March 31, 2012
En Route to Yosemite
We (me & three friends) have arrived in Ahwahnee, home to the Sierra Mountain Lodge Bed and Breakfast. We booked the Rose Suite and it is c-u-t-e! It comes with cat included, so we're pumped. The drive was reasonable, with pit stops for pie eating, cow chasing, and grocery buying. Take a look!
March 30, 2012
March 29, 2012
A Poem from Winter, 2011
Winged
You said her
name again.
My heart dropped,
like a bird
who’s flown too
far, and falls
right out of the
sky.
North or South
People ask me how I drive over the Santa Cruz Mountains so often, and doesn't it bother me, to drive that dangerous, windy road. It doesn't bother me. Either way, I'm going home.
March 28, 2012
Birthday, Mine
Twenty three years ago, I looked like this:
Now I look more like this:
But really, more like this:
So today was my birthday. Actually, it still is my birthday. I have 1.5 hours left to claim any ownership over this day, the twenty-eighth of March. By the way, who came up with the spelling of "eighth?" Its dumb.
Today was an ordinary day with a lot of extra love. For example, I went to the gym, and guess what was playing on the TV in front of one of my favorite ellipticals? House, one of my favorite shows. Clearly 24 Hour Fitness employees knew it was a special day for me.
Then I went to work and my boss-lady-friend surprised me by having a class of kindergartners sing happy birthday to me. Adorable. They also made me cards.
For those of you who can't read upside down, this one says "DAHLIA YOU ARE NICE AND POLITE," which is so sweet because I've been fishing for compliments on my politeness for weeks..
My boss-lady-friend also organized a huge surprise birthday card which all the kids signed. Some expressed themselves through words...
...others, through pictures.
The kids were all super sweet ("Where can I sign your birthday card?"), but not as sweet as my coworkers, who, after taking me out to tacos and margaritas last night, got me a berry pie and an orchid today!
The day was also peppered with well wishes via every mode of communication: letters (like, real ones), emails, Facebook messages, text messages, and phone calls. I was especially excited to hear from two of my best friends who are in Germany, and in Ecuador (separately, and not at the same time).
After work, I drove over the hill to la casa de mis parents. There I was welcomed by this sign:
And this beautifully-set table:
My mom made an awesome dinner of stuffed eggplants, roasted zucchini, and a fresh salad, with a molten chocolate mini-cake for dessert. After dinner, we watched videos from the day I was born, as if my birthday wasn't self-indulgent enough. Thanks for making me, guys!
An awesome day. Feeling loved, and special.
Obligatory birthday crisis is sure to come. Stay tuned for existential thoughts and questions on mortality.
March 27, 2012
March 25, 2012
Lemon Orchard
Yesterday I was invited to attend a Lemon Party. No, this has nothing to do with shock site lemon party dot org. This was a legitimate party all about lemons, hosted by the garden teacher at the school where I work. She has an amazing house tucked in the mountains with a beautiful garden, lemon orchard, and tons of open space. The party ended up being twenty or so people of all ages, and a couple of muddy dogs too. The rain fell all around the mountain and everyone crammed into the cozy kitchen to prepare their lemon-infused dishes. The menu went as follows:
-meyer mojitos
-mushroom risotto-stuffed lemons
-lemon pepper pasta with a lemon sauce
-kale salad with lemon-lime dressing
-multiple types of lemon marmalade
-lemon cake with cardamom icing and ginger ice cream
-taters with lemon and garlic and herbs
-lemon bars
-sautteed asparagus and fresh-from-the-garden chard, with lemon
...all of which were amazing! Of course, the afternoon was full of lemon jokes--"What's with the sour face?" "We're in it 'til the bitter end," and the party favorite, "What do you call an orthodox Jew drinking lemonade? Hacidic."
It was nice to spend the afternoon and evening with a new crowd of people. Everyone was genuine and welcoming, which made me feel right at home. I also love any party with includes a range of ages. There's something so familiar and comforting about having grown-ups talking over drinks with kids and dogs running around at their feet. At one point during the party, I leaned over to my friend and whispered, "This feels like Thanksgiving."
-meyer mojitos
-mushroom risotto-stuffed lemons
-lemon pepper pasta with a lemon sauce
-kale salad with lemon-lime dressing
-multiple types of lemon marmalade
-lemon cake with cardamom icing and ginger ice cream
-taters with lemon and garlic and herbs
-lemon bars
-sautteed asparagus and fresh-from-the-garden chard, with lemon
...all of which were amazing! Of course, the afternoon was full of lemon jokes--"What's with the sour face?" "We're in it 'til the bitter end," and the party favorite, "What do you call an orthodox Jew drinking lemonade? Hacidic."
It was nice to spend the afternoon and evening with a new crowd of people. Everyone was genuine and welcoming, which made me feel right at home. I also love any party with includes a range of ages. There's something so familiar and comforting about having grown-ups talking over drinks with kids and dogs running around at their feet. At one point during the party, I leaned over to my friend and whispered, "This feels like Thanksgiving."
March 24, 2012
Reactions to Two Documentaries
Last night I watched two very interesting, very different, documentaries.
The first was "Nursery University," a film about the cut-throat pre-school application process in New York City. What a trip. I had no idea that this level of pressure and prestige existed at the toddler level! The documentary followed a handful of families as they navigate the system: some of them perfectly in sync with the culture, others utterly lost and perplexed. In the end, one family got into all schools to which they applied, another got a second-choice school (a "safety school" to apply college terms) and another dropped out of the rat race altogether to attend an affordable co-operative playgroup. One of the points that I found most interesting was that many of the administrators at these saught-after preschools have no desire for the process to be as brutal and discriminatory as it is, that the pressure and competition come from the families themselves. Definitely recommend this one to anyone who is interested in education, toddlers, NYC, or overly-involved parents.
The second documentary I watched was "Dear Zachary: a Letter to a Son about his Father." I had eyed this one on Netflix for a while, but could tell from its description that it would be heavy. Last night I decided to take the plunge, figuring that if it disturbed me into insomnia, at least I wouldn't have to work the next day. And oh, it disturbed. I don't want to give away too much, but essentially its a film made by a man whose best friend is murdered. As the title suggests, the film is a memoir of the man's life made for his son, who will never meet him. The production is a little odd, but not distracting. At some points the audio cuts out, seemingly for dramatic effect; at others, the image is freeze-framed and a narration inserted. The filmmaker's intimate relationship with the incident gives him access to intensely emotional family moments, and he presents these scenes in an honest and thoughtful way. That said, this is one of those movies that will hit you at the bone. Watch it when you feel like you can handle some messed up stuff, because this one is full of 'em.
Definitely a weird cinematographic pairing. If I could, I would've switched the order in which I watched them, so that I could've fallen asleep to the sound of children playing and singing in my head, as opposed to primal shrieks of rage.
The first was "Nursery University," a film about the cut-throat pre-school application process in New York City. What a trip. I had no idea that this level of pressure and prestige existed at the toddler level! The documentary followed a handful of families as they navigate the system: some of them perfectly in sync with the culture, others utterly lost and perplexed. In the end, one family got into all schools to which they applied, another got a second-choice school (a "safety school" to apply college terms) and another dropped out of the rat race altogether to attend an affordable co-operative playgroup. One of the points that I found most interesting was that many of the administrators at these saught-after preschools have no desire for the process to be as brutal and discriminatory as it is, that the pressure and competition come from the families themselves. Definitely recommend this one to anyone who is interested in education, toddlers, NYC, or overly-involved parents.
The second documentary I watched was "Dear Zachary: a Letter to a Son about his Father." I had eyed this one on Netflix for a while, but could tell from its description that it would be heavy. Last night I decided to take the plunge, figuring that if it disturbed me into insomnia, at least I wouldn't have to work the next day. And oh, it disturbed. I don't want to give away too much, but essentially its a film made by a man whose best friend is murdered. As the title suggests, the film is a memoir of the man's life made for his son, who will never meet him. The production is a little odd, but not distracting. At some points the audio cuts out, seemingly for dramatic effect; at others, the image is freeze-framed and a narration inserted. The filmmaker's intimate relationship with the incident gives him access to intensely emotional family moments, and he presents these scenes in an honest and thoughtful way. That said, this is one of those movies that will hit you at the bone. Watch it when you feel like you can handle some messed up stuff, because this one is full of 'em.
Definitely a weird cinematographic pairing. If I could, I would've switched the order in which I watched them, so that I could've fallen asleep to the sound of children playing and singing in my head, as opposed to primal shrieks of rage.
March 22, 2012
Terrible Housemate, Santa Cruz Style
I must repent my sins, for I am a terrible housemate.
I threw away not one, but two reusable salt containers. It was an accident. And I left the heater on all night last night. That was an accident, too.
I'm sorry, Environment.
I threw away not one, but two reusable salt containers. It was an accident. And I left the heater on all night last night. That was an accident, too.
I'm sorry, Environment.
Nobody Has To Teach You To Dance
Today was "International Day" at the school where I work. Parents set up a bunch of booths representing different countries and served authentic (kinda wanna put quotes around that) food. The school also brought in some entertainment which included Taiko drumming, Brazilian dancers, and one of UCSC's talented acapella groups.
One of the songs that the acapella group sang was "Circle of Life." During the song, a group of kindergartners joined hands and started dancing in a circle. The combination was so magical, so surreal, I momentarily suspected that I was actually on the set of some feel-good family movie and we were shooting the final scene in which differences are reconciled, friendships restored, and we all join hands in a symbolic union of our fleeting mortal souls. But this was not so. This was reality.
I told my one of my lover-of-children friends (because child-lover just wouldn't fly) about this incident and he said something awesome and brilliant and insightful.
"It's genetic...The urge to hold hands and dance in a circle to Circle of Life...Nobody has to teach you that."
Think about it.
One of the songs that the acapella group sang was "Circle of Life." During the song, a group of kindergartners joined hands and started dancing in a circle. The combination was so magical, so surreal, I momentarily suspected that I was actually on the set of some feel-good family movie and we were shooting the final scene in which differences are reconciled, friendships restored, and we all join hands in a symbolic union of our fleeting mortal souls. But this was not so. This was reality.
I told my one of my lover-of-children friends (because child-lover just wouldn't fly) about this incident and he said something awesome and brilliant and insightful.
"It's genetic...The urge to hold hands and dance in a circle to Circle of Life...Nobody has to teach you that."
Think about it.
March 20, 2012
Pregnancy Documentation
On Sunday, my friend's baby girl turned one year old. I was lucky enough to be a part of the pregnancy (totally hung out in the womb) and birth, and documented much of it (but not the super-human graphic part).
For the birthday, I made a little video compilation, whose narration is in the form of a letter to the now one-year-old baby. I made the montage it in under four hours, and the ending gets mega cheesy, but here it is:
I thought I would also include the videos I made during the pregnancy. Here's the first one, which shows the very first ultrasound. Video quality is atrocious because I filmed it on an iPod. Also was not supposed to be filming in the ultrasound room, so not my best composition work. No one says no to me.
This next one features the little theme song I wrote for J&J's pregnancy. Again, singing and songwriting, not my forte, but I like babies.
This last one is from when we found out the baby's gender. Again, taken on an iPod. But I'm in this one! Which is rare for any sort of footage, video or photo.
Anyway, thought it would be fun to walk down that cinematographic memory lane. Thanks for walking with me. Or maybe you jogged. Power to ya.
Are you or anyone you know pregnant? I will document it. Entirely. Honestly, I would totally do this for a living.
For the birthday, I made a little video compilation, whose narration is in the form of a letter to the now one-year-old baby. I made the montage it in under four hours, and the ending gets mega cheesy, but here it is:
I thought I would also include the videos I made during the pregnancy. Here's the first one, which shows the very first ultrasound. Video quality is atrocious because I filmed it on an iPod. Also was not supposed to be filming in the ultrasound room, so not my best composition work. No one says no to me.
This next one features the little theme song I wrote for J&J's pregnancy. Again, singing and songwriting, not my forte, but I like babies.
This last one is from when we found out the baby's gender. Again, taken on an iPod. But I'm in this one! Which is rare for any sort of footage, video or photo.
Anyway, thought it would be fun to walk down that cinematographic memory lane. Thanks for walking with me. Or maybe you jogged. Power to ya.
Are you or anyone you know pregnant? I will document it. Entirely. Honestly, I would totally do this for a living.
March 17, 2012
Visual Poetry
I started a new YouTube account (SmallHandsVideo) to match my blog (SmallHandsBlog).
I'm going to start off by posting videos of my poems, and here's the
first one! For a written version of the poem, click here.
March 15, 2012
Kid Quote of the Day
"You're not the boss of the world, you know!"
"I know that! But I'm the ruler of all leprechauns."
"I know that! But I'm the ruler of all leprechauns."
March 14, 2012
Post-Grad Poem
I'm coming up on the one year mark since I graduated from college. During that time I wrote this poem:
Cannot Tell a Lie
Now that I’ve graduated, all my mother’s friends ask me what I want in life, and I tell them. I want a kitten. I want to get older and improve my Spanish. I want a wooden rocking chair and a porch, and I want to cut back on caffeine. I want to write all day with fine-point blue pens, and meet men between the ages of twenty-six and thirty-two. I want to be sure of myself for more than a day at a time and master Mediterranean cuisine. I want to live in France, on a farm. I want to build credit and raise goats.
So, how have I done?
-Kitten: nein.
-Older: yes.
-Improve Spanish: thought about it.
-Wooden rocking chair/porch: Nope. Crap.
-Cut back on caffeine: YES! I went from 4-5 cups of coffee a day to 1 (maaaybe 2).
-Blue pens all day: Not all day. But I have blue pens.
-Meeting men 26-32: Check.
-Self-esteem: Doing pretty good on that one.
-Mediterranean cuisine: Thanks to an awesome Mediterranean cookbook gifted to me by a dear friend, I have certainly expanded my knowledge and abilities. Wouldn't call it mastery, but its improvement.
-France; farm: no, and this saddens me a little.
-Build credit: I'm scared of money that I don't have.
-Raise goats: Logistically problematic at this point in my life.
I got five of them down. That's pretty good, right? I mean, I have the rest of my life to get a rocking chair, and a chair, and a kitten, and a goat, and a France...
March 12, 2012
Otter Puns Are Cliche
I went on a date and saw an otter. I call that a good date. From now on, instead of a doggy bag, I'm going to ask for an otter bag.
March 9, 2012
What Do You Know?
This poem is the epigraph of my second chapbook of poems, What I Know. I wrestled with the idea of having my own poem serve as the epigraph, but since the whole collection orbited around the idea of knowing, I decided to go for it.
What do you know? How do you know what you know?
Know know know.
What I Know
I feel so little
like myself;
don’t know
what I know.
What do you know? How do you know what you know?
Know know know.
March 8, 2012
Working with Kids: Funnier than Your Job
Today I witnessed a hilarious exchange between a coworker and a kid (I work with kids, it's not a random kid):
Kid: Can I have a cardboard box?
Coworker: What are you going to use it for?
Kid: To make a cardboard bong.
Coworker: To make what???
Kid: A cardboard bong.
Coworker: Like...a bongo drum?
Kid: No, a bong.
Coworker:...I can't handle this situation.
A while later I revisited the topic:
Me: Okay, so tell me again, why do you want the box?
Kid: To make a cardboard thong.
Me: A what?
Kid: A cardboard thong.
Me: Like...a flip flop?
Kid: No, a thong.
Me: I don't know what you're talking about.
Kid: You know, like, on your foot.
Me: Ah, yes, I know exactly what you're talking about.
Kid: Can I have a cardboard box?
Coworker: What are you going to use it for?
Kid: To make a cardboard bong.
Coworker: To make what???
Kid: A cardboard bong.
Coworker: Like...a bongo drum?
Kid: No, a bong.
Coworker:...I can't handle this situation.
A while later I revisited the topic:
Me: Okay, so tell me again, why do you want the box?
Kid: To make a cardboard thong.
Me: A what?
Kid: A cardboard thong.
Me: Like...a flip flop?
Kid: No, a thong.
Me: I don't know what you're talking about.
Kid: You know, like, on your foot.
Me: Ah, yes, I know exactly what you're talking about.
March 7, 2012
Poems as Posts
So a lot of what motivated me to start a blog was to create a space where I could share my poetry online. People always ask to see it, but then it gets weird because I have to choose a poem to share and then email and it just gets weird for me. This way, I choose a poem to share and then I post it and somehow that's not weird. Anyway, I would eventually like to have online portfolio of my work, but for now, this will work.
When I Was in Love
My mother said I was like the happy little girl she once knew, who went away, but had finally come back. I want to tell her I’ll never leave again, but I can’t.
March 5, 2012
Tidepools Make Me Meta
**WARNING: this blog post totally ends in a Shakespeare quote **
This weekend, the Seymour Marine Discovery Center offered its volunteers a tidepooling excursion as part of an enrichment program. I was hesitant to go because I was fairly certain I wouldn't know anyone there; on the other hand, I really did want to spend my Sunday afternoon at the tidepools, beneath the clear sky and warm sun (I just barfed in my mouth a little). I find myself confronted by this dilemma pretty frequently these days: I want to do an activity, would rather not do it alone, but don't know who to do it with. I'm trying to rise above any fear of solitude and do what I want to do, accompanied or not. And that's just what I did on Sunday!
There were about ten on us and I would say 75% were 60+. That means one person was only half 60+, but I can promise you they were wearing a fanny pack. It was incredibly entertaining to discover the tidepools alongside hella old people. Even though I was interested in what we were looking at, I also found myself wandering off on the rocks, enjoying the sun, and thinking about life's pleasures and pains (you know, what-is-love-baby-don't-hurt-me kinda stuff). But these seniors, man, they were focused: shooting off marine biology facts like pistols, arguing over what type of crab we were looking at--they were unstoppable!
I wondered if I was a totally idiot for even considering thinking about myself. I looked at these wide-brim-hat-wearing seniors and wondered, is this what happens once you've lived a complete and fulfilling life? When all this abstract crap like love, success, self-actualization has long been accomplished? You, like, think about other stuff?
There was something so pure in their delight and curiosity. I can't help but think of life's cyclical nature, and how Shakespeare said that "last scene of all...is second childishness."
This weekend, the Seymour Marine Discovery Center offered its volunteers a tidepooling excursion as part of an enrichment program. I was hesitant to go because I was fairly certain I wouldn't know anyone there; on the other hand, I really did want to spend my Sunday afternoon at the tidepools, beneath the clear sky and warm sun (I just barfed in my mouth a little). I find myself confronted by this dilemma pretty frequently these days: I want to do an activity, would rather not do it alone, but don't know who to do it with. I'm trying to rise above any fear of solitude and do what I want to do, accompanied or not. And that's just what I did on Sunday!
There were about ten on us and I would say 75% were 60+. That means one person was only half 60+, but I can promise you they were wearing a fanny pack. It was incredibly entertaining to discover the tidepools alongside hella old people. Even though I was interested in what we were looking at, I also found myself wandering off on the rocks, enjoying the sun, and thinking about life's pleasures and pains (you know, what-is-love-baby-don't-hurt-me kinda stuff). But these seniors, man, they were focused: shooting off marine biology facts like pistols, arguing over what type of crab we were looking at--they were unstoppable!
I wondered if I was a totally idiot for even considering thinking about myself. I looked at these wide-brim-hat-wearing seniors and wondered, is this what happens once you've lived a complete and fulfilling life? When all this abstract crap like love, success, self-actualization has long been accomplished? You, like, think about other stuff?
There was something so pure in their delight and curiosity. I can't help but think of life's cyclical nature, and how Shakespeare said that "last scene of all...is second childishness."
March 1, 2012
Personal Trainer, Party Pants, and a Poem
So, I'm getting certified as a personal trainer. What? No really, I'm getting certified as a personal trainer. If you haven't talked to me in the past two months then you probably think this is way out of left field. But its not, its out of the field that is right in front of me: my future (wow...)
For years I've been into working out and staying healthy. but recently I've gotten extra passionate about fitness, health, and sanity. I've been inspired by a class I take at the gym called Body Pump, (and yes, I do imagine ripping my wife beater down the middle and yelling BODY PUUUMP!!! everytime I say that) as well as Amanda Russell who is a mega fitness/health guru. And of course, myself. I've been inspired by myself and my ability to be an active participant in my own life. AND SO CAN YOU!
So anyway, I have to study a whole bunch of science (like, a lot of science) and then take a test and then hopefully be certified to tell people how to be active participants in their own lives. Participants....parti-pants...PARTY PANTS! I'm going to help people put their party pants on. Taking them off, however, is their own problem.
I arrived at this goal after some kickass advice my wonderful poetry professor/mentor/friend. He said, "follow your appetites." Right now I am super passionate about fitness and healthy, so I'm following that by getting certified as a personal trainer. It'll probably be a side gig, but who knows where that leads? I won't know until I get those party pants on and give it a boogie.
But don't worry, I'm not going all jock on y'all. Here's one of my poems to prove it. Its about my mom, who flew to Uruguay today, and I miss her already.
For years I've been into working out and staying healthy. but recently I've gotten extra passionate about fitness, health, and sanity. I've been inspired by a class I take at the gym called Body Pump, (and yes, I do imagine ripping my wife beater down the middle and yelling BODY PUUUMP!!! everytime I say that) as well as Amanda Russell who is a mega fitness/health guru. And of course, myself. I've been inspired by myself and my ability to be an active participant in my own life. AND SO CAN YOU!
So anyway, I have to study a whole bunch of science (like, a lot of science) and then take a test and then hopefully be certified to tell people how to be active participants in their own lives. Participants....parti-pants...PARTY PANTS! I'm going to help people put their party pants on. Taking them off, however, is their own problem.
I arrived at this goal after some kickass advice my wonderful poetry professor/mentor/friend. He said, "follow your appetites." Right now I am super passionate about fitness and healthy, so I'm following that by getting certified as a personal trainer. It'll probably be a side gig, but who knows where that leads? I won't know until I get those party pants on and give it a boogie.
But don't worry, I'm not going all jock on y'all. Here's one of my poems to prove it. Its about my mom, who flew to Uruguay today, and I miss her already.
Finally, a Love Poem
I cook with too much garlic,
the way my mother does.
The raw aroma spreads
over everything she touches.
I search for home
between the knife
and cutting board,
cut the sturdy cloves
in half, rub the juice
into my fingertips,
let it soak
into my skin.
When I brush a loose hair
from my face, I can smell
my mother, remember
crawling through cotton
bed sheets, finding her
warm body, and laying my head
by her hands as she slept.
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