Author Archives: olivia

Balancing Priorities: Looking for Secrets

I’m now officially back into the world where I spend zero personal time on the computer during the workday.  Accordingly, I have to fit all my blogging and other social media needs into my personal prime time, when exercise, family, dog walking, house cleaning, writing, reading, and that pesky schoolwork are also competing for my attention.

As such, I’ve decided that I need to cut down on all behaviors that are a waste of time.  In other words, my internet usage has to be get in and get out so that I still have time for all those wonderful things that matter more, particularly writing.  I have to admit, it’s a little depressing to walk away from my writing after getting to focus so many hours a day on it, but this is the reality for most writers, so I need to make the best of it.

What are your secrets?  How do you balance your writing life with your personal and work lives?  Do you have specific hours that you set aside during the week for writing? Do you have any tricks for helping to minimize the amount of time spent wasted on endeavors that aren’t as important on your priority list?  Plenty of people seem to write and still have rich personal and work lives… Right?!

I want my focus on work evenings to be exercise/health, dog walking, time with my husband, and writing (be it blog or novel), so I get really frustrated when I realize I’ve spent thirty minutes looking for a lost receipt or surfing through a bunch of inane chatter on Facebook.  Accordingly, my goal is as little wasted time as possible.  Relaxation does not count as wasted time, but too much internet usage does.

I think that’s my cue.  Closing laptop now.  Look forward to reading your secrets soon.

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The Birth of Our Inspiration Wall

Rome was not built in a day.  Over the past 24 hours, I’ve repeated this little mantra in my head over and over.  Why?  Because school starts in five days and my to-do list is already long enough to claim my time for weeks.  No joke.  If I did everything I wanted to for my classroom and students, I would not have time to even sleep at night.

So, I’ve been reminding myself that Rome was not built in a day.  Instead of trying to accomplish everything, (which is really impossible, because there is always something more I could do, no matter how many things I cross off my list), I am giving myself windows of time to work my absolute hardest and then giving myself a break.  I discovered last year that trying to do everything just led to burnout and made me a worse teacher.  The law of diminishing returns, I suppose.

Accordingly, as I feel my stress levels rise, I tell myself to relax, do what I can, then be happy about it.  In this spirit, I decided to make myself a little sign for my classroom wall that says simply, “Relax.”  Last year, as I navigated my first ten months on my own, I discovered an amazing little secret that too often escaped me.  While students put on shows or some other momentary chaos unfolded, I just relaxed, took a deep breath, and waited patiently before reacting.  This literally changed my teaching life, although some times it was easier done than others.

Thus, the importance of my new classroom reminder.  As I made myself this sign, I reflected on how I always make myself little positive notes around the house, my old cube, my desk at work.  Until recently, our refrigerator touted “Today is the best day of your life,” “Act like you want to feel,” and “I am grateful for _____,” all written on small notecards.  My old work computer had a sticky that said “Posture.”  You get the idea.

Thinking about these notes and what they mean to me, I realized they mean something to my students too.  During STAR testing last May, when we had to cover all instructional materials on our walls, I made little signs with motivational words, like “Believe in yourself,” “You can do it,” “Mrs. M believes in you.”  When the students walked in, I was surprised by how many little voices were reading the signs aloud, smiles on their faces.  The signs remained on the walls for two weeks and I caught their eyes tracing the words over and over again.

So, in making the relax sign for myself, I realized it was not only for me.  The students will see it too, and hopefully, they’ll internalize its message.  That’s when it occurred to me that this sign should go above our focus desk, where students take time outs in front of a poster of Machu Picchu.  This inspired me to make other signs, which quickly resulted in a renaming of this desk to the inspiration wall.  Now, I plan to invite students to contribute what inspires them, be it a few words or pictures, to hang alongside my inspirations.

New words for my evolving inspiration wall.

Hopefully these words will be inspiring to at least one student that visits the inspiration wall for a break… I’m excited to see what they add to the wall themselves.  We had a really cool class motivation collage full of pictures of their families and heroes last year.  It will be awesome if we can take the idea a step further with this wall.

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He is why I teach.

Over the summer, I hung up my teacher identity and gave myself space for everything else.  Travel, writing, life.  Today marks the return of teaching, as I sit typing at our teacher retreat up in Tahoe, where we bond and gain strength for the year ahead.  I’ll be honest, I was dreading this shift, but just like the change in seasons, it was inevitable.  Now, it’s time to make the best of it.

The good news is that the retreat works.  It reminds me why I teach.  We always begin the same way, by reflecting on why we make so many sacrifices for the children we serve.

This time, my principal put up two pictures.  Of the 400+ students at our school, she chose one of mine.  He was my biggest challenge, but he also stole my heart.  Looking at his mischievous, smiling face, I was asked to reflect on what his picture means to me in front of the group.  I could hardly hold back tears.  This student makes me feel proud to be a teacher, proud that I have not given up when it has gotten hard.  After all, in just ten short years, he has had it much harder than I can put into words here.  Harder than I will ever truly understand, I’m sure.  But, since I first met him last August, he has grown, and so have I.

I’m reinvigorated, maybe even ready for the students to return next week.  One of the best things about my job is that I get to loop with the same kids for two years, so as they move from fourth to fifth grade, so do I.  This makes me happy because that student will be mine again.  I’ll get to watch him grow some more and I’m sure he’ll teach me more about patience in the process.  He’ll test me and I’ll test him.  Together we’ll get better at school and life.

He is why I teach.

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How do you pick where you live?

Every time Alex and I get home from vacation, we want to move.  We long to live somewhere with cleaner air, maybe even a beach to run on with the dog.  Somewhere you can comfortably walk to town from your house or apartment, where the car is less important than it is in suburban Sacramento.  Our wish list goes on– less heat, more connection with the outdoors, you get the picture.

But does this place exist?

Yes, I’m certain it does, but not without trade-offs.  It probably costs more than Sacramento, not to mention that our jobs are here.  The irony, is that we already had much of what we were looking for when we lived in Berkeley, minus the right jobs.  Walkable urbanism, nearby coastline, no need for a car until it was time to drive back to Sacramento to see family.

But, therein lies the catch.  We, or as my husband likes to point out, I, wanted to come back to Sacramento all the time for family events.  My family is big and close, so there is always something worth coming home for.  Eventually, we realized we could live in a house in Sacramento and not drive back and forth all the time for the same price as our tiny North Berkeley apartment.

We also recognized that life was pretty much the same in Berkeley as it is in Sacramento– jobs, dinner, exercise, sleep, weekends.  However, ironically, we traded friends for family returning to Sacramento, as most of our close friends have now migrated to the Bay.  This trade in itself is alright, family should come first, but the idea that life is the same wherever you live is a partial truth.  In the big ways, it is mostly the same, but in little, surprisingly important ways, it’s different.

We miss walking to the grocery store, running in the Berkeley hills to stare out at the Golden Gate Bridge instead of people’s unwatered lawns.  Jumping on BART to be in San Francisco, arguably my favorite city on earth.  Our weekend jaunts to the Pelican Inn, only forty minutes to enjoy the ocean.  So many things, really.  And, to be fair, there were also downsides: expensive rent, earthquakes, small/noisy living space, mentally ill bums defecating outside our front door… Alright, Berkeley was not perfect either.

I get that life is trade-offs.  You pay more for less in places that are most desirable.  You leave behind family and/or friends to chase different priorities.  But something makes me sad about prioritizing where I live above my family.  Then again, something makes me sad about not being able to comfortably breathe the air in the city where I live, at least in summer.  Don’t get me wrong, Sacramento has plenty of aspects worth appreciating, but the smog and sprawl really crawl under my skin.

Three years into our return, we’re at a precipice.  I want to spend one more year with my same students, as I loop fourth and then fifth grade, but after that, we’re thinking of leaving again.  For where, I’m not sure.  Carmel (more likely Salinas/Monterey/Santa Cruz), Portland, Ashland… The list is just beginning to form.  But, I have this feeling, that no matter what, I’m giving something up. Either proximity to my family or those other things I value.  My mom chose Mt. Shasta, my dad lives in Sacramento.  It’s in my blood to be torn.

The compromise, of course, would be to stay but try a different neighborhood, which is something we’re thinking about doing in the interim.  Small neighborhoods, like East Sac or Midtown, show glimmers of those things we like, but we’d likely have to rent instead of own, at least to have anything comparable to where we live now.  And, it would still not fix the smoggy air or stifling summer heat, let alone the lack of ocean.  No, not all of California is on the beach, (too bad, really).

I want to know, what have you picked in life?  The familiar?  The different but far away?  How have you coped with the compromises inherent in any of these choices?  Or, did you hit the jackpot– all the friends and family you could wish for in your ideal place to live?  I want to hear about your experiences as I think through my own future choices.  At the end of the day, I know happiness exists wherever you let it, but other places still call to me, particularly those places with crashing waves.

I think my first choice of places to live would be somewhere near Carmel (above), but my husband favors even rainier places like Portland or Dublin, (yes, really).  Above all, I find myself drawn to the sea.

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Farewell Beach: Yoga, Night Walk & Poetry

Today, the last day of my summer travel, I enjoyed two of my favorite beach activities.  I awakened to yoga on the sand and ended the evening with a night walk under the stars.  The perfect farewell.

I know I’ve shared before, but if you practice yoga, I highly recommend purchasing a travel mat– they’re slimmer and easy to pack.  This morning I took my mat out to the beach after my run.  I’ve always preferred taking classes to practicing on my own, but on vacation I make an exception that is well worth it.  Not even a class can beat the feeling of practicing on the beach, staring out at the ocean.  Of course, it works best on unpopulated beaches, like those in Oregon.  Admittedly, I refuse to take out my mat anywhere with an audience.

Post-yoga with my fabulous travel mat.

Always time for one more pose off the beach… I’m telling you, beach yoga rocks, (although I can hear my instructor’s voice telling me I need to kick through this pose before I begin to lean forward… yeah, yeah, I’m working on it!).

Essential beach farewell activity number two was tonight’s walk along the shore under the stars.  Night on the beach is my favorite time, the moonlight bouncing off the sand, creating enough light to see without a flashlight.  Most of all, I enjoy staring off into the waves or up at the stars, I can never pick.  If you visit the beach before I return, do some yoga and walk under the stars for me.

Goodbye Yachats

Goodbye sun.

Farewell Beach

The tide pulls me closer,

The waves and moon magnetic to my soul.

Come closer, still

The ocean calls

One step more,

Just your toes,

Another step–

Come dance with me in the waves,

I’ll keep you safe.

Right, I think.

You’ll just drown me with your violent touch,

Instead I come to say farewell.

But you could stay,

It says.

Give me first your toes,

And then your ankles,

Come closer and we’ll become one with the stars.

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Big Girl Writing Advice Needed: The End, Again.

Sitting in the little cramped attic bedroom of our ocean house, watching out over the waves from a slanted window, I’ve finished my book, again.  When I say finished, I mean I have read it all the way through, adding to it here and there, helping it grow by another 8,000 words, better developing characters, trimming superfluous passages, you get the picture.  It now stands proudly at 67,350 words, hopefully enough to be a short novel, (although, with any luck, it might grow some more as I revisit my rewrites to make sure everything flows).

So, here is my big girl writing question– do I need to reread the entire thing again or just all the highlighted sections where I made changes or added words?

I know everyone has different writing styles, but it really helps to hear what others do as I work my way through the completion of my first book, (which is all still new territory for me).  I really want it to be the best work I’m capable of in this moment, but I also dread rereading the whole darn thing again for what would be the fourth time, imagining myself stuck in reshaping and reshaping for eternity.

Advice?

Please and thanks.

No real time for mermaids, or my less-than-stellar drawings of them, until Expecting Happiness is finished.

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Oregon Coast: The Last Hurrah (For Now)

If you’re sick of me on vacation, stop here, save yourself the irritation.  If you want to be inspired to visit the Oregon Coast, read on.  Personally, I’m trying to hang on to every last second.  My summer vacation ends Tuesday, then it’s back to my classroom, school with the kiddos the following week, and a lot less time to write.

This morning, we left Bandon for a different vacation rental just north of Yachats, which thankfully means sun, and lots of it.  We went from foggy and cold to nearly 70 degrees without a cloud in the sky.  The microclimates along the coast always amaze me, although I also realize the weather can vary greatly from day to day.

Here was my pelican friend we said goodbye to in Bandon.  He refused to move from the parking lot, poor guy.  He had to be at least three feet tall and had an audience of onlookers.

On our way up to Yachats, we stopped in Florence’s old town, which is easy to miss if your eyes are busy searching for the Pacific.  The old town is tucked away on the other side of 101, along the Siuslaw River and is well worth the stop, with dog friendly shops and restaurants.  Our dog was not with us to enjoy this perk *insert sad face*, but we still had a lot of fun shopping at the farmers’ market, buying Quiddler at the toy store, and visiting our favorite coffee shop, Siuslaw River Coffee Roasters.

See, I’m not the only one in the family with a love for murals!  Here’s my sis in old town Florence.

Check out the little dragon on the Siuslaw River, her name is Susie…

Reaching Yachats, we were not disappointed.  Sunshine and whales just beyond the waves.

If you look closely, you can see two spouts. I drove myself crazy trying to catch them breaching, my camera just wasn’t fast enough, but they put on a show all afternoon.  Funny how special it feels to spot whales, every single time.

The view from our house, and, yes, it looks like my brother is dancing on the beach.

Told you, this song has haunted me for nearly a decade. No, really, that’s not the point of this picture.  The point is that I’m stealing every last second to write in my little notebooks.

Not a bad way to end a great day on the coast, just wish I could slow it all down…

So, what makes the Oregon Coast different than closer options in California?  It’s more rugged, less crowded, and lacks the same pretentious feeling that many California beach towns project. The restaurants and lodging are cheaper, often more basic, but still get the job done, leaving more emphasis on the outdoors, with hikes where the forest meets the sea on jagged cliffs and rocky shores.  To me, the Oregon Coast is magic, something pictures and words cannot capture.

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Mermaidspiration

Staring into the turquoise waters off Kauai, our catamaran bouncing over the waves, I imagined a mermaid swimming alongside us.  She was beautiful but also frightening.  Seducing men, and maybe some women, to follow her beneath the surface.  It was then I decided to attempt my first fantasy story, a dark siren tale of two worlds, one on land, one beneath icy, deep waters.  Not Little Mermaid, or Splash, or anything of the sort.  Something more hypnotic, dangerous.

Nearly a week later, looking out at the Oregon coast, my imagination has already crafted these worlds and its two central characters, notes scribbled throughout pages and pages of my little purple notebook.  The mermaid, above, and a young man, soon to be missing to the human world, just another kid swallowed by the Pacific Northwest, little flyers posted in the towns, asking if anyone has seen him, assuming he ran away or got lost camping, like the others.

What I have learned during recent months, while finishing up Expecting Happiness, is that I have to strike while the iron is hot.  Stories come and go from my mind and in order for them to come to fruition I have to get to work immediately.  I was already researching a mainstream, realistic fiction project with a different twist on the tormented world of human trafficking.  I had it roughly outlined, but then time passed while I finished my first book and now mermaids sound more appealing.

So, even as I finish that last read through my recent rewrites and prepare to send out queries, I’m also writing about mermaids.  I fear that if I wait, this idea will be swallowed up by another.  Besides, staring out at the crashing waves beyond my window, inspiration abounds.  I just wish Expecting Happiness would finish itself, because writing is the fun part, editing/revising, not so much.  I’ll leave you with a small peak at my dark mermaid.

***

He had watched her every night for nearly a week, unable to take his eyes off her as she swam, naked in the icy ocean.  From the cover of his driftwood structure, he peered out at her, squinting to focus on her smooth skin beneath the moonlight.  The first night, he thought she was a figment of his imagination, the result of shifting light beneath the fast moving clouds.  However, each evening after he put out his campfire and retreated to the make-shift shelter, she returned.

Some nights, he could see her better than others, depending on the moon.  Tonight, the moon was full, its light cascading over the sand, bouncing back toward the sky, a dull glow.  The stars shone bright above the beach, unobscured in a rare, cloudless moment.  Carefully, he pulled himself through the opening of his crude shelter, cautious not to knock over the paddles to his kayak, worried that any noise might scare her back into the water.

He was still uncertain where she came from.  She always appeared from nowhere, as though she climbed out of the sea.  He figured she must be camping up the way, his own small bay the calmest spot to swim.  Even so, he would not get in that water without his kayak, the roiling waves and icy cold too much for most strong swimmers.  He had watched more than one surfer paddle out in a full wet suit just to be pummeled by the waves and head back in.

Still, there she was, naked, riding in on the waves, diving beneath the breaks, emerging with her long, dark hair clinging to her breasts.  She was child-like in her play, alternating between the water and the shore, chasing the waves in and out.  He thought he heard her laughing as she ran, at first quiet like a whisper, then howling, alive and wild.

In truth, he had not emerged from the structure the previous nights because she scared him.  The freedom of her body, the rawness of her loud laughter, almost animal-like.  Eventually, she would disappear, leaving him aching to touch her cold skin…

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Something Worth Remembering: Digging for Childhood Memories

The importance of childhood memories has been bombarding me lately.  First, the suggestion by a careful listener to my book that my characters needed to be softened through their childhood memories, then bird by bird underlining the importance of conjuring up the past as a writing exercise, and then, finally, listening to The Perks of Being a Wallflower on our car ride to Oregon, paying special attention to how the protagonist recalls his own childhood woven seamlessly together with his present.

So, sitting in the car with my husband, brother, and sister, caravanning with the other half of our family in the car in front of us, headed toward what is a yearly family retreat up on the Oregon coast, I decided there was no better place to conjure up the past.  As a way to pass the time, I asked everyone to share the first childhood memory that came to mind, then we dug deeper, and deeper, until finally the memories were flowing, randomly associated to the ones before, bouncing us all around the sharp and smooth corners of our childhoods.

Thinking back on my own experiences, I realized my memories are already blurred.  It is hard to distinguish between fact and fiction, between what really happened, what I was told happened, and what I probably picked up from some other stories somewhere along the way.  Throughout the past couple weeks, I have been reading Milan Kundera’s The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, which while often scattered, is also layered with the complexity of memory and how it propels us forward, even when blurred around the edges.

I’ll leave you with the first blurry memory that came to me playing this game in the car.  I invite you try the same thing with those you love or as a writing exercise.  You might find something important buried deep inside yourself, something worth remembering.

***

For a short period of time following my parents’ divorce, we lived with my aunt deep in the eastern foothills of California.  Maybe it was not that deep, but as a child it felt like it.  We were easily thirty minutes outside Placerville, which is really only a small town itself.  To reach Sacramento probably took about an hour and a half, although time is warped in childhood, so maybe it was not quite as far as I remember.  Regardless, it was a different world than my brother and I were used to.

In order to reach her house, you had to drive down a long dirt road that was covered in frogs during the late spring, precious little croaking green things that would get stuck in the tires, smashed flat across the dusty road, or worse yet, squashed unwillingly beneath your bare feet.  There were no other houses within eyesight, only trees and the kind of pond any kid would dream about.  Galoshes were a necessity for traversing the muddy banks, and a huge Border Collie, German Shepard, perhaps even Saint Bernard, mix of a dog named Muttly followed us around, keeping close eye on everything we did.

Save for the occasional encounter with a coiled, ticking rattle snake, it was a childhood heaven.  I can still smell the dusty, dry, hot earth in summer, taste all the treats my mom protested so much in the sugar drawer, feel the icy cold water of the swimming pool on my face.  But what stands out more than my tough aunt taking a shovel to a rattle snake or me coercing feral kittens to love me or watching chicks hatch or bottle feeding baby sheep was an evening spent with my dad on the steps of the wooden deck, staring up at the summer stars through a break in the large oak trees.

That night, my dad held my brother and me close, and told us to absorb this moment because it would soon pass.  I remember sitting there, just eight years old, loving my dad so much, sensing the sadness in his acute awareness of the brevity of life.  Of course, this same awareness was lacking in me then, but it was his insistence on how important that moment was that forced me to scrunch my little face together and force the memory of those stars and his love for us deep inside my brain.  To this day, this is the strongest recollection of my childhood.

New family memories in Bandon, OR

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It’s Not an Adventure Until You Get Lost

Heading the wrong direction south on I-5 tonight with no exit to turn around for miles, I reminded myself that it’s all part of the adventure.  In the past 36 hours I have flown from Lihue to Honolulu to Oakland, driven from Oakland to Sacramento, and then from Sacramento to Mt. Shasta and then Ashland.  Needless to say, I’m ready for a week of relaxation on the Oregon coast, but I’m also trying to make the most out of the time spent getting places, even when lost.

That’s the thing I’ve noticed lately, time is moving faster, and faster, and faster.  The prospect of this only accelerating is frightening.  Hawaii was gone in a second, Oregon will likely be too, I’m realizing that life is way too short to spend impatient, ever.  So, each moment I catch myself wanting to get to the next thing, I stop and remind myself that there is something worthwhile in every moment, even if it is just laughter, a little lesson, or time to reflect.  Besides, knowing where you’re going all the time can be pretty boring, both in travel and in life.

A stolen moment along the route to Ashland today, the headwaters in Mt. Shasta have a beautiful little labyrinth trail filled with streams and a place you can actually drink water coming off the mountain.  My favorite spot is a small bridge that you can stop and dip your feet in the icy water.

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Life Beyond the Computer Screen

Yesterday, I took a break from blogging, my first since summer vacation started.  After reading “iCrazy” in Newsweek while lying on Tunnels Beach, one of the most beautiful beaches in the world, I realized I have become too dependent on the public approval fed through Facebook and WordPress, the notifications popping up in little dopamine doses on my smart phone.

While I rationalize that blogging is at least part of my mission in establishing myself as a writer, the reality is that it has also become part of my greater addiction to the internet.  The number of likes and new follows either negatively or positively affects my mood after posting, (not to mention the compulsive checking of my inbox for feedback).  My solution, forced breaks, turned off email notifications, and only checking my blog when I post new material.

In just 48 hours of silence, I’ve already noticed that not receiving email notifications to my phone has made a huge difference.  Not knowing what activity I am receiving is better than the high or low of immediate reinforcement.  I no longer have the urge to pick up my phone every two minutes.  In fact, I left my phone off all day today and yesterday, save for checking for voicemails and text messages once in the morning and once in the evening.

Taking a day off blogging was also nicer than I thought, as I resisted the urge to complete my daily ritual.  That’s the thing, even on vacation, I derive satisfaction from the exercise of blogging, I am just trying to move away from it being an obsession.  So far, giving myself a little space is making it feel a lot less compulsive.  Best of all, a break made me hyper-aware of how often I think about being online or checking my inbox.  It was more often than I like to admit.  However, the more time I let pass, the less often I had the urge.

The important life reminder– I value time spent disconnected.  A big motivation in becoming a teacher was creating a life where I was not connected to a computer for work all day.  I have to remind myself this as I dive head first into the world of writing, an evolving world shrouded in technology.  If any of this resonates with you, I recommend reading the article linked above, although I’m not suggesting that it is a problem for everyone.

A few pictures below to remind you how beautiful life can be beyond the computer screen.  I look forward to reconnecting with you all next time I post!

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The Real Hawaii

I’d like to think I’m not an obnoxious traveler.  I like it all– cheap, luxury, anything in between.  Today we discovered the real Hawaii.  Not the resort or the places made to manufacture an experience.  Instead, we ate where locals eat, snorkeled at public beaches, shopped in a gritty little town where surf clothing was actually on sale instead of marked up for tourists.  We even discovered a hostel on the beach with beds for $27 a night.  No, we did not stay, but the fact that such a place exists is pretty awesome.

Sometimes I get tired of the glossy, clean, perfect version of travel.  I would have a hard time staying at an all-inclusive resort where I did not step foot off the property.  I want to know how people live in different places, I want to meet to them, to talk with them.  I especially like discovering places that are gritty, down-to-earth, without pretenses.  I get a thrill out of enjoying food that is both delicious and cheap.  Somewhere I can stand in line and actually start a conversation with someone that is not also from California.

I got my wish.  These pictures will share my finds better than my words.

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