Tag Archives: Sacramento

Thankfulness Thursday: Thanksgiving

On this, the final Thankfulness Thursday, I decided to share my gratitude for the very day of Thanksgiving itself. While my mother’s family honors our Native American heritage, we do not boycott the day. Instead, we make it our own, embracing the positive aspects of giving thanks and coming together as a family to enjoy a meal and honor abundance. We celebrated on Tuesday, sharing a feast of GMO-free, organic food in Mt. Shasta, toasting Bodhichitta and watching the rain fall all day on a blanket of orange leaves.

Today I am grateful for two Thanksgivings, one in Mt. Shasta, one in Sacramento. Two families that are really one because they are both mine. Food, laughter, love. I am grateful. Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.

A happy, rainy Thanksgiving.

Full of many reminders for love and peace…

As well as the obligatory post-Turkey hangover.

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Sunday Song: Home

Home can be anywhere. Mine is here. Yours is there. This morning I drove through the streets of Midtown Sacramento, early for an appointment. The leaves were the perfect palette of fall colors. The sun was bright. The buildings were more interesting than usual, the repurposed industrial decay alive amidst old victorian townhouses.

Last night we ate with friends in this little Korean restaurant hidden in a rundown strip mall. I expected it to be just that, a family-owned place that looked like every other. Instead, it was a portal to a different world. Inside, K-Pop played on flat screen TVs, wood paneling was decorated with graffiti, and posters promised alcoholic adventures with famous Korean singers. It was both trendy and comfortable, a delicate balance. The waiter gave us all kinds of free dishes and drinks I had never tried before. Somehow we were no longer in a suburb of Sacramento but instead in some transnational alternate universe.

Lately, I’m feeling more at home in my hometown than I have in a very long time. I’m discovering there is plenty of character if I look hard enough. Happy Sunday, happy home day.

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Cozy little blue vest.

Autumn storms in Sacramento mean chilly evenings, (you know, chilly by California, non-snowy standards).

Enter my beloved North Face down vest.

There are two things you should know. One, I have very stylish friends. Two, I’m not nearly as stylish. But, my love for this puffy, blue sleeping-bag-of-a-vest has nothing to do with style. It’s all about how it makes me feel. Warm, safe, happy.

You can ask my family. They’re likely to see me in this all winter long, (plus whatever I can get away with in fall and spring too). If I were a character in your novel, you would have to include it. I have an odd attachment to this puffy pillow of a vest that I received for Christmas last year. So odd and so strong I had to blog about it. That and I had to lighten the mood. Been a little serious lately.

Do you also have an adult safety blanket, or is it just me?

Did I mention half the teachers I know own one of these things? Wearing mine right now…

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Sunday Scatterbrain: Networking & Writing

This week has been an interesting exercise in connection making. Where I have not succeeded in getting my book out the door, I have widened my social circle to include more writers and bloggers. First, I reconnected with a childhood friend who quit his job as a lawyer to restructure his time to better allow himself to write fiction. Now he works in tech from home and writes nonstop. Talking shop with him was one of the highlights of my week– so nice to connect with another writer.

Then, last night at a work party, I talked with a writer who is working to publish his memoir about investigative journalism. His take on the publishing world and the advantages of self-publishing were very interesting. I left the conversation feeling encouraged to find a writing group to push myself to the next level.

On top of this, I boosted my online networking efforts to prepare for those pesky query letters. I reached back out to my personal Facebook community to bump up my author page likes, and then, thanks to a fellow blogger on WordPress, I discovered Sacramento Bloggers. Major score! Turns out there are a lot of women with similar interests blogging in the area. Not only has this bumped up my Facebook likes a little further, but I’m also very excited to follow their blogs and make some more connections.

Remember my little attempt at a girls’ blogging club this summer? Sacramento Bloggers has me beat. Very excited to participate!

The only downside, all of this networking stuff has eaten up some of my precious writing time for the week, leaving me feeling a bit scatterbrained as I attempt to focus. So, time to revisit the dreaded action list:

1. Enter remaining changes for last few chapters from my lovely proof-reader.

2. Get my rough query letter ready for individual agents. Submit to all 31 on my list. This was meant to be my July activity, but now it looks like my October fun. Thankfully my fall break is coming up, so hoping to get this done sometime between October 4-14.

3. Pick what’s next! I want to give myself a few weeks for this, so my goal is to be ready to join the Nanowrimo crew by 11/1 with my next story idea. I have a few in the works, just need to pick. More on that to come, I’m sure. This time, instead of trying to get 50k words out by 11/30, my goal is just to write well, with focus, for the entire month and see what happens.

Now all I need to do is stop multi-tasking and focus…

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Playing Possum

Let me tell you a little story about the wonderful wild kingdom that is my backyard in Sacramento, California.

Last night, we arrived home after dark, my dog Simon shooting straight through the back door to bark at something in the yard. Given the after dark status, we immediately started calling, “Treat, treat,” his usual cue back into the house. No luck.

Oh no, I thought, please, please don’t be another skunk. See, he always comes for a treat, unless there is something better than a treat to chase in the backyard.

Thankfully, my husband was on call to go after him, returning moments later with an unusual claim.

“Luna killed a possum.”

No way, I thought, our cat is not tough enough to kill a possum.

“Okay, better get out that man card and get to work,” I replied. Selective sexism at its best. I refuse to touch dead or half dead animals, much to Alex’s chagrin.

Moments later, Alex returns.

“Hey, umm, have you ever heard of that expression ‘playing possum’?”

“No.”

My husband then explained to me that possums are known for playing dead. Sure, I thought, wishful thinking, you just don’t want to shovel such a big, nasty creature into the trash.

“Give it some time, I guess,” I replied, doubtful.

Now curious, I peered out the back window, flashlight in hand, hopeful not to see some sort of disgusting dead possum or, worse, two creepy little eyes staring back at me. Alex did warn me its eyes were stuck open.

Instead, nothing.

The possum was gone. Apparently, playing possum is a real thing, not just something my husband made up as not to have to dispose of another carcass brought to our doorstep by Luna. Good thing Alex didn’t try to lift the poor creature into the trash. That would have been a very unpleasant surprise…

Moral of the story, if you see a lifeless possum, give it some time. Like at least fifteen to twenty minutes. You may not have to deal with it after all.

Was pretty sure this ferocious beast was not responsible for a possum death…

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Hopes & Dreams

I remember when I first started substitute teaching at a small private school in East Sacramento six years ago.  Watching all the emerging personalities, I could imagine futures. A balding accountant, a ferocious attorney, a sleek, high-paid consultant. Not only would I see their future professions, but I could see their adult personalities. Most were type A, focused, driven.

As a fresh-faced college graduate, they often complimented my Urban Outfitters apparel, then asked why on earth I would want to be a teacher. They could not possibly understand why I would settle for such low pay to work with children, even though they were children themselves. Clearly, their expectations were shaped by other measures than job satisfaction.

I can’t remember my exact response. Quite honestly, I probably still agreed with them to some degree. I never thought I’d be a teacher, let alone an elementary school teacher. I still thought I had to put my name in lights or make a fortune to be happy. Substitute teaching was my source of income while I lived at home, applied for jobs, auditioned for ridiculously doomed independent films. Travel show host, filmmaker, actress still topped my list. Lawyer had just been scratched on account of the brutal realization I did not want to sign the financial aid papers.

Of course, that was me then. Three years behind a desk making decent money but unhappy left me daydreaming about those same kids. Somewhere along the way, I realized teaching elementary school could be an incredibly rewarding and challenging profession. Which brings me to today, gluing my students’ colorful clouds with their hopes and dreams next to their pictures.

Now I am the leader of a much more eclectic bunch. Many of their dreams are big, creative, out of this world.  Not only that, but many of them want to be teachers. Reading their hopes for the future this afternoon, I could not help but grow teary. In their words, I hear myself. So many future teachers and writers in my room. You know, in addition to other things, like famous dancers and video game makers…

Putting up this wall of hopeful words was the highlight of my week.

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Blogging While Tired (BWT)

I think I have a new rule to add to my guiding principles for blogging…

Blogging while tired may be almost as bad as blogging while drunk.  I feel like I need some sort of little indicator that warns me to just give up and walk away. This week has been exhausting, not sure why, hasn’t been a bad week, but I’ve been beyond tired.  The last post I wrote took me what seemed like hours and I still was not able to really say what I wanted– had to go back and do some little cleaning last night, but even then, was too tired to really tackle it.

Then there have been all the other topics I’ve wanted to write about– a child referring to Mitt Romney as “A bad, bad man,” like a predator or the boogie man, while I tried to keep an unbiased, straight face, the less noticeable beauty of the sunset through the roof and tree-lines of the valley, (as opposed to the majestic unobstructed views shared elsewhere), an acceptance to the kind words/blogging award given over at Talkin’ Shit.  But, even today, my brain is just too tired to really piece together a meaningfully intelligent or humorous post.

So, instead, a decree.

No blogging while tired.  And, when I mean tired, I mean really tired, like when you have to read your sentences five or six times to make sure they make sense, (and then you still sit there scrunching your face at the screen, uncertain if you succeeded, allowing way too much valuable time to disappear into the black hole of the internet).

Too bad I’m already breaking my own principle. Hard to stay away. Must stop rereading sentences even if I can’t tell if they make sense. At least I can say I’ve never blogged while drunk… Although, can’t promise it would be much different.

Too tired to think of a whole post worthy of this picture, but I was struck by the reality that the sunset is only a tiny snippet of the sky where I live down in the valley.  Probably why I don’t notice it most nights… Still gorgeous last night though, the result of thunderstorms and smoke/smog/I really have no idea.

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Skunk Attack Survival Tips

In case you should ever have the same misfortune of needing to clean your dog, your home, and yourself of the putrid smell of skunk, here are a few tips.  I offer only the ones I found useful, as many things we tried, (such as tomato paste and vinegar), did not have an immediate benefit.

1.  Do not touch sprayed areas with bare hands– wear gloves!  Last night I started Simon’s third bath of the day without gloves AGAIN.  Serious brain fart.  I quickly realized my mistake, but my hands already smelled of skunk AGAIN.

2.  Do not wash everything in the washer together.  We made the mistake of throwing all our bedding in with the most affected top sheet and now EVERYTHING smells equally bad.  If some articles smell less, don’t wash them with the super stinky items.  Currently hoping that putting everything in the hot Sacramento sun for the afternoon is going to help.

3.  Baking soda sprinkled on the carpet, left over night, and then vacuumed makes a HUGE difference.  Today our house is only slightly smelly, with practically no smell in the living room or on the couch where he rolled.  Unfortunately our bedroom is ground zero, still trying to figure out what to do about that, (and sleeping in the guest bedroom in the meantime…).

4.  Coconut oil on the affected areas after bathing is the biggest secret to our success.  My mom thinks coconut oil is the answer to 9 out of 10 problems, (love you Mom!), and in this case she was correct.  It seems to isolate the spray and trap the smell.  Whereas I did not want the dog within three feet of me this morning, as soon as I put coconut oil over the area he was sprayed, (his entire head!), I could no longer smell him unless I put my nose up against his fur.  HUGE IMPROVEMENT.

I’m sure all the other tricks help to some degree or another, but those were the four that in conjunction with frequent bathing worked the most for us.  I was tempted to go to hot yoga and sweat out the oils, but then thought better of it.  Pretty sure they’d ban me from ever returning.  The good news, went to Saturday School (our version of back-to-school night) today and no one could smell me, (and, they all seemed to really enjoy my story).  Coconut oil for the win.

Hope you never need to unearth this post in the future… Happy Saturday.

Our surprising discovery.

One of the nice things about coconut oil was that Simon was actually cooperative, (vinegar, not so much). Just like the tomato paste, he thought he was being covered in something delicious.

And, now he’s our minimally smelly, rebellious punk rock child.  I think he’s over all these weird treatments.

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Vacation Withdrawals

I’m such a baby.  I’m finishing up my second week of work since summer vacation ended and all I can think about is how I can make my weekend feel like vacation again.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m making the absolute best of being back at work and I’m even enjoying parts of it, but I’m still coming home and googling weekend getaways, plotting how I can swing another trip over fall break, daydreaming about escaping today’s 104 degree heat to nosh on free-range fried chicken in Yountville or paddle board on the calm waters of North Lake Tahoe.

I guess that’s one good thing I can say about Sacramento, it’s less than a two hour drive from some pretty incredible places in California.  If you’re a NorCal reader, I would love to hear your favorite weekend getaways.  With the 101 degree weekend forecast, I could really use some inspiration to get myself back out of town.

Now, if only getting to Hawaii was as easy…

I’ve decided life should look like this more often.

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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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All Women Have A Three-Dimensional Beauty That Moves

Tonight I found myself sitting in Naked Lounge, a coffee shop in Midtown Sacramento, with my teenage sister and her friend.  They have a summer routine of drawing in coffee shops, creating little pieces of artwork they leave behind on the bulletin boards, their creative mark left scattered throughout Sacramento for all to see.  As they sat working on their artwork, I took pictures.

While this in itself was enough to keep me amused, sitting, observing their routine, I noticed something else, something deeper as I photographed.  Like most girls and women I know, they were very picky about the pictures I took, even if they were beautiful to an outside eye.  It reminded me of how I felt about pictures when I was younger and how I look back at those same pictures today and think wow, what was I complaining about?

But, that’s the great irony of female existence.  The photographs I see of me today leave me convinced I’m past my prime, which is pretty ridiculous given I’m only 28.  Still, I see my face changing, lines forming, angles becoming more pronounced.  As much as I rolled my eyes at my sister and her friend, I do the exact same thing and always have.  Truth be told, if my hair is not blown dry and make-up is not on my face, I do not feel like I’m in any state to have a picture taken.

This left me thinking, what is wrong with us?  Is our self-worth really that dependent on idealized outer beauty?  Why can’t we see the true beauty that is right in front of us?  A friend and fellow blogger, Neurotic Nancy, wrote today about how good it felt to regain her confidence.  She went out and felt good about herself.  Imagine that, a woman comfortable in her own skin, proud of who she is, inside and out!  Why aren’t we raising girls like this, that see their whole selves in pictures instead of just the tiniest imperfections?

About six months ago, another friend in LA was hosting weekly public art installations of “ugly faces,” as an open rebellion against a societal obsession with vanity in a town that is built on it.  I was so intrigued by this concept that I submitted my own “ugly” shots, some of which are still buried somewhere on that page.  The funny thing is that it was genuinely difficult to take those pictures, like I was fighting against decades of social conditioning.

I guess the point of all of this is that it made me hyper-reflective to hear these girls be critical of themselves.  Beauty should be something we are proud of, something that emanates from the inside out.  I want my self-worth to be strong enough to see past the tiny imperfections of a moment trapped in time.  Ani DiFranco describes her beauty as a beauty that moves, that cannot be captured in a photograph.  I like this idea because it implies there is more to us than what we see in two dimensions.  All women have a three-dimensional beauty that moves, a beauty that should make us so proud that mere pictures never creep under our skin to undermine our self worth.  I have met a couple of women like this, whose smiles light up pictures, rooms, lives.  I do not know their secret, but I’m determined to figure it out.

Tenaya carries around this old tattered book she bought in Germany filled with her own artwork in the margins.

Kaitlyn busy drawing her contribution to the coffee shop bulletin board.

Still at work, and beautiful, no matter what she says.

Tenaya’s super awesome pencil box.

Pretty Tenaya.

And me.  Despite my messy, wavy hair, lack of make-up, and desire not to have my picture taken, I’m posting anyway.  No more letting pictures define me.

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Will Teach for Time

I am a collector of things you can cannot touch.  Words, pictures, memories.  Right now my focus is summer.  Today is day 13.  I do not know how many days remain.  Enough, I guess.  I refuse to count for fear they will disappear too quickly.

I would lie if I said that summer had nothing to do with my decision to become a teacher.  However, I could not teach if I did not like the work.  Ten months of misery would not be worth two months of freedom.  Instead, summer is the perk that makes the pay more tolerable, helps me through those days with angry parents, makes me smile when my classroom is in upheaval.  In my past work life, I discovered that time is worth more than money.

Summer is time.  Time to refuel.  Time to reflect and grow as a teacher, wife, friend, human being.  Time to do the jobs that do not pay but feed my soul.  Time to write.

Everyday I am asked by people who do not teach, “How is your summer going?”

Splendidly, I respond.  I’m actively collecting all those little moments that will get me through the inevitable challenges of the coming year:

Listened to my sister’s high school poetry night, got lost in words, some funny, some sad.

Sunflower in Fair Oaks with my husband, he rode his bike seven miles to meet me. I drove in an air conditioned car.

Veggie burrito, healthy, much tastier than it looks. While other moms took their kids for Happy Meals, mine took me here. We’d feed the chickens and play in the park. I developed a fear of roosters.

Veggie nachos, probably the winner, but don’t tell Alex.  He gloats too much when his choice is best.

Sunday dinners with family, swimming, eating, happy.

My birthday came a little early today, make that a month and a half to be exact. My sweet husband bought me a new recorder of words, which I’ll put to good use. The irony of marriage, I’d tell him not to buy it if he asked, but I’m grateful that he did. And, yes, that is the cat you see on our dining room table, maybe you should rethink coming to dinner, I’ve given up on chasing her, at least today.

Much like the dog, I’ve also lazed about. Recharging is required to be a happy teacher. Scratch that, recharging is required to be a happy human being.

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