A Northern California Holiday, Part I

As finals finished up two weeks ago and I started thinking about everything I could now do with my break, I was certain I would be writing a post a day in this blog. It turns out, winter break is not a break from everything; just school. Everything else continues and intensifies. Finding time to write amidst family gatherings, gift finding and making, hiking, running, cooking, gingerbread-house making, reading, coffee-shop frequenting, and all other sorts of day-to-day activities--well, it's a lot harder than I thought it would be. But now that Christmas has passed (weep, I have to wait a whole year for it to come again), and all I have left to do is decide whether to travel north or south for New Year's Eve tonight, I am sitting here with my coffee determined to log all the craziness. Be warned his is all in a completely random order and will not flow at all.

I was ecstatic to get raingear from my parents for Christmas (a coat and boots). It's ridiculous that I've lived in Santa Cruz for two years now without having any. To put them to good use right away, my boyfriend and I went on a muddy, chilly, wonderful hike through the mountains.

Now don't be fooled. It might look sunny and warm, but I promise you that despite our clear lack of snow, it is windy and freezing. Which I love, of course. Off in the distance we could see Windy Hill:

And closer to us, dark tree branches draped with glistening pale green moss and grand, quiet evergreens drinking in the solstice sunlight and settling rain.

Even the ground (observe my new boots that I now wear every day) was enchanting.

I made my parents wine charms, because the whose glass is whose confusion is all too common in our household.

Easy peasy 3 step process for making these:
1. Acquire (either from a jewelry supply store or from your garage) a set of earring hoops. I used 3/4" and 1" base metal ones (cheaper than sterling silver, which I didn't see as necessary since they're not going in anyone's ears.
2. Find cool beads: if you can see, I made two sets, one with animal beads (chicken, cat, toad, cow, etc) and one with little sparkly beads.
3. Thread any number of beads you like onto the hoops, and using a set of pliers MUCH smaller than the ones I used (I could not for the life of me find my earring pliers), bend the end of the hoop upwards into the hole (if using the types of hoops I used).
And that's it! Easy peasy. My lesson learned is to make sure the beads are small enough that they don't warp the hoops.

For my 9-year-old sister, I got the best gift of all: The Hobbit: An Illustrated Edition, illustrated by Michael Hague (aka the classic one that's been in print since the 80's). She loves it and I could not be happier. I'm a complete LOTR nerd, and being able to share my love of that world with my little sister is the best return I've ever gotten on a gift.

Also, after seeing the movie--which I loved, despite the fact that I'll probably have to wait another three or four years for the second and third parts to come out--it struck me how similar the filmed scenes were to the illustrations in this book. The one above, for example, where the dwarfs (that is the correct plural of "dwarf" according to J.R.R. Tolkien) eat, sing and converse in Bilbo's home, is practically identical to the movie scene. Maybe I care too much, but I appreciate that they took cues from a classic and loved illustrated edition instead of fabricating new images.

Speaking of fascinating visuals, the other night I witnessed a lunar halo, which is said to presage the coming of a storm. I did a little research and this is not, in fact, a myth: it is created by moonlight refracted through the ice crystals of cirrus clouds, which appear in the days before a storm. I didn't take this photo, but the one I witnessed was just like it.

I've also been mixing a lot of drinks: I made a sangria for Christmas dinner that was a hit with my whole family, and my boyfriend got a juicer as a gift, so we've been making lots of super nutritious blends. I'll be documenting those as they become successes. :)

I meant to document everything in one post, but this is becoming rather long and people are starting to wonder what I'm doing. I'll get on the rest of it in what will now be part II of my winter break adventures.

I hope everyone is having the happiest of holidays!

Love, Maralah

Winter Colors + Christmas Music

I was talking to my wonderful roommate the other day about how in Winter, when everything seems to turn gray (and often gloomy), the colors that do appear are the most beautiful. Evergreens, winter flowers and fruits pop out against a wonderfully accommodating cold, misty canvas.

As I was walking home from class the other day in our lovely Santa Cruz, I couldn't help stopping to take pictures of all of it.

I especially love this little arched pathway, kind of randomly stuck on the sidewalk a few blocks from my apartment. I can't figure out who put it there (the city or the people who live next to it?) but every time I walk under it, I feel a bit like I'm in a fairytale.

Anyway, I am ALMOST officially on winter break. ALMOST done with finals (only one left to go!). I can't wait to go home and make gingerbread houses; it's pretty much all I've been thinking about for the past few days.

And speaking of the holidays: this man is incredible.

Now, the 15-year-old inside ms is screaming, DON'T DO IT JULIANA! THAT MAN HAS BEEN ON THE TOP 100 ON ITUNES! I have a bit of a problem with most mainstream music, you see. It used to be a lot worse. I used to judge people solely by their taste in music, and if they didn't know that Led Zeppelin was a band, not "some old guy", I dismissed them right away. I still strongly believe that most popular music is the work of less-than-talented, auto-tuned celebutantes who have their songs written for them by uncreative and money-hungry souls catering solely to the wants of screaming 13 year old girls. So while every once in a while I admit that a mainstream song is good, or that a popular artist is truly talented, my little teenage self fights it every time.

But THIS man, Michael Buble...my god. He is the second coming of Bing Crosby (who he has named as his personal idol, and sung with). His voice is like butter and snowflakes and I just want to dance with him. Like a singing in the rain type deal (see video below, after the 15-second promo).

Most full-time artists, if they're in the industry long enough, end up making a Christmas album. I shy away from most of them, opting for the classics. It's not necessarily that they're "bad"; it's just that after a while, listening to different versions of all the same songs gets confusing. I like to identify the originals with Christmas. It feels more traditional, more special, that way. But this man I could not escape. He is, quite literally, an instant classic. And THAT is the long explanation as to why, this Christmas, I am getting my parents his CD. :)

Now back to finals and making Christmas presents!

♥ Maralah

Christmas!

I am the kind of person who, despite being a begrudging believer in consumerism, does not believe in decorating or preparing for any holiday before its time. It irks me beyond belief when stores put up Valentine's Day hearts in January, or Halloween cobwebs on the first day of October, or Thanksgiving paper turkeys before Halloween has even happened. Yet my one exception is that, as soon as the Thanksgiving leftovers are finished, I dive straight into Christmas mode. Because I LOVE Christmas, almost too much: often by the time December 25th rolls around, I have already out-Christmased myself and everyone around me. I have to work to contain myself.

It's impossible for me not to associate December with Christmas. After all, tree-putting-up and ornament-ing and gift-buying aside, my family celebrates Advent. The Advent calendar (chocolates!) and wreath/candles appear in my house like clockwork every year on the first Sunday of December (officially, the first Sunday of Advent; I suppose depending on the year it could be in late November? Don't make me do the math). So, all month, we are in Christmas mode, especially me.

Union Square, San Francisco

At the risk of sounding like I'm trying to trick you into thinking I'm a selfless angel...I love giving gifts more than receiving them. I'll tell you why that's not "selfless": because seeing the look on the receiver's face when they open your awesome present, that triumphant, loving feeling that you get, is one of the best feelings you can have. Giving a great gift is self-validation: I am thoughtful! I succeeded! They love it!

So I am already hard at work making gifts for my loved ones. Yes, making, not buying, because as a college student, I have two options: cheap and storebought, or cheap and handmade. The latter is INFINITELY better than the first. Also, I try really hard to gift things that are useful and needed, often topping off the useful present with a not-so-useful one. Exhibit A: I'm making my parents personalized wine charms(DIY post to come), because whenever they have people over, everyone gets their wine glasses confused. That's the useful part. Then on top of that, I'm getting them a Michael Buble CD (yet another post coming for why). Part useful, part superfluous (with a positive connotation), all awesome. Forgive me for tooting my own horn to no end.

Other things I love about the holidays:
- Ghirardelli peppermint hot chocolate
- Union Square in San Francisco
- Holiday jazz
- The culturally rich variety of holidays this time of year
- Big, cozy sweaters
- Fireplaces
- Still believing in Santa Claus (I always will!)
- Eggnog
- Christmas movies
- The Nutcracker
- Snow, or at least knowing it's snowing somewhere (no snow here in Cali)
- My sparkly pink Santa hat (thank you Victoria's Secret...0:))
- Winter wonderlands set up on neighborhood lawns
- Of course...winter break from school
- And best of all: the Christmas tree in the living room. Waking up in the middle of the night, expecting darkness, and instead being greeted by twinkling lights; constructing toy train tracks around the base of the tree; filling its branches with ornaments, each one with a memory of its own.


Trust me, this is only the introduction to a LOT of Christmas posts to come. Happy holidays! ♥

A Birthday Trifecta

Every Sunday, my family of 5 drives an hour south to spend the day with my maternal grandparents on their ranch. My mom is the oldest of 6 siblings, and 2-3 of them are usually there with their families as well. Everyone tries to come every week, but naturally, some of us can't always make it (e.g., I have this thing called college I have to go to). But this past Sunday marked not one, not two, but THREE birthdays: my grandmother's, my uncle's, and my cousin's. So everyone came. Because they are required to. Because we are Mexican, and there is no greater guilt-tripper than a Mexican mother, except maybe a Mexican grandmother. I know this because I have both. (don't get me wrong, it's not like we're going against our will--we enjoy ourselves!)

Our family is still expanding, as there is a 20 year gap between my mom and my youngest uncle and we're all constantly getting married and having babies and so are all our families-in-law. So there's usually 25-30 people at just our "immediate family" gatherings. This is my grandma (or Abuelita as I've always called her) grilling steak, chicken, I think turkey and also some kind of other very small bird (a pigeon or something?). This is about a quarter of all the meat she grilled that day.

Grilling for birthdays is the only time I actually see my abuelita cooking. Otherwise, all I ever see is her pulling finished dishes out of the oven. Where do they come from? When does she make them? Where does she find the time? How does she do it?? Nobody knows. I hope I find out, as I'll most likely have to do this for my own family someday (my mother is the firstborn daughter, and I'm her firstborn daughter, and I think I'm starting to inherit her sense of responsibility for everyone). I don't dread it; I'm a little anxious, but I actually can't wait.

It's a Mexican thing. We want our whole family by our side and we want to feed them all until their stomachs hurt.

I suppose I should probably focus on graduating from college first before worrying about how I'm going to feed my giant family someday. :)

My Parents' Pumpkin Pie

It's October! Orange October, to be precise. The Giants won the World Series last night (for the second time in three years!), and as a Bay Arean I'm pretty ecstatic. Maybe not as ecstatic as the crazies currently lighting bonfires in the streets of San Francisco, but really, who knows if they even watched the game. Observe Sergio Romo and Buster Posey celebrating after orchestrating the winning pitch.

More importantly, October brings around my sweetie's birthday, my dad's birthday, my third grandmother's birthday (she's honorary), and Halloween. I'm going to be a pirate this year and my costume is delightfully slutty. What's Halloween for, anyway? (Note: I know what it's for. Let me have this one).

Anyway, in celebration of my dad, I asked him if he would teach me how to make his signature pumpkin pie. See, my mom is usually the primary chef, but there are two occasions when my dad takes over the kitchen: 1) to cut pineapples, and 2) to make pumpkin pie. He gladly set aside some time on Saturday afternoon to make one with me. We ended up making two, the only differences being that he pressed the crust on one and I did the other. It took A LOT longer than I anticipated--not that I minded--because we worked from scratch, meaning we took two whole pumpkins, sliced them up, scraped out the seeds and steamed them for an hour to make the puree.

I would readily give the recipe, as it turned out delicious, but in the process of making this pie I learned that it was not really mine to give. This recipe is not just my dad's; it belongs to both my parents. They have tweaked the traditional recipe (hint: the crust is very low cholesterol)and improved it and have used it for years, and it is always a hit. Only my parents make this pie. And now, so do I.

This just reaffirmed my belief that my family is the best family in the world, and that my parents' marriage is exemplary, for lack of a better word (perfect? enviable? unique? happy? functional?). Why? Because this is not just my mother's recipe, handed down from her mother in a traditionalist fashion. This is not a store-bought pie, lacking in love, time, and teamwork. This is not just any old pie out of any old cookbook. My parents created this together, lovingly, happily, through many years of steadfast commitment. They created a pie that they both loved (and apparently lowered their cholesterol intakes by doing it), regardless of what "grandma's recipe" called for(although don't tell my grandmas I said this!). They worked together to create a recipe that worked and produced delicious results, and have used it ever since. My parents are a perfect team.

What is this all a metaphor for? If it isn't already obvious: their marriage and our family. My parents are self-sufficient, open, caring, and though they come from drastically different backgrounds, their core values are the same. They built our family from the ground up through hard work and teamwork and an unconditional love for each other. They created an ideal recipe and constantly make improvements to it, which in my opinion is the perfect recipe--one that is delicious, but always open to betterment. Someday, hopefully, I'll follow in their footsteps and make my own.

And there is my delicious pie. Or rather, my parents' delicious pie. Or maybe--our family's delicious pie.

As we were laying down the crust, the trickiest part, my dad told me: you won't get it right the first time. I messed up plenty of times when I first made it, and had to start all over. But with practice, you'll get it. I like to think he was talking about something bigger than pie.

Happy October, everyone. I love my family. ♥

Am I Alone?

Carried away
On the wings of a whisper,
A whisper does not
Mean a thing
If so uttered;
A word written late
Is not but a stutter.
What can I believe?
My insides? They churn.
Yet my head doesn't burn.
Will I flow like the river,
Or lie like the sea?
Will I stumble like fire?
Who knows what I'll be
When the dust clears.
Who knows what I'll make him
What in him I'll change
His mind knows no silence
When out rings my name.
He will remember,
As surely will I.
The unknown is this:
Will we be side by side?



You are never alone.

Veggie Quinoa, Teriyaki Chicken & Kale Salad

As a college student, eating healthy and often takes some effort. I don't own a car (by choice really, so I can't complain), have a limited grocery budget and live at least a 30 minute bike ride from the closest health food store. I have had to make do with Safeway, which has made me a pro at deciphering food labels.

Anyway, I try and eat as well as I can, and I stay away ALWAYS from the processed, artificial, etc, but I still get really excited when I get to eat a wholesome, healthy, balanced meal. Enter my delicious Thursday night dinner.

Here we have enough fiber, protein, vitamins (largest concentrations: A, B, B2, and K) iron, etc etc etc to transform any old gal into a supergirl (and guys too, yeah yeah). It is very low in fat, almost all organic, and uber yummy. This is my go-to dinner: I've made it so many times and with such varied ingredients that I can whip it up in like 35 minutes (approximately 25 minutes cooking time, 10 minutes prep). I'd say that's pretty good. Oh, the recipe? Right here.

So if this was a baked good, I would give you very specific instructions. However, I believe that cooking should be done a little more by feel. I mean, how do I know if you want carrots in your stir-fry? So instead of a traditional recipe, I've written general guidelines. Enjoy!

For the quinoa:
1. Tri-color quinoa is the one I buy. You can get it almost anywhere. To cook it, the proportions are 1:2; 1 cup of quinoa to 2 cups of water. For fluffier, moister quinoa, go by 1:3.
2. One thing you have to know about quinoa is that it absorbs EVERY flavor of what you cook it with. After bringing the water to a boil and adding the quinoa, I add lots of salt and pepper. Then, when it has just nearly absorbed all the water, I add 1 cup of diced tomatoes (with juice). This achieves the same moist, fluffy quinoa as 3 cups of water, but infuses it with tomato. Yum!
3. While it's absorbing the tomato-y goodness (in a medium saucepan), I add stir-fried veggies. These are often leftovers for me, and this is a great way to re-use them. To make stir-fried veggies, heat a few teaspoons of oil in a sautee pan. Always add onions, garlic, and mushrooms first. When the onions begin to soften, add any other veggies you'd like: carrots, bell peppers, etc. Keep on medium to medium-low heat and DO NOT LEAVE ALONE. Stir often.
4. After adding the veggies, I wait for the quinoa to fully absorb the tomato juice. Then I turn off the burner and remove the pan from heat.
5. You can add anything you like to this--herbs, veggies, leafy greens, etc. It all depends on what you like. It can be a bit tricky monitoring two pans at once, so if time is not an issue, keep both on medium-low heat to avoid burning.

For the chicken:
1. This recipe works well for boneless, skinless chicken breasts and thighs. These are also the leanest parts of the chicken (thigh slightly leaner than breast).
2. Heat olive oil in a pan and dump in about a half cup of diced onions and at least a clove of garlic. This will serve as a bed for the chicken. (how cute)
3. Choose your favorite Teriyaki sauce. Cut chicken into pieces about the size of your palm and smother with the sauce. Lay on top of slightly carmelized onions, and pour another 1/2 cup or so of teriyaki into the pan (enough to cover the bottom).
4. Cover and cook on medium for 20 minutes, turning the chicken every 5. After 20 minutes, leave the lid off and cook for another 5-10 minutes. To check if it's ready, cut into one of the pieces. White, fall-apart meat on the inside is what you want. It's done!

For the kale salad:
As this is a salad, you can put together the ingredients in any order you'd like. This one has:
-raw kale
-pumpkin seeds
-sesame seeds
-sunflower seeds
-sunflower greens
-red onion
-lemon juice
-olive oil
And it is delicious! I'll let you experiment.

Note: this IS a lot to make in one night, at least for me. Leftovers are your friend! Also, buy organic whenever possible (or harvest organic! Gardens are also your friend).

Rocker

Music has, is, and always will be a vital part of my being. Only a song could possibly possess the means to explain why.

While music of every genre has made its way under my skin--jazz, symphonic metal, soul, folk, R&B, blues, classical--my soul is rock'n'roll through and through. Old time rock'n'roll. That's the stuff that really makes my bones tingle. And of all that old time rock'n'roll, Led Zeppelin is the one that I can say is my all time favorite band (CocoRosie, you are a close second).

If you want to rock out and hear some amazing riffs:




If you want to be gently carried away on currents of guitar strings, and maybe cry:




If you have half a brain I recommend you listen to all four. With any luck, something deep within you that you never knew was there may stir, and sing something back.

Am I Art?

Am I naked? You'll never know. My hair is my clothing and my skin is my makeup.
(I may, in fact, be wearing a dress with a plunging neckline)

Doodles

These are the Treblepeople. They are born from a floating treble clef and enter the Peoplemaking Flower as little spirals. The spiral-babies make their way through the stem-tunnels and in time get spit out as full-grown stick figures. They landed unexpectedly on my hand today in my Computer Science class and their only goal was to get to the tree on my thumb. Twas a long journey, but some of the little guys actually made it.

Sometimes I think: maybe I should take an art class. That way when I doodle, I will actually be doing what the teacher wants me to do. Then again, what is art if it can be taught? I think I'll look for a relatively unstructured one to fit into my class schedule. Wish me luck!

Love, Doodlegirl

My Little Muffins

Dear future Juliana,

A couple days ago you made your first batch of really delicious muffins. Perfect little pop-out-of-the-pan, pillow-top puffs of palpable pleasure. Okay, you may be flattering yourself a little bit, but in case you ever forget your recipe (all 10 ingredients of it), here it is.

Ingredients:
2 cups flour
1/2 cup white sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
3 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 egg
1 cup milk
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup chocolate chips

You know what to do. Preheat the oven to 425*F. Mix the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl; whisk the egg in a separate small bowl and then add milk, vegetable oil and vanilla. Make a well in the dry mix and pour the wet mix in all at once. Stir lightly and quickly until batter is moistened, but leave lumpy. Gently fold in chocolate chips. Generously grease a muffin pan or line one with muffin cups. Fill cups 3/4 of the way full with the batter. As soon as you place them in the oven, lower the temperature to 400* (the higher initial temperature allows them to dome). Set the timer for 20 minutes and then check on them (or really, check on them constantly); if the tops are not yet golden, leave for another 3-5 minutes. If they're golden? Take em out, let em rest a few minutes, and bring them as a gift to someone you love, because or else you'll eat them all yourself within the hour.

Remember, you have to find a healthier alternative to this recipe. Next time try substituting:
Half a banana for the egg
7/4 cup whole wheat flour for 2 cups white flour
Less sugar all around, and maybe honey instead
Applesauce for vegetable oil (but still add 2 tsp of the latter for texture)
Blueberries for chocolate chips


Get on it girl! And go for a run! And yes, you did steal that picture from Google, because you forgot to take a picture of your own muffins. Be a more diligent documenter, please.

The Words I Have To Write

Yesterday--or rather, this morning at 4:30 am--I was refused by a sorority.

I am not a "sorority girl". Neither do I have stick-straight blond hair and big boobs and a tiny nose. I am one of those girls who has always had two or three close girlfriends, and the rest of my friends were guys (it's 100% on the mark that I get along with them more easily).

This particular sorority is different, though. It's not national or Panhellenic. It's local, Santa Cruz-y, with a real emphasis on genuineness, made up of mostly highly intelligent brunettes. At least, this is the perfect image I got of them when I rushed them my freshman year.
Oh, yeah, I've rushed them before.
My first week every in college, before I was settled, before I knew anyone, I put on my eyeliner-heavy sorority face and only spoke when spoken to. I easily did not make it; they didn't know who I was, because I didn't put myself out there. I was a little wounded but I moved on.

The next rush, some of my friends got in, and so when this year's Fall Rush rolled around last week, they convinced me to rush AGAIN. I was skeptical, but I decided to do it. I went to three nights of events and felt I connected with all these girls. Then I get a call this morning where they mispronounce my name and tell me that "due to the high volume of rushes we cannot ask you to come back for interviews tomorrow". Okay.

And you know what? I felt the pang of rejection and tossed and turned for a few minutes, but I had prepared myself for this. I've grown since last year; my life will not end because of a sorority. I figured that if I got asked back, then they like me and I like them, and it'll be a good match. If not? Well, I was completely 100% myself and presented them with exactly who I am, so if they didn't like me, then it's just a sign that we weren't meant to be friends. I could've faked it, but who wants to fake it forever? Too much work.

In short, I am myself, and I am proud of who I am, and with this attitude I can only make the right choices with the right friends. No, the sorority was not the right choice for me, but am I sad? Let down? Angry? None of those things (just a little peeved they pronounced my name wrong). In fact, now I have freed up my time to a) focus on my schoolwork yadayadayada,
b) make muffins for my new neighbor,
c) join the sailing team,
d) write an article for the school's environmental magazine,
e) cook with the medieval and renaissance club,
f)have time to visit my boyfriend often,
g) make some herbal concoctions I've been dreaming about,
h) have time to work out,
i) write my first computer program,
j) try out new recipes,
k) visit my family,
l) make my own dress.

I didn't even realize I can now do all that until I wrote it down just now. Wow. No, I am not exaggerating as to how much time being in a sorority (especially pledging one) takes up.

Well this certainly turned out for the better.

Update: upon seeing their new pledge class, many of whom I know, and doing some reflecting on what the sisters shared with us, my roommate and I realized that this sorority does not accept strong personalities. Rather, they take the shy, sweet, malleable girls and mold them into what they wish. They appear to turn out nicely by the time they're done, and hey, to each their own, but I'll keep my unwavering independence and outspoken quirkiness, thank you very much. Not feeling bad about this anymore. In fact, feeling a)relieved and b)more sure of who I am than ever. Now to do some homework.

Real Life Magic; Sleep

I get carried away by fantasy and impossibilities. Fantastical other-worlds, three limitless wishes, mermaids, trees with hearts and voices; all these things are ever-present in my mind, laughing, fluttering stewards of my imagination.

But what really makes my heart skip a beat? The incredible truths of reality: the ones that make you redefine what magic means to you, the ones that make you shelve your fantasies for a moment.

While our imaginations have the ability to stretch infinitely with very little effort, perceptible stretches of reality are only ever small; thus their rare presence, no matter how un-magical they are compared to the dryads dancing in the forests of my mind, is astounding.

They are those moments when something you worked hard for pays off, and you realize your own strength;
when mother earth reveals herself to you in a way that only you can perceive;
when the complexity of our biological composition and the way it makes us feel (sex, runner's highs, even incredible sadness) causes you to realize you are your own largely undiscovered world, with surprises, pleasures and pains around every corner.

One of the real things that fascinates me the most, and constantly connects me with this ever-present, all-natural magic, is sleep. A few hours ago I woke from a wonderful night's rest, feeling almost guilty as to how well I slept because my boyfriend wasn't there (I usually sleep best when he's with me). I know why I slept so well: it's simply because I had a long, busy day yesterday. I woke up at 6:30 am and was going going going until 9:30 pm, when I finally got back to my apartment. I did some homework, ate some noodles, watched a cooking show, read about herb gardening, and by the time I got in bed, I must have been fast asleep within five minutes.

How amazing is it that you can be unconscious, immobile, maybe enjoying a nice dream (more on this in a moment), and your body is preparing itself for the next day of your life all on its own? Sleep makes you happy, healthy, and here; by that I mean that when you are well rested, you are 100% present, ready to meet your day and the people and places in it with confidence and clarity.

I probably appreciate sleep more than most because I suffer from sleep apnea. The maturation of my body over the last year has actually (miraculously to me, though the doctors predicted it) caused me to grow out of the worst of it, but every once in a while I have a terrible night's sleep that takes me back to my hazy high school days. I actually dropped out of high school for a while when I was 16 because I slept so rarely it made it impossible for me to go to class.

Sleep has the power to restore us, to rejuvenate us, to wipe clean the slates of our minds, to encircle us in unconscious comfort, to render us vulnerable yet indifferent, to keep us alive.

And then there are dreams. Worlds fabricated by your own mind where you can do anything you wish, anything, without disturbing any real people (or being subject to their opinions). You can completely immerse yourself in one, touch, feel, move--albeit in a strange way, and often I can't move in dreams--see, and sometimes even smell and taste. How awesome is that?

In short, sleep is magic; real magic. To prove that I am not the only one who believes this, here are quotes by some pretty rad (understatement) people who seem to agree with me as to the power of sleep and dreams.

“Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn.”
― Mahatma Gandhi

“I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?”
― Ernest Hemingway

“You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.”
― Dr. Seuss

My Eden

I found heaven today.

After a relatively productive morning of waking, coffee-making and a trip to the next town over for a personal appointment, I was left sitting here on this couch at 1 o'clock in the afternoon wondering what in the hell I was going to do with the rest of my day. After weighing a few options I decided to run down to Natural Bridges State Beach, approximately 1.2 miles down the hill from my apartment. This is new for me: I usually run loops around neighborhoods. This was a destination run.

As usual, I took a wrong turn, and instead of getting to the state beach, I found myself running down a highway, left on a residential street, over abandoned train tracks, and into a vast expanse of gardens, farms and wildflowers. Off in the distance, I could see the ocean. I ran ran ran.

I ran ran ran and, finally, I came to a stop at the edge of a cliff. No one was around. Far in out in the waves I could make out a lone surfer, but as far as I was concerned it was just me and the ocean, crashing and bashing against the flat, stage-like rocks below me.

It was too steep to get down to the beach, so I sat on a bed of ice plant at the edge of the furthest reach of the cliff and I closed my eyes.

First it was before me, and then suddenly it was all around me, and then it was within me, and then we were one.

I have never felt so utterly at peace in a physical place, so it follows that this place goes beyond the physical and expands to lap against the sea-rocks of my spirit. That is what this seashore is to me: it is my spirit place. My temple. I sat there with my eyes closed for at least twenty minutes. Maybe it was more. I could have sat there forever, and something tells me that when my body is no more, that is what I will do.

I obviously can't disclose the location of my heaven but, to give a general idea of how beautiful it is, this photo was taken a ways down the shore.

Coffee coffee coffee

This is my coffee mug. Isn't it lovely?
I FINALLY found time over the weekend, when I was back home, to go get my coffee beans. I will of course drink coffee from anywhere, because I'm an addict (It's out there now), but when it comes to the one I brew at home in the mornings, I'm a little picky. After all, at that point, I'm buying the beans by the pound.
I get my favorite blend from Philz Coffee, a drip-only coffee shop in San Francisco and Palo Alto. Every "cup of love", as they call it, is completely customized for each person who walks in. My last two years of high school I went in there every single morning (on birthdays and Christmas and other holidays, my family would get me Philz gift cards to support my habit). When I walked in, sometime around 8:30, my usual barista would yell "Philtered soul! Lots of cream and sugar!" at the top of his lungs. Yes, they memorized my drink of choice.

That was back when I a) liked my coffee incredibly sweet and b) smoked. My favorite thing to do was to sit at one of their outdoor tables and drink my coffee with some 27's. Nowadays, I take my coffee almost black and, as of about a year and a half ago, I've been smoke-free. (yay!).

Anyway, if anything I love coffee more now. I have this wonderful little collection of mugs from Goodwill that I'll be drinking from this year (my parents wouldn't let me take any mugs from home). The one above reminds me of a faerie garden. I swear, left to my own devices I would start a coffee cult. This is my holy vessel out of which I drink my blessed beverage. GOD I LOVE COFFEE. Love, the coffee faerie (new blog name alert...must resist constant switching of titles).

Two Roads

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

-The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost

This poem is probably one of the most well-known of our time, or at least the last three lines are. "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference".
I believe most people take that to mean that the "road less traveled by" is the better one; that it was the right choice. But does he ever really say that? No. He simply states the obvious: that it has made all the difference.
While collecting a few things from my family's overstocked garage today, I found, in a box that looked much older than it is, my acceptance letter to Sarah Lawrence College. It was mostly typed--"you are among a distinguished group of students", blah blah blah--but there was also a handwritten note from the Dean of Admissions.

Welcome, Juliana. I hope SLC is as transformative as Middle College was for you.

Middle College was the half-high school, half-college, alternative-education program I was a part of my last two years of high school. It was indeed transformative, and it ultimately allowed me to graduate with my class.
For two years Sarah Lawrence was my dream. It was small! It was in New York! They were so alternative they didn't even have dorms or majors (technically)! As a writer, SLC appealed to me the way that Cal Poly appeals to an engineer, or NYU appeals to a film student, or LSU appeals to an aspiring NFL quarterback. SLC would allow me to design my own major, to benefit from the opportunities of New York City while living in a sheltered, fairytale-like campus in Bronxville. There was no other place I could see myself happier. It was, by a long shot, my first choice.

I was accepted, and I didn't go.

Hard as I try, reason after reason that I feed myself and those who ask, I can't figure out exactly why I chose UC Santa Cruz, my current school, over SLC. Maybe it was because UCSC was my first acceptance, and it was in California (no east coast weather to deal with), and it was close to my family, and, perhaps most importantly, my boyfriend.

Yes, nearly everyone will tell you, DO NOT base your school choice on your significant other. I like to think that I didn't. After all, I did fall in love with Santa Cruz as well when I visited.

Oh, there's another thing. I never even visisted Sarah Lawrence.

My parents were more than happy to get on a plane with me and go see this dream school that had somehow decided I was a perfect fit for them. After a few days of avoiding the question the words came out of my throat like glue, slow and stifling and painful. I don't want to go.
They were confused, I'm sure. Why this sudden change of heart? But to my surprise, they accepted my choice without many questions. They let it go after a few days.

Sarah Lawrence would have been the road less traveled by. Most of my fellow high schoolers didn't even know where or what it was (although let me assure you, my teachers did, and they loved that I wanted to go there). SLC is very small and very intimate and it takes a certain type of person to want it. I thought I was that person. Even though I didn't go, I will always have a special place in my heart for Sarah Lawrence, who wanted me as much as I once wanted them, who validated my talent for writing in a way that no one else ever will. I did not attend, and a part of me will always long to know how my life would have turned out differently if I had. I did not attend, but I can assure you that in this moment, I am happy with my life. More than happy. To me, in its evolving imperfection, my life is perfect.

So I'd like to amend the last few lines of this poem to fit me. Yes, by most people's standards, I took the road most traveled by. I went to a big California public school close to home, instead of journeying across the continent to attend a small, private liberal arts school in a land of ocean sunrises, sweltering summers and snowy winters. But this poem, or at least its public interpretation, assigns a negative connotation to the road most traveled. I wish to challenge that.

Two roads diverged in a wood.
I took the one that called to me,
The one that reeled me in
Though the other sang so sweetly.
I took the one most traveled
Yet my footsteps are my own.
I took the one most traveled,
But my own seeds I have sown.
Many roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one that called to me
And that made all the difference.

-My Own Road, by Me.

A Traveler's Comforts

Riding a train, drinking an overly sweetened cappuccino (I've gone over to the dark side and prefer my coffee bitter), reading Vogue, thinking that if I ever had to look like another person, it'd be Keira Knightley.

Homemaking Altar & Beautiful Minds Sing Alike?

Well, I'm settling into my new apartment. While things are by no means perfect, I think we're off to a good start. I'm finally comfortable enough to sit down and write, so here comes a long long post.
My wonderful roommate (E)is just as OCD as I am, if not more, and while I think we get slightly annoyed at each other sometimes because of it, it usually works in our favor and I love her all the same. We're great at keeping our apartment clean and also at making it feel homey. Observe, our altar to the homemaking goddesses:

Surprisingly, this is the only area in our apartment that we didn't plan out before moving in. It just kind of came together. On the left is a bouquet of flowers illegally cut from around our complex by E and I in the dead of night, placed in a vase I collected from goodwill. In the back is a rather eclectic painting my parents found at a garage sale, one that I'm starting to grow quite fond of. In front of it is a sunny little platter from a secondhand antique store; it's scattered with rose petals and in the middle we placed a little white Malayan Coco candle I picked up last year from a cute boutique in Paia, Hawaii. And of course, to its right, E's copy of The Joy of Cooking opened to a page of tomato sauce recipes (on my list to try: octopus pasta sauce). This collection of treasures rests atop another garage sale find by my parents, a one-drawer table in like-new condition (where do my parents find these things?!).

End my detailed account of items on a table. This is probably the part of our apartment (or dare I say, home) that E and I are most proud of. After all, it adds the beauty element to my criteria for a well-rounded home: clean, beautiful, functional, and comfortable.

Now, completely unrelated to the previous topic (or is it?): over the past couple years I've become completely obsessed with--for lack of better words (I'm sure they would find better ones)--soulful, powerful, female musicians. They are by no means from a single musical genre or era: among them are Simone Simons of Epica, Etta James, Tarja, old Nelly Furtado (revived from my elementary school days), Sharon Den Adel, Tracy Chapman, Sierra and Bianca from CocoRosie, Corinne Bailey Rae, Hannah Fury, Diana Krall, and Fiona Apple. To polish off the list are these two beautiful women.

Imogen Heap, and

Emilie Autumn.

Yes, I chose photos that depict them from the same angle, and maybe I can safely say there are similarities in their musical style, but it would be wrong to say that these ladies are like anyone but themselves. They are individuals among individuals; completely one-of-a-kind, inspired by things I only hope I can see too one day. Yet while I was listening to them recently, I realized that two of their songs, Castle Down by Emilie and Candlelight by Imogen, sound suspiciously similar.





The majority of Castle Down is played in a minor key, while Candlelight is predominantly major, but other than this their melodies--especially the down-up up-down of their choruses--are practically interchangeable.

Now, with any other musicians, I would assume that one had simply copied the other (here I would think Imogen's song is the original, as hers was released in 1998, while Emilie's was released in 2003). I would have a little laugh and shake my head at the music industry and move on with my life. But the fact that Imogen Heap and Emilie Autumn are so utterly unique, both musically and personally, makes me wonder if more is going on here. No, I don't have any logical theories at the moment. I will soon. Stay posted.

A Little Green Amidst the Gray

Yesterday, I moved into my first apartment. It's both wonderful and terrifying, and my pots and pans haven't even gotten here yet, so I'm feeling a little lost.

So you can imagine how grateful I was when my dad came by today (I moved about an hour south of my parent's home)and arranged this little herb garden for me, tapping into the apartment complex's watering system (legality questionable) and setting up little sprinklers. I proceeded to run back and forth between the patio and the kitchen at least 20 times to water them, as I don't have a watering can and was giving them tapwater with a very small creamer cup. Behold, my first herb garden!

From left to right: chives, rosemary, sage, tarragon, cilantro, Italian parsley, and more Italian parsley. They make this place feel a little more like home, and I can't wait to raise these little guys and use them in my cooking :)

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon!

I don't read enough.

I write plenty; too much by some people's standards. I can't stop writing and I never want to. It's how I let my soul out. But I need to read more.

I am a book lover by every definition of the word. I still read a good amount, but I want to return to the way I was when I was little. Since I could read on my own, I stayed up late in my bed with a neat little reading light poring through lines and lines of wondrous stories, opening up new worlds and giving new meaning to my own. Other kids got in trouble for staying up too late watching tv; I got in trouble for staying up too late reading.

In the mornings, my dad would lift me out of my top bunk bed before school (I've never been a morning person) and set me down in a fluffy emerald armchair in the living room with my blankie and the book I was currently reading (usually the one they had taken away the night before so I would get some sleep in).I would read as long as I could until it was time to go to school.

I never read those silly, fun-but-shallow, overridden-with-onomatopoeia books targeted at young kids with no interest in literature (I'm talking about you, Animorphs). My more popular choices included The Little House on the Prairie(I was in love with the whole series), Nancy Drew, Harry Potter, and Hans Christian Andersen books (I still have my first copy of The Little Mermaid; the original). Anything with fairies or princesses or magic was fair game. The American Girl books were an addiction. I loved Josefina, who was Mexican, like me, and Samantha, who lived in this beautiful Victorian house and had a parlor and ate petit fours and had tea time with her grandmother.

The point of this rant is that I don't read like that anymore, and I want to. I've gone through every J.R.R. Tolkien book; The Silmarillion was the last full novel (I hesitate to call it that) that I read. So here is my newest challenge, though it's really more like an indulgence:

I'm about to crack open this beautiful old book.

Yes, this is The Complete Works of Shakespeare. It belonged to my father, who acquired it in college from someone apparently named "Kayle Mack", or so it reads on the left inside cover.

I've read Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth through and through and seen plays and numerous adaptations of those and Twelfth Night, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, The Taming of the Shrew, As You Like It, and Much Ado About Nothing. But what I really want is to read his complete works and really try and understand Shakespeare. My first step is reading about Elizabethan England, to understand the world he lived in; then I'm going to choose a play and start reading.

Here begins the maturation of my relationship with Shakespeare. I'm going to try and read a play a month. Wish me luck!

And to close, a mouthwatering picture of a film version of the playwright, from Shakespeare In Love. He is possibly the only movie character I have ever become truly infatuated with, and to be fair I think I fell in love with Gwyneth Paltrow's character as well (one of my favorite movies).

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished:
For never was a story of more woe,
Than this of my neglect of reading.

Apartment #2: Update

I just bought my very first cookware set.
All by myself! I had been looking for a simple, reasonably priced set of pots and pans that was NOT non-stick: that stuff is toxic (can't be used at high temperatures without releasing perfluorooctanoic acid, a known carcinogen, and other toxic compounds) and unnecessary (I'll spend that extra ten seconds scrubbing my cookware, thanks very much). Enjoy this image below of a burning pot emitting deadly fumes.

My best option was stainless steel, and I finally found that beautiful set, identical to the first one my parents ever purchased (!).

It's a 7-piece set from the Revere 1400 Line, which is a great brand according to myself, my father and Consumer Reports. Brands are not usually something I pay attention to/care about, but this is the notable exception.

Speaking of high-quality things: my wonderful parents completely surprised me by buying me a new, full-size posturepedic bed complete with a frame and everything! Things-bordering-on-unnecessary are not usually paid for by my rents. They cover housing, my education, and food; everything else I am expected to pay for (as it should be). I feel so spoiled. I tried it out today and I feel like I am lying on my own little cloud (or big cloud, as it were; I've slept on a twin my whole life and a full-size feels giant).

Almost everything on my master list is accounted for now. So close!

Apartment Packing!

In about a week, I move into my new apartment and start my sophomore year of college (I still feel like a 16 year old. It's weird). I am excited beyond belief. My roommate is perfect; she was my freshman roommate and somehow we were matched up perfectly and became best friends. We're both obsessed with food and crafty things and the like.
Throughout the course of the summer, we've realized how much work and money goes into furnishing an apartment (at least to our standards, which I admit are a little high for college students). We lucked out with a two bedroom, one bath apartment with a standard sized living room and kitchen (although, being the avid chefs that we are, ideally the kitchen would be 19039845 times bigger). So it's not like we're furnishing a studio apartment here. No, we need to think about five rooms, a hallway, and a little balcony (isn't that wonderful! We're planning on having a little herb garden).
Our bedrooms are the easiest, because we're mostly just transferring our rooms in our parent's houses to this one. We already have dressers and beds and clothes. Only minor updates, if any, are needed there.
But for all the other rooms, we set out to somehow acquire couches, a dinner table, side tables, cookware, bakeware, dinnerware, utensils, drinkware, bath rugs +mats, shower curtains, lamps, cleaning supplies, etc, etc, etc, etc. That is the most compact version of the list I could give. We somehow found most of these things for good prices, at secondhand stores and from friends, and I'm currently making a master packing list. It's color-coded green and yellow: green for the things I have, yellow for the things I still need (I don't like using red on lists, it makes me anxious).
My two big challenges are a) finding a full-size mattress to go on my floor, futon style, and b)packing all my clothes.
Challenge A is a little consumerist and, I'll admit, bordering on unnecessary. I already have a twin-size bed. But sleep is my biggest indulgence, and to be honest, I don't want my boyfriend sleeping on the couch/floor every time he visits (he's a tall skinny giant and doesn't fit on my twin bed with me). I'm going to put it on the floor, futon-style, to save money on a bed frame.
Challenge B has been looming on the horizon for a long while. I have way too many clothes, a wardrobe that has been accumulating since I was 13. I have never really done a major clean out of my closet, because I get attached to material things easily (sigh), even though I don't love or wear most of what I own. So it's time. I'm planning on giving away around 80% of my clothes (maybe more), and I've been putting off the grand sorting all summer. I have to do it tonight or tomorrow if I'm going to have it done with by move-in day.

Here goes!

Like Planted Hearts

Lo! Young we are and yet have stood
like planted hearts in the great Sun
of Love so long (as two fair trees
in woodland or in open dale
stand utterly entwined and breathe
the airs and suck the very light
together) that we have become
as one, deep rooted in the soil
of Life and tangled in the sweet growth.

-J.R.R. Tolkien on his wife, Edith

He called her "his Luthien", which, if you have read The Silmarillion, says it all (he wrote an epic poem about two lovers, Luthien and Beren). They met when she and Tolkien were 19 (as she is in the photo above) and began a courtship when they turned 21. She was his muse. I would love to know more about her; to be muse to the writer of The Lord of the Rings is, to me, evidence of a great love.

Underground Supper Clubs

I recently found out about "underground restaurants". Some are more secret than others, and some are not secret at all, just highly selective (such as the 24-hour, all-you-can-eat Chinese-food-oriented Paiza Club on the 36th floor of the Venetian in Las Vegas, where you need a minimum credit line of $1000000 to get in the door). Most, like the one I found below, are like private "supper clubs"; dinner at a secret location, perhaps in someone's home, or on a rooftop in the city. Some are held by aspiring restaurant owners with limited funds, or an aversion to official restaurant regulations (read: illegal). I read about one that smuggled in and served cheese from Paris that is apparently illegal in the United States.

I'm sure I will never know every underground chef's reason for doing what they do, but it fascinates me. I'd love to go to one, especially this semi-secret one that I found, called the Wild Kitchen (http://foragesf.com/home-foragesf/). It's in San Francisco and is centered around foraged ingredients.


To get in, you have to "apply" and sign up for the email list. If they decide you're in, they tell you the date of the next dinner, and on that day, email you with the exact location. I want to do this so badly!

Blue Moon + Green Goodness

This afternoon/tonight I:

a) Gathered some chard from my garden to make a yummy little dish of greens, and surprise found some kale growing next to it

b) Went for a nighttime walk after eating too much of said greens (and other things) and remembered that today and tomorrow, there is a beautiful blue moon in the sky. There won't be another one until July 2015.

You can never stop feeding your body and your soul, even when you feel terrible.