice that everyone was either married, had a wedding to attend, or just had a baby. To demonstrate how this plays into the game, my favorite quote has been, "Hey Chris, can I play the beginning part of the half? So I can leave early and get back to the kids..." When my teammate said that, it actually shocked me. Then the simple reality sunk in. As my only form of employment right now is nannying, I'm starting to get a glimpse into motherhood. Combining that experience and playing with these older kids -- still young at heart-- I have been able to gradually shimmy into adulthood and get some more exposure without all the pressure. What else could Craigslist magically have to offer? Take a look, and let me know what you find.

The Bad News Bears, as our team has been jokingly naming our plight this season, actually won a game today. Glorious, victorious, and fighting to stay out of last place. 

Why Hate Goodbyes?

Unlike Jim Carey's character in Dumb & Dumber, not all of us can have such emotional heartfelt goodbyes like Lloyd's. I find myself fumbling between saying the proper farewell, "have a safe flight" or "let's keep in touch" or "I had such a great time", and giving a huge ridiculous awkwardly-long hug like Lloyd does below. When the time for farewell comes about, it just doesn't seem to adequately sum up a relationship. After we part I think, "Oh I should have said this," or "that was really awkward," and sometimes, "Why didn't I kiss him?" Whether the goodbye is via Skype or in person, I'm never really satisfied.

Yet maybe that goodbye moment is not as important as we think. We don't need to weigh these moments as much because we never really leave someone after quality time spent with the companion. My good friend Anne has pictures of me on her wall in Berlin, Brian has my D.C. postcard on his wall; I'm spread across the world. I leave impressions on people that will stay forever, and visa versa. I find myself imitating expressions of my senior year roommate Megan. I have recycled dance moves from around the world, from the Costa Ricans I met in Madrid to my crazy college friends in Berkeley. I retell jokes my friend Ever told me over beers the summer in D.C. Songs and places recall memories; those memories can't be quit when they are evoked by something familiar. There's a lot happening in between the hello and goodbye that can have a lasting impression. Morbidly related yet completely fitting, here's a poem-for-thought:

The Dash Between by Ron Tramner

I stood there near the headstone

of one I loved, and cried.

Beneath his name was there engraved,

date of birth - and date he died.

The thought came quickly to my mind,

these years leave much unseen.

Far more meaningful to me

is the dash - which lies between.

The years within that little dash

live on in memory,

and represent the precious life

of one who’s dear to me.

In time I too shall pass away

and in the ground I’ll lie.

Will those I love and leave behind

stand at my grave and cry?

Our life here upon the earth

can end in but a flash.

Are we wisely using

the time within our dash?

Do we look for opportunities

to do a kindly deed,

and show love and understanding

to those who are in need?

For if our hearts are full of love

throughout the time we’re here,

we’ll be loved by all who knew us,

and our memory they’ll hold dear.

And there upon our headstone,

shining ever bright and bold,

that little dash between our years

will be a dash of gold.

_

Turkey Jerked

When I returned home at the end of August, Costco already had Santa lights and Christmas wreaths for sale. Brea's Downtown Promenade was in full seasonal attire the day after Halloween. Even with these warnings, I still found myself jerked into the holidays this past Thanksgiving week. For the past four years, I have been coming home for the holidays; this time, I was just getting settled at home in a peaceful rhythm when a storm of "how have you been" coffee dates infiltrated my Google calendar. The catching-up conversation overwhelmed me, mostly because I felt done after saying three words: nanny, tutor, job-search.

Nothing against the wonderful friends I got to see who are in med-school, getting teaching credentials, and really feeling God's presence in their life right now. I just don't know how to explain a journey within stretching to the tips of my capillaries over a cup of tea. I don't know how to tell my aunts & uncles at the carving table I have some crazy future ideas and I'm exploring how to go the next step. Fortunately for me, my friends and family are more than understanding of my roller coaster journey. After saying my three catch phrases including 'nanny', 'tutor', 'job-search', they either give encouragement by relaying their past challenges or make me laugh at a game of quidditch pong. Yes, quidditch pong is as exciting and magical as it sounds.

Never before have I felt so interrupted by the holidays. Thanksgiving Day seemed to rupture my peaceful spleen and tear out my pacified hair. That is only because I have been in a melancholic hum-drum of applying to jobs and digging deep in my soul. Actually, the shake is necessary to surface my mind again in the world. You wouldn't believe how far I get lost in my mind.

On the way home from Thanksgiving dinner in Oceanside, my mom let out a dramatic gasp as we passed the Imperial Highway exit on the 57 freeway around midnight. "Wow, look at all these cars lined up to go shopping for Black Friday! That's digusting." It truly was shocking, and the hours following the stroke of midnight on Black Friday only continue to shock me. The stack of ads in the paper and the Brea Mall parking lot are the most visual reminders that "the holidays" have arrived. Well, Thanksgiving may have jerked me into a holiday spirit, but it could be just the jerk I need to keep me moving forward full-throttle like a Joan of Arc riding in battle on her white horse. 

Growing Pains: When in Doubt, Babies Pout

Growing is an exhausting thing. This is very evident with Saydee, the 3-month-old angel of a girl I babysit a couple times a week. She can sleep a whole day, only waking up for a few bottles and a few smiles and a few walks around the backyard. I have never spent so much time with a newborn; what is so great is as I care for her, she is teaching me a lot about all of our necessities for growth. Those include food, sleep, and loving hugs. Every week I come back and notice she has gotten bigger, or is starting to pull hair, or learned how to push her pacifier back into her mouth. Growing is an exhausting thing, so we should give ourselves more credit throughout the process. Four years away at school was an accelerated time of discovery and adventure. Indeed, there was some growth there. Now back at home as the post-graduate who didn't shimmy into the entry-level young professional job (I'd say it's 50/50 amongst my friends), I've got some growing to do myself. So far this process has been complete with nourishing food, plenty of sleep, and the love and support from my family.

Saydee, an angel from heaven

Growing is painful. Saydee doesn't know how to communicate what she needs exactly. She gets confused if she has gas pains or if she is hungry. She wakes up hungry and doesn't want to patiently wait while I warm up her milk. Wow, I can relate. Stuck between committing to a career path and wanting to just go have fun, deciding between taking the higher-paying or more-satisfying job, playing with the dreams of buying and living off a plot of land versus poshly walking the city streets to work, changing my pace to a slower rhythm yet wanting to keep the beat going -- it's all mind-boggling! Whereas I learned much about the world at Berkeley, I am learning more about myself than ever before at home. The journey within can be a painful one, yet well-worth it.

We could learn a lot from how babies pout when in doubt. The pout is a soft wimper that will grow into a full-blown cry if not addressed. Saydee knows something is off, but may not be sure what it is yet. We have each other to lean on and should ask for help when we need it, whether we know exactly what it is we need. I have learned to be more assertive with my needs from good friends like Jenny and Aja. Yet babies go the extra mile and yell it out until they are understood. Food! Diaper change! Hug! Rocking chair! Who knew I could learn so much from a little bright-eyed baby. 

Silence is Golden

Courtesy of Creative Commons

This past weekend, I attended a silent retreat at the Sacred Heart Retreat Center. What does that entail? A lot of eye-hellos and even more talking to God. At a certain point, you run out of things to say in your head and you are forced to listen.

It is quite an experience sitting around a table of 8 women in silence. You start to notice all the clanks of plates and clatters of spoons, and the eating styles of women from the age of 22 (me, the chiquita) to 82. I picked up a few tricks; as the tea-fanatic I am, I learned a cool way to strain a tea bag. Place the pouch of leaves in the concave part of a spoon; wrap the string around pouch and spoon; squeeze. A very neat way to sip. The dining scene sounds like an exhibit I saw once at the LA Museum of Modern Art. A room full of projected videos on each wall, showing a certain function happening with a distinct noise. Ranging from vacuuming a room, to mowing a lawn, to hammering a nail, these noises together made some sort of symphony out of the daily humdrum. I had a similar experience at mealtimes with the fellow retreatants. With some smiles, hand gestures, and mouthing out 'water', we all filled our bellies.

Even more so, we filled our souls with peace. Besides the silence, it was a loud retreat in my mind. I couldn't put my pen down, thoughts surfaced in my brain that I had been ignoring, and I had conversations with God. Whoa. I recommend it to everyone. Whether you make a silent retreat yourself, or find one to attend, you are sure to learn a bit more about yourself as you leap into the journey within.

Who said silence is golden? I agree. 

A Bruxie's Brea

For four years, I have been coming back from Berkeley to visit my family for most holidays, vacations, and occasional getaway weekends. Taking the 5 or landing into John Wayne, I arrive back in Brea, only to find some new unexpected, rapid development. In the past four years, Brea has added Target, specialty grocery stores, and every chain I know to its landscape. Not to mention how posh Downtown Brea has become. Not only can you go to see the newly released movies at either theater, but you can also get a sandwich-waffle. Waffle-sandwich?

After getting coffee with an accomplished writer today, I joined Terri Daxon at Bruxie's one year anniversary ribbon-cutting ceremony outside their store on the Brea Promenade. Their criss-cross design and pocket-like patio seating matches their waffle-sandwich concept, varying in savory and sweet options. With the ceremony sponsored by the Brea Chamber of Commerce, Bruxie chefs boasted of an very admirable accomplishment. They are #2 on Yelp across the nation! However that is measured. Now, that is a feat for any restaurant.

The Brea I know has evolved so much since I was a kid, yet it is still the place to which I always come back. Now that I am stationed in Brea for the time being, I have to accept the changes while simultaneously adjusting to new developments in the making. There is no magical escape, return, and the awe-filled drive through town noticing what is new and what lost its gusto in the midst of all the growth. Instead I am part of this community now. I can sit back, or I can contribute. Talking with Miss Brea 2012, Linda Shi, I found out that she also graduated from Berkeley just a year ahead of me. Cool, right? Attending Chamber of Commerce events, meeting the people that make Brea so posh, and getting free food sounds like a deal to me!

As I adjust to the Orange County lifestyle, with no destination short of a ten-minute drive, I found a lot of joy being at this event and seeing some familiar faces. When I was volunteering in the foster care home in Spain, I came away with the conviction that one must contribute to their local community, wherever that may be. I hear echoes of my Grandpa McWeeney saying, "grow where you're planted." Yet I found my university education to be a very selfish lifestyle. Me, me, me! My grades, my accomplishments, my health, and my fun! Slowing down the pace in Brea, I have time to think about you, about us, and how I can contribute to the 'we'. Where does writing fall into that equation?

All that from a ribbon-cutting ceremony, would you believe it!

The ribbon-cutting crew, with Miss Brea 2012 Linda Shi on the far left.

Current Dreams into Reality

Surreal Tidal Wave, courtesy of Creative Commons 

Dreams tell me a lot about how I am feeling currently. One recurring dream of mine has a stronger current than others. That is, I am peacefully enjoying a day at the beach with family members and then all of a sudden huge waves come to the shore voraciously pulling blankets, shoes, books, and any other item their clammy hands can grasp. The dream ends in a feeling of helplessness as we look to gather our things but we can't get off the shore to the parking lot because a large wall appears. We are caught between a wave and a hard place, one might say. A day after Superstorm Sandy hit, I had this dream again, with some variations. Paralleling to my anxious feelings of finding a job, I have learned that water evokes a drowning sensation as I try to stay afloat.

I have been having this water-themed dream since I was a child, but it had never felt so real, well, until it happened. In the Mediterranean sea, of all places. It was a calm day at the beach in Almería, Spain where I was volunteering for the summer in a foster care home. As the kids had started to get cabin fever, a day at the beach with them was a great solution. One moment I am standing in the water waiting for Sandra to pass me the beach ball, the next moment I see her eyes get really big, and a second later I am knocked over by a wave. Pura, the elderly nun with us, collecting sea shells, was knocked over as well. Three subsequent waves followed as we scrambled to gather and move our valuable electronics out of harms way. Then, pacifity once again.

Most people on the shore laughed it off and struggled with a wet book, towel, or phone. But I, I just experienced a dream manifest into reality! As I looked for the right words in Spanish to express this to my company, questions whirled in my head: What does this mean? Should I do something, act on this? Which life am I living and which is a dream? (For a more introspective look, I recommend La Vida es Sueño by Calderón de la Barca)

A recurring dream had just turned into reality, yet this was a time of relative tranquility in my life.
My life at the foster care home involved playing cards with the kids, braiding hair, going to the beach, and doing some household chores. At a time when I had never felt as relaxed and free of mind-clutter, this dream becomes reality. I still don't know what to make of it quite, and I still don't know where those three unexpected waves came from. Though there was a cruise ship in the horizon...I think it was really there.

Book Sniffin'

Courtesy of Creative Commons

I remember sitting in the back of my Spanish literature class and stealthily smelling the book I had just check out of the library. Not stealthily enough, the cute guy next to me asked, "Did you just smell your book?" That potential relationship went out the window. Yet I stayed content with La Celestina in my hand.

There is something enchanting about walking through endless rows of books, running your fingers across the spines, and stopping every once in awhile to judge one by its cover. Name, color, print, and the wear-n-tear are all factors in the judging process. Many say it is a superficial way, but when you add smell into the mix these factors take on a new dimension. The book is an experience; smell as another sense contributes to the experience.

I dream about having a study in my house with tons of pretty books to scan through. Sounds like a luxury to come home from work, not to find eyes peering at you but spines for you to examine instead. I find a bookshelf relaxes me, rejuvenates me, and also excites me with the endless options. I am known to be an indecisive person because I see the possibility in everything. A bookshelf is a good visual of that, with every book having something unique to offer to the big picture.

Yummy, books. 

Dogs, they're just like us

Snickers, the Curious

The other day I was walking my friend's beautiful golden retriever of a dog named Snickers. As she paused to smell bushes and stare down squirrels I couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking and why.

Ten minutes later, I found myself smelling a rose at my nose level. A few seconds later, I heard a loud inhuman squeak above me. Lo and behold, a squirrel on the branch was staring down at Snickers and me. All three of us had a moment of recognizing each other as different animals and then moving on.

Maybe I am more like a dog than I know. Now it is confirmed. We are curious beings. 

Hidden Villa's Highs & Lows

Hidden Villa Farm, with hills in the background

Tucked away in the Silicon Valley, an organic farm caught my attention when visiting my good friend Jenny in her hometown of Los Altos. Hidden Villa has a great program set-up for educating young students about nature. More significant for me, they have a beautiful trail I was able to engage on as Jenny worked for the day. Past the crops of cherry tomatoes, apples, and kale, then past the goats, sheep, and cow, the forrest entrance lies. Ascending the trail, with several switchbacks and some thick canopy of trees, you would think you were climbing Mount Whitney at some moments. Nothing gets me more excited about God than nature. So to see the light filtering through the trees at the start of the trail, and then to look down at the view from the top of trees and the bay in the distance- was marvelous. Needless to say, not only did the kids enjoy themselves that day. Just before leaving, we hit the start of the first rain. Jenny and I speedily got out of there on our bikes to beat the storm.

Hometown Perks

Have you ever revisited a place of your childhood and become overtaken with nostalgia? Visiting my high school, yet without the corsage and cute date. The young girls lacing up for soccer practice, yet I'm just a passerby this time. Or the playground in the park where we had family birthdays, but where are all my relatives? One morning this week, I revisited Craig Park for the first time in some years. Walking around the lake, I was inundated with memories. Memories of Girl Scout camp songs, trail mix, and touching the sky on the swings. This time there was no camp leader to be seen and my oversized legs scuffed the playground tar underneath me. And there was no bringing it back. I'm no Benjamin Button.

Yet in the quiet morning, I took a seat on a bench by the lake and created a new memory. Birds squawked and gathered for a morning dip. The willow tree branches teasingly lingered over the lake, just out of reach. In the distant skyline, garbage trucks came to and from the dump on the golden hillside (a comical view from the park, I might add). The birds, branches, and trucks have been doing that all of my life, but I had other preoccupations as a child to notice them. I wonder what else I have to step back and take a second glance at. Or what novel I need to read again.

Speaking of novels, I just saw the novel-turned-movie Perks of Being a Wallflower. In English-speaking settings, I am usually not the wallflower. It is refreshing to be back on Morning Glory Street and take some time to be a Brea wallflower. 

Parcher's Fishing Resort

What better way to celebrate the end of summer and beginning of fall than going to the mountains, where the trees are showing off their distinguishing deciduous or evergreen characteristics. This past weekend, I celebrated in no better place than Parcher's Fishing Resort in the Eastern Sierras. Visiting my older brother at his new gig, my family and I saw the newly-acclaimed mountain man in action at the South Lake dock. The aspen trees were also putting on a show for their visitors. Torn from cell-phone service, congested highways, and loud billboards, the aspens' audience was able to appreciate all they had to offer. Accenting their lush evergreen neighbors, the aspens boldly changed colors to a brilliant yellow, transforming the hillside into a type of fantastical golden river. Honestly, these trees make music and dance with the wind. Every coin-sized leaf catches a gust and flails into a full energetic flap, in unison with their sister leaves. Torn from cell-phone service, congested highways, and loud billboards, the aspens' audience was able to appreciate all they had to offer.

On a more stinky note, I hadn't given much credit to the sport of fishing before this past weekend. Though I still don't quite understand the purpose of spending all the time and effort to throw the fish back into the water, I have come closer. Just as I love the time spent in reflection on airplanes and trains, sitting in a boat must have a similar appeal. Both the traveler and fisher are moving toward something, yet they are given the freedom to patiently wait and think their own thoughts. Or perhaps they spend it with a good friend and can "shoot the shit", as Catcher in the Rye's Holden Caulfield would say. We don't get that opportunity often enough.

That being said, if you have the opportunity to make it north in the next few weeks, the aspens will be waiting to entertain you. Together with the wind, they will be an alternative to the Book of Mormon and a welcomed break from political conventions this fall. 

Work Hard, Play Harder

Between working two jobs and having two social lives, I found myself working hard and playing harder in D.C. There is no other way to describe it. The harder I worked, the harder I played. As I spend my days reading, swimming, and applying to jobs back in Brea, California I recognize a trend in my life. I go with the momentum of my surroundings. As mentioned in my previous post "From West to East", with energetic surroundings, my energy will stay afloat and I spin out of control. I recognized this adjustment coming back from living a few months in a foster care home in Spain, moving back into the scholastic and collegial lifestyle at Berkeley. I was inclined to take it easy and keep things simple, organized, and fun. Fall 2011 semester, I received my best marks and, more importantly, absorbed and learned the most out of any other semester at Berkeley. With four classes, a couple soccer teams, and limited working hours, I was focused and clear-headed. By Spring 2012, my last semester at Berkeley, I had sunk back into the worker-bee, do-it-all attitude from my surroundings. Taking 21 units, I did do it all. That being said, I dabbled in many things rather than absorbing all the material.

All I am trying to say is this past year has been a lesson in surrounding influences and how deeply they influence my motivations. For now, I will take my time to sip coffee and read the morning paper in Brea, California. 

From West to East

When I was concluding my study-abroad experience in Spain, I remember feeling I had visited more places in Europe than in the United States. It felt shameful that I had been to Rome, Paris, Madrid, Berlin, Athens, and even Istanbul before visiting New York City. I know, I sound like I am complaining but this motivated my post-graduation move to D.C. This past summer I was able to study, or rather intern, abroad in my own country, as the East Coast proves to be quite different than the West. I didn't get to the East Coast shore, so I can't comment on the difference of swells between the Atlantic and Pacific. I refer to the East Coast attitude. More specifically, I saw the D.C. work force to be the strongest workaholics I have seen, all to get ahead. In comparison to los Madrileños on siesta or the Berkeleyans at a coffee shop, these D.C. people prefer the happy hour, after too many hours of work. With the amount of young professionals around looking for their next move, for their next great opportunity, D.C. has a culture of networking, seeping into the happy hour conversation.

I may come off cynical, but I mean to sound in awe. It is an attitude I haven't experienced before. I didn't think about it much until I left D.C. I should have known though. After finding all the regional differences within Spain, just larger than California, of course D.C. would be very different. After four years of Bay Area education, concluding Northern California and Southern California are essentially different states, of course D.C. would be different. And yet, I am amazed over and over again by the sharp influence my surroundings had on me. How much they permeate my actions and cause a mind shift without even realizing it. Who needs a lunch break anyway?

Plane taking off from Reagan airport over Potomoc River

My time in D.C. was not only a movement West to East, but North to South as well. At my part-time hostessing gig, I found a community to learn some new Spanish dialects including Honduran, Salvadorian, Mexican, and Peruvian. Within my country, I learned more about Honduras than ever before. In fact, a co-worker and friend, Ever Aguirre Bonilla, taught me all there is to know about Honduras, with an emphasis on fútbol and politics. Needless to say, D.C. was an all-en(compass)ing experience.

One thing to consider before visiting the Capital, you will get to do a lot of free things. This makes a recent college graduate extremely happy. Especially the plethora of options for outdoor movies on any given summer night. I guess what I am getting at is, D.C., although I was exhausted after the summer, I kind of miss you in retrospect. 

Kellari Taverna: A Series of "Whats?"

With Greeks, Latinos, Moroccans and a few Americans, there are a lot of accents at Kellari Taverna where I have a part-time hostess gig. These diverse cultures, accents, and personalities make for a lot of whats? and filling in the blanks and dramatic exits. A part from that, I have time to stand and think while getting paid. Not a bad situation at all. In fact, it forces me to take time to think, which otherwise might take lower priority.

DC Nights

Whether it's a poetry slam at Busboys & Poets, a club on U Street, or a free movie in the park, D.C. nights have grown on me. Everyone is working hard all day, then playing hard at night to release all of the stored energy. The wind, the fireflies, the slower pace is where my young & wild side can be set free. Day & night makes for polar ends and we magnetically attract to the other side, bouncing back and forth in a circular rotation. Until the weekend when I am exhausted and take a break. When does applying for jobs come into the mix?

Where are you from?

Is the first question you are asked from a new acquaintance in D.C. It comes as a surprise when someone is actually from our nation's capital. There is something crucial about this piece of knowledge to a new acquaintance. It gives them the opportunity to begin to understand the other person and some point of reference. And since I'm learning everyday more and more that this world is about who you know, where you are from is the first expression in the equation.

I think it would be cool to shift the question to "Who are you?" That would undoubtedly result in a long pause. Bob Dylan would wittily respond, "All I can do is be me, whoever that is". If that is the best Dylan can come up with, who knows how long that question would go unanswered with a new acquaintance. Cutting to the chase is not so cutting edge, I suppose.

Or what if we asked, "What's your color?" On the personality wheel, we all have different colors. My friend Aja told me her's was blue- the more pensive, introverted type I believe. I just did mine and I got was red, the opposite side of blue on the color wheel; very telling of my relationship with Aja actually. 

Red: You see a world that is bettered by passion and individuality. You incorporate emotion and immediate action into your life. You probably have many of these qualities: Fun, Non-Judgemental, Emotional, Enthusiastic, Free-wheeling, Impulsive, Impatient.

Sure that works well, but I need to carry around this test for everyone that just doesn't know their color yet. If only it really was just a wheel we could spin. For now I am content with the question "Where are you from?" because it is an entrance to conversations in Spanish, about travel, or realizing we live just a town away from one another. Cheers! 

D.C. you've been so good to me

My awesome suitemate Angelica and me

I have been in D.C. now for two months and have not written one post yet! I would have liked to been taking note of everything for the past months, but a part of me sees a new benefit to waiting. I think I can speak more honestly on D.C. after being in the culture for two months. One thing's for sure that has been confirmed. We are sheeple- people sheep that are so influenced by our surroundings. The culture of D.C. is about working hard and playing hard. That, indeed, is what I have been up to. Long days and long nights, errands and happy hours, meetings and salsa clubs. No wonder I haven't taken time to write about it yet.

If I were to have written a post in the first two days here I would have said something like this:

People said it was hot in the summer here, but it's not so bad. I heard people on the East Coast were more cold and less friendly like sun-kissed Californians. The city seems really safe, even though I've been told otherwise. What do fireflies look like? Wow everything is free here! Now that I am out of school, I'm going to work out everyday.

I need to alter some of those statements two months in, but some reign true:

Sharing yummy sangria at Jazz in the Sculpture Garden

It is hot and humid here, but it comes in waves, with thunderstorm interludes that are actually more scary to me than the heat. People are people everywhere; you find some lollipops and some sourpusses. People are mostly so kind to me, but that could be because I'm obviously from out of town. The city has its sketchy side like any city; just the other day we walked by the scene of an armed robbery, so my guard has been raised. As an outsider we selectively choose to see what we want, but as time goes by the truth is inevitably revealed. The fireflies at dusk on the lawn outside of the White House are the most magical thing I've ever seen! They are like dancing fairies but only last for a split second and then they disappear forcing their audience to look at the big picture rather than one individual fairyfly. Sure, a lot of things are free here, but then you want to get a drink, and why not a pitcher? It all adds up indeed. Now that I'm working full-time, I have to choose to either be social or exercise after 5:30 P.M. Can you guess which option usually wins? I've successfully ran before going to work twice, which was quite a feat.

So far, the city and I get along quite well. Hey D.C. you've been so good to me, let's see what is in store for the rest of the adventure.