Whirlwind Week Wrap Up

Loyal readers (friends),

The last few days been a complete whirlwind. Between last week's midweek holiday, a weekend trip to The City of Angels, and a bunch of afterwork errands and commitments, my creative and storytelling juices were drunk by other activities this week. And still, I'm too exhausted to put the week's stories into words, so here are pictures and brief explanations instead.

Remember that garden I told you about? I was so hopeful that my regular ol' thumb was turning green, when I decided to uproot these deceiving carrots. Look at them! The leaves are flourishing and throwing equinox parties upstairs, while the roots are like, "What's that noise? Whatever...I'll keep sleeping." This garden thing is giving a whole new meaning to my favorite vegetarian motto: I'm not a vegetarian because I love animals; I'm a vegetarian because I hate plants.

We bought 25 sparklers for $10 on the side of the road from a ten-year-old on the 4th. Only about six of them were capable of catching fire, making this paragraph feel like a word problem from 7th grade math and that kid a slick entrepreneur.

I visited my dear friend Caitlin in Los Angeles last weekend, where a ruthless Banana Gram tournament quickly commenced. You can always rely on Caitlin for night of games and day of crafts. She also let me borrow this festive nail polish from Sally Hansen.

Sally Hansen Pacifc Blue

The man friend and I stopped for Greek food at Taverna Tony on our way down the coast into LA. A few takeaways from this:

• This was the best Greek food I've ever had. 
• French fries at Greek restaurants are basically the same as everywhere else. It was my pleasure to discover this for you.
• The "dip" and bread they served before you order tied in deliciousness with everything else we ordered. Our waiter actually commented on how quickly we ate it and brought us a new plate of it. In the picture you can see Jordan's hand hastily reaching for more. In short: go for the dip. (Note: it's not hummus; we asked. It's better.)

The no-upper-lip smiles are always a party, or in this case, dive bar, favorite. 

Sock Buns

If your hair hangs past your shoulders, and you're like me - incapable of mustering the effort to blow dry your hair before 9 a.m. -- man do I have a trendy treat for you! It's called the sock bun, and not only does it take under 2 minutes to complete, but it's also a versatile hairstyle, capable of being dressed up or down. 

The Sock Bun on my sister, Brooke for Taylor's college graduation party. 

I can't take credit for this hair craft; my jewelry-making sister showed me this style a few weekends ago at my vintage-shopping sister's college graduation. On the day of Taylor's graduation, we overslept the alarm and woke up at the time we were supposed to leave the house; four of us needed to shower and primp before we left, so the sock bun was our saving grace. Brooke was nice enough to share the style with me in a pinch.

Me and Brooke sporting our sock buns.

Okay, so down to the meat of the post. How do you make your own sock bun? 

To start you need:

• A tube sock that you don't mind cutting. The tube should be about as long as your ponytail. You'll also, preferably, want to use a sock that is similar to your hair color (e.g. not a yellow argyle sock like mine).

• A pair of scissors

• Bobby pins

My sock already has the heel and toe cut off. 

Step 1. Cut the tube of the sock to separate it from the heel and toe. You'll use the tube; discard the heel (or use it as a soggy ankle sock or bathtub plug). 

Step 2. Pull your hair into a pony tail. I prefer a high pony tail for my sock bun, but the sock bun will work anywhere. The Stephanie Tanners out there might opt for a side pony sock bun. 

Step 2

Step 3. Pull the sock tube over your pony tail.

Step 3

Step 4. Begin to tuck the ends of your pony tail up into the sock as you begin to roll the sock down over your pony tail.

Step 5. Keep rolling. 

Step 6. When you roll the tube all the way down, you'll end up with a perfect bun. I usally pin down the bun with bobby pins and spray a bit of flexible hold hairspray to keep my hair from revealing the sock.

The sock bun from the front. 

Finished product from the back.

To finish off this easy-peasy hair style, I like to pair it will long earrings to dress it up, and jeans and tee for a more casual, yet sophisticated look. 

H&M sells this texturized bun maker for $3.99, but I've had better luck with a sock.

The sock bun is a long-haired, blow dryer-evading girl's dream. I haven't tried or seen this style on curly hair yet, but I imagine it would look just as cute. No matter your hair type, test it out for yourself and prepare for the compliments to show themselves in. Happy hair days to all of you!

Photo credit: Mister Jordan S. 

My Summer Polish Pick

A note for those of my friends and readers who don't like feet: there is a small but close-up photo of my (post-pedicure) feet in this post. A note for all people, everywhere: My feet are clean, but not pretty. 

We actually had a relatively chilly winter here in Santa Barbara, which means I too get to experience the excitement of pulling out my sandals for summer just like you East Coasters. So much for not having my cake and eating it too, huh?

In celebration of this joyful annual event, I treated my tootsies to a pedicure yesterday, and, considering that my feet had been holed up inside my shoes for months without any attention, I went to the nice place in town. You know, where they use that exfoliating salt scrub and wrap hot, wet towels around your feet? There really is nothing like a great pedicure, and a bonus benefit of going to the nice place is that they usually offer in a fine color selection. Aqua Nail Bar in Santa Barbara is our nice place, and they delivered on color.

Ladies and gentlemen-who-continued-reading-about-nail-polish, say hello to Camera from Essie's Poppy Razzi collection! This is my official summer polish pick.

It's sold out on Nordstrom.com, so, yeah...that.

It's coral! It's pink! It's red! It's NEON, and it's my color of choice for the summer. I can't wait to try out the rest of the cheery collection.

Camera - it looks orange here, but in person the neon and pink come through. 

I'm not much in to matching my toenails to my fingernails, so while Camera sits pretty on my toes this summer, I'll don my other favorite Essie color of the season, Splash of Grenadine, on my fingernails.

"Morning, Sarah. That's a very nice purple dress. It's very purpley." - Elf

Happy summer nail polish shopping!

Green (with Envy) Thumb

So here’s the thing: I’m bad at plants.

And this just isn’t fair, because my mom is Miss Green Thumb. I’ve watched her transform many a yard from overgrown or bare into flourishing Edens. That shit should be passed on genetically, so you don’t end up with desk plants that look like this.

Oops.  

So this spring I planted a garden in an attempt to ameliorate my reputation as a gardener. With the help of my darling younger sister, we weeded and churned mulch into a plot of dirt. We saw worms and spiders and bugs, oh my! And at day's end, we had planted rows of carrots, radishes and green onions and sprinkled in a few basil plants and pinwheel daisies too.

In our gardening hats, channeling the energy of all the gardeners who came before us. 

From there I couldn’t stop. I pruned the dead jasmine plant. I watered like a madwoman. I even got a new succulent for my desk. (It’s still alive too!)

My vegetable garden has sprouted up, and I can’t wait to harvest the goods into a delicious salad at summer’s end. Pictures and salad recipe to come!

Before.

The garden bed, post-weeding. 

Carrots sprouting up. 

Baby radishes!

If you’re considering planting a garden and you have more patience than I do (you probably do), I’d recommend starting your seeds in little cups and then transferring them to your plot; I lost some seeds due to unforeseen spring rains. And for you city-dwellers who may not have a patch to churn, potted plants are festive and just as rewarding! These ones from The Proper Pinwheel are next on my DIY list. Check ‘em out, my fellow agriculturists! 

If you need me, I'll be reading BH&G in the gazebo. 

Two of My Favorite Things

Apparently I’m into lists lately. This one’s short. It’s bullet points, really...don’t say I didn’t warn you.

For those of us who can still appropriately make wish lists for Santa, Macy’s has set up Santa Mailboxes in its stores for us to drop them off for the ol’ guy. Feeling too old for that, I'm publishing a short list of my favorite things instead…actually it’s just Two of My Favorite things that I discovered I love on one lunchtime walk.

I know a lot of girls that swoon for a guy with a dog. In fact, I’ve heard many of my friends list in the attributes that make their newest love interest eligible, “he has a dog.” And, vice versa, “He said he wasn’t into dogs, so I don’t know…” Well this gal is taking Guys With Dogs to a new level. First on my list of Two of My Favorite Things is: Guys Who Say “Bless You” to their dogs. Taking a walk during my lunch hour yesterday, I was enjoying the sun on my back (another unofficial one of my favorite things) when this average looking guy with a cute dog walked by. When the dog sneezed, without hesitation the guy said audibly and enthusiastically, “Bless you!” and sooner than you can say, “Thank you,” this guy went from Random Average Joe to Santa Barbara’s Own Jake Gyllenhaal. Being that I too converse with pets—both my own and stranger’s—I guess you could say it was love at first sneeze.

On this very same walk, just on the other side of the street, I stumbled upon the other one of my Two Favorite Things—something I named Spaced Out Pine Trees (please see photo.) I first noticed these organic beauties in Australia. The star shaped top put a twinkle in my eye for these toy-like wonders that hasn’t faded yet. These are my favorite trees; I don’t know their real name, and frankly I don’t care to find out. 

Ironman Denver, or A Day in the Life of a Fifth Grade Teacher

I still remember my fifth grade teacher—quirky, artsy and dedicated. She wore patterned socks and weird sweaters. I liked her.

My best friend from college is a fifth grade teacher in Denver, but she wears plain socks and J.Crew sweaters.  When I booked my ticket to visit her, she invited me to be a guest in her class for the day. “Yahoo!” I thought. “A relaxing, fifth grade day.”

Ya, it’s 5:15 a.m., dark outside and Becca is pouring me a second cup of coffee. Driving through Northern Denver’s dark streets forty minutes later, the smart-ass in me groggily inquires, “Am I ever gonna get to see the sun in Denver?” Becca chuckles.

At 6:10 a.m. we walk into the classroom of which I’ve seen pictures. The asparagus-colored paint attempts to wake me up. Fail.

Becca plans her lessons, enter grades into the system, writes the end-of-the-week newsletter and runs copies of today’s writing assignment.  I sit in a plastic, primary blue chair and try to read a book.

It’s the ten-year-olds themselves that jumpstart me. They’re so filled with energy and curiosity when they start stumbling in around 7:30 it’s contagious. The questions start almost immediately.

 “Miss Ryan, is that your friend?” they echo.

I try to remember what my fifth grade class was like. I remember the people and my favorite outfit—plaid skirt with matching Scotty dog sweater and loafers—but the class dynamic is lost forever. Looking around this classroom there are girls who are 5 feet tall and girls whose shoes look like doll accessories. Some of them sit quietly, diligently work, eager to please. Others would rather socialize. Suddenly a memory comes back: I was a quiet grade schooler but a loquacious middle and high schooler. I want to tell Carolina that if she can just stay focused for a few more years, she’ll find a vocation that will appreciate her chatty nature.  Broadcast journalism, for example…

In second period, they get more inquisitive:

“Are you a teacher?”

“No.”

“Oh…what do you do then?”

“Ummmmm….I’m a…writer.”

“Did you write this book?”

“No.”

“What do you write then?”

(Sigh) Blog posts?

“Are you married?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be.”

“That’s weird.”

“What is your favorite sport?”

“I like baseball.”

(Eyes wide and sparkling) “Do you play baseball?!”
“…No.”

(Sparkle fades.)

As the afternoon settles in, my energy level pools and resides like the tide depending on the students’ presence that day. Their excitement runs through me, inspires me to tell them about what it’s like to be in college living with your best friends—a concept they neither comprehend nor desire at this point in their lives.

The highlight of the afternoon is the poem a little girl hands to Jorie, or “Miss Clarson.” I can’t remember the whole thing, but “your eyes sparkle like the ocean,” and “your smile is better than mine” were two unforgettable phrases. 

The students’ school day ends with an intense game of Four Square into which they invite us. Bouncing and yelling until they’re sweating, the kids don’t want the game to end, but at 4 p.m. we walk them to the front of the school where their parents sit in a line of cars to pick them up. 

A half hour later, everyone but two are picked up. Becca leads them inside, cracking jokes along the way. How does she have the energy to keep talking and joking? I’m a walking zombie complete with bloodshot eyes. I can see the day’s end in sight, but I know that usually Becca stays at school until at least 6 p.m., grading, planning, copying, creating, grading, planning, and so on.

Becca and Jorie chat on the way home. I rest my eyes and head in the back. I laugh when Becca says she sometimes goes straight to the gym after school. I think she’s kidding.

She’s not.

So it’s official: to be a teacher you have to also be superhuman.

So proud of you Bec, and thank you Mrs. Crochetti. I had no idea. 

"Working"

As much as I hate to admit it, the halfway point of my Australian adventure has come and passed. It’s been almost ten weeks since I called each family member one last time from my gate at SFO before powering down my cell phone until May. And the time has flown by.

The next five weeks will be based out of Sydney. While it’s true that I have lived in Sydney since my arrival here, the first seven weeks our program offered three day weekends which allowed us to travel within Australia, hence the adventures to the Gold Coast, the Blue Mountains, Melbourne, and Fraser Island. Now I have class on Mondays and work in Sydney Tuesday through Friday, so my deep exploration of the city has only just begun. Our travel adventures in this half of the program are more limited, but stay tuned: We’re scuba diving the Great Barrier Reef in just a few weeks!

The first week of my internships (yes, plural) fared well for me. I spend Tuesdays and Wednesdays doing creative writing for a dating newsletter. One of my favorite parts of this internship is the office. The office is great mostly because it’s not an office and therefore very conducive to creativity. On the second story of the second oldest building in Sydney is a room with a large window that opens from top to bottom, a single desk and a chair. Outside the window, a man dressed in colonial costume rings his bell about every hour and makes an announcement about the neighborhood’s events of the day as if it were still 1880. An outside café is our backyard, and below, American Mike runs bicycle tours of Sydney. Knowing of the reputable advertising and insurance companies that house my fellow classmates as interns, my boss (one of two people beside myself who work for the company) apologized again and again for the lack of professionalism the office offered. Feeling the breeze flutter through the open window onto my shoulders, I assured her that a corporate office is not what I’m looking for and gladly sat down for the day’s work. At 4:15 p.m. my boss inquired, upon learning that I had yet to experience the Israeli chocolatier, Max Brenner, “Katelyn, what do you say we get out here, grab some hot chocolate and head home?” I couldn’t think of a better plan.

Onto internship number two: a women’s magazine. I was worried that after a wonderful Tuesday-Wednesday experience my second internship wouldn’t measure up. I’m happy to tell you that, despite an embarrassing start, I am equally fond of this work experience.

On day one I met the crew—the writers, the design team, the editor, and everyone had one question: where are you from? When I said California I received the usual, “I was just in L.A.!” One writer had just been on assignment in Los Angeles, San Diego and Palm Springs writing a travel article. I asked to read it, and she excitedly handed it over. I gave the pictures a once over—a “California Highway 101” sign, her doing yoga on the beach, et cetera. I began to read the article. Like a true Northern California gal, her adventures in L.A. didn’t’ invoke any strong feelings of home for me, but as she began to describe driving down the 101 to San Diego to the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Californication” blaring through the car speakers, I was surprised to find tears in my eyes. Apparently, her words hit home. I have not considered myself homesick during my time here, except for in small, quickly passing spurts, so these tears of apparent sadness were met with a feeling of great surprise. However, if I thought I was surprised, you should have seen the look on my new co-workers’ faces.

One of my favorites of the office remarked, “Oh my god! You made the intern cry on her first day!”

I laughed, assured them that I was emotionally stable and commented to the author that her writing had truly captured the essence of California and had transported me the 7500-miles home. Still, I’m pretty sure crying isn’t on the list of Ways To Make A Good First Impression.

So while I’m keen on both of my internships, the downside of working (besides the actual working part!) is how quickly time flies when you are on a schedule—constantly scanning the calendar, planning for the coming weeks. I’d prefer to throw watches and calendars out that beautiful, open window, but then I remember that this is school and not vacation, that these writing assignments will be edited and published, not graded, so I happily accept the responsibilities. As someone who struggles with but believes in living in the moment, I despise countdowns (especially the kind that end with “you leave Australia.”), so I won’t say anything more about the days I have left. I’ll just say this: I’m planning on going out with a bang.

The Little Things

“Rain, rain go away…and if you don’t we’ll jetset out of this town and won’t return until your skies are sunny.” That’s how the song goes, right? Regardless, rain had dowsed Sydney for too many days straight, so our Melbourne trip arrived at just the right time.

As our plane climbed to altitude through Sydney’s stormy clouds and zipped onward toward Melbourne’s clear sky, I started to re-read one of my favorite books, Tuesdays With Morrie. I hadn’t read it since high school and figured that as graduation nears, now was a great time to revisit what should be life’s textbook. I finished the book later that night (all 192 tiny pages), tears on my cheeks and inspiration in my heart. Encouraging its readers to live meaningfully by connecting with people and by enjoying the little things in life, the book was even better the second time, or maybe its message just resonated more with my twenty-one-year-old self (yikes!) than my sixteen-year-old self. I appreciated its reminders and vowed to start paying more attention to The Little Things in my fortunate life. Like these:

It’s the little things in life like when your best friend surprises you on your birthday with the necklace that you fell in love with at the market, teeter-tottered about buying and then finally decided against thanks to her comment that you should “wait. Think it over,” which she only said so she could sneak back to the tent when you were busy browsing through the clothes.

It’s the little things like cruising on the Great Ocean Road with Jack Johnson singing the trip’s soundtrack. It’s the breathtaking turquoise color of the ocean—the same one that brushes your shores at home, only it can’t be because you’ve never seen an ocean so beautiful. It’s the massiveness of the rock formations that have stood along that coast longer than humans have existed. It’s looking out over the cliff and realizing that the next land mass is Antarctica. Ok the Great Ocean Road might be a bit more than a little thing, but it’s the little things like when your tour guide is cute, walks barefoot all day and talks to you about your mutual love of maps all with an Australian accent.

It’s the little things like the bar you stumble across in a seemingly disgusting alleyway with your six friends, where they play Spanish reggae music and you dance and talk all night with Aussies who teach you that the city’s name is pronounced Mel-bin, not Mel-born.

It’s the little things like realizing the world is small when you are walking around a quaint, foreign city and you start to feel worlds away from your sisters and you get a little pang of sadness in your stomach. Then you stumble into a trendy clothing store, and on the first rack you pick through you find stuffed between hangers of board-shorts a sweatshirt with your hometown’s name printed across the front. And it’s the only one. And so you laugh in astonishment and the sales guy inquires why you are staring so hard at a piece of his merchandise. You try to explain through the beaming smile spread across your face that this small town in California is your hometown, et cetera, but you can’t explain that this sweatshirt has really just sent you a message saying something more along the lines of “it’s a small world. You’re never that far away.”

It’s the little things like DJ’s that make Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl” into a techno remix for you to dance to on another Thursday night at Sidebar. It’s your aunt who sends you two cards on February 14th—one for Valentine’s Day and one for your birthday. And it’s the little things like waking up to clear skies back in Sydney. Thanks for the reminder Morrie.

Australia