Two weeks and five days until China. Three weeks and six days until I start my first post-graduate job. Wowzahs!
And I'm calling teaching my first job because camp is too many other things to call it a job. There's a lot to say and a lot to show (a lot to show in me, but we can talk about that later), but for now here are some Top Camper Quotes, which prove how adorably misguided many 9-14 year-old American girls are, but also how sweet and profound:
After I responded that I wasn't sure about an answer to her question:
Camper Jaime: But you're supposed to know everything!
After I explained to my cabin how richly dorky my life has been:
Camper Gloria: I'm sorry, but you don't seem like the nerd type.
Camper Morgan: Yeah, you seem more like the hot rocker chick.
(This one's a real gem):
Collective cabin: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: Nope, don't have a boyfriend.
Collective cabin: But you're so pretty!
(This one is, too):
Camper Kenna: So do you care if you die?
And, what may be my favorite so far- After I became a victim of a spirit skit this afternoon and was coated in fake barf:
Camper Madi: It's okay, Casio, we're going canoeing.
More to come later. Eventually I'll finish that life story thing. The last-part-of-college part is pretty interesting.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
almond roca mocha night off
From my journal, via Coffee Cat wi-fi…
I came to the back dock of the pond today to write about it and take a nap next to it. In the shaded spots on the water, the top of the pond acts like a mirror and reflects back to the trees a picture of themselves, the undersides of their leaves and branches hanging down tendue towards the water, where outward-running ripples run just into each other and make those curved diamond shapes that shimmer back and forth and don’t stay very long. When there’s a little breeze they go even more quickly, but a minute later it might be still again and almost perfect glass. There are spots in the shade where holes in the branches dapple the water and that mirror turns into a window. Where the sun hits the pond, the water’s clear enough to see straight to the bottom, where the leaves have come off the trees above and stay with the growing glasses on the floor of the pond, each hanging out with the other, and the sun goes down to them both without knowing the difference.
If I could shuttle back and forth between just camp and coffee shops for the rest of my life, I think I'd be happy with that forever. Trees and teas.
Actually, maybe not. Give me the ocean, give me tall cities, give me the dry desert, give me trains, cars and planes. Give me whatever life looks like.
One life, to go, please.
I came to the back dock of the pond today to write about it and take a nap next to it. In the shaded spots on the water, the top of the pond acts like a mirror and reflects back to the trees a picture of themselves, the undersides of their leaves and branches hanging down tendue towards the water, where outward-running ripples run just into each other and make those curved diamond shapes that shimmer back and forth and don’t stay very long. When there’s a little breeze they go even more quickly, but a minute later it might be still again and almost perfect glass. There are spots in the shade where holes in the branches dapple the water and that mirror turns into a window. Where the sun hits the pond, the water’s clear enough to see straight to the bottom, where the leaves have come off the trees above and stay with the growing glasses on the floor of the pond, each hanging out with the other, and the sun goes down to them both without knowing the difference.
If I could shuttle back and forth between just camp and coffee shops for the rest of my life, I think I'd be happy with that forever. Trees and teas.
Actually, maybe not. Give me the ocean, give me tall cities, give me the dry desert, give me trains, cars and planes. Give me whatever life looks like.
One life, to go, please.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
apple juice, part three: baileys hot chocolate college days
Welcome to my recent past! I don’t know if it’s too early to be really objective about the last three years, but that’s the point in the story that we’re at right now, so we should just forge on together, and if there’s anything in here that is surprising/news to you…well that’s the point of you reading this blog, isn’t it.
Ok. 18-year-old Rachel Who Knows Nothing About the World: Pack your things (including sewing machine and the knitting needles that you stole from your mom at 15 and then never returned…sorry Mom—they’re coming to China with me, FYI), throw them in the car and jet off to new student orientation at Pepperdine, which is essentially a country club where serious non-profit entrepreneurship, wonderful learning and world-changing conversations happen on the cliffs with the Pacific Ocean next door. Done and done.
I remember that the night before moving to school I hung out with my good friend Ryan at Harveston, which is one of those man-made pond things in the middle of this housing tract in Murrieta where everyone goes to take prom pictures. And I remember thinking that it was that ‘last hang out’ kind of thing, and I wasn’t sad about it—just so ready and springloaded almost, to start something so fresh the next day. I honestly couldn’t tell you what we talked about—we probably did a lot of repeating of those “so crazy,” “so excited” sentences that everyone uses when they’re looking forward to the next biggest thing they’ve never done before, but I remember that in the fresh-trimmed grass, on the warm clean white sidewalks under the streetlights I felt really full of life, in love with transition, holding onto friendship with one hand and feeling out newness with the other. That was a really happy night.
The next morning my mom and I woke up, for familiarity I put on these light gray cords that I loved, and we went to school, knowing that I had all the excitement and school supplies I could ever wish for. NSO was a whirlwind of signing up for things and asking and answering the following questions: What’s your name? Where are you from? What dorm are you in? What’s your major? And then…silence. After a couple days of that, I hardcore bonded with my roommate Whitney, who was from Oklahoma and loved musical theater and knitting; my RA Chenese, who had just gotten back from studying in Buenos Aries and was crazy loud and always funny; and my English major/dorm/big-brown-eyed buddy Casey, who was also from the Inland Empire and is almost the same person as I am, but different enough that we still like each other three years later.
Freshman year went so quickly and I grew up so much. I could say that for each of the three years I spent at Pepperdine, but what makes that especially true of my first year is how special the time was and how different than anything I had done before. Freedom to take little adventures was so beautiful to me, just what I wanted and very much needed, and I love thinking about those first experiences with the little things, realizing that I was smart enough to make my own decisions and young enough to enjoy doing it.
I spent a lot of time reading, because 1) I was still a nerd; 2) I was an English major and in a Great Books colloquium; 3) who doesn’t love a girl in glasses and cords with a book (kidding…kind of. But really, kidding); but most importantly 4) it blew my mind—absolutely had me head over heels—how interconnected all of my classes were and how much everything I was learning spoke from the world right to my heart, way more than I had thought was possible. Plato and Josephus and Beowulf and ee cummings and Franz Kafka seemed like they had just everything in common, and I loved it and wanted to hang out with them all the time. So for a lot of the time, I did.
I also hung out a lot with my with my boyfriend, who drove to Malibu from Orange County almost every weekend to hang out (God knows why). We went into Santa Monica a lot, sometimes to the Getty Center (one of my favorite places in the world), sometimes back to Fullerton, mostly just to my dorm. We both loved being out of Murrieta and having someone to love, in each case in whatever capacity we could. Being with him then helped me process so much about growing up, just by having him to talk to and be next to. Bummer/annoying that I spent too much time wishing we were always together. Now I know they call that neediness, how incredibly lame I was about it and how little I want that now. Apologies to all. I've changed so much since then, and now I'm just thankful for the memories and what I learned.
Also during this time I cut my hair short again and had my septum pierced. When I wasn’t in class or walking around Santa Monica, I worked on campus in the Fine Arts department, building costumes for the theater productions, which was a dream job for me. It never felt like going to work—I would just show up, cut or sew or finish things for a few hours, and then every couple weeks I got paid enough to eat and cover my bills and play a little bit. That was three years of awesome employment with a crackup boss named Carol, who was sassy and a half, super resourceful and flexible. If I ever am blessed enough to be employed again, I’d love it to be like working in the costume shop.
So freshman year happened, and absolutely before I knew it I was living at home in Murrieta again, working as much as I possibly could at my second summer job, stockpiling money and cardigans for a sophomore fall semester in Lausanne, Switzerland through Pepperdine. All I remember about that summer is being at work, being at the boy’s house, or taking walks around my neighborhood and journal-dreaming about what Europe could possibly be like. Of course, I had no idea what anything would look or feel or taste like. I had never been out of the country before. My only fear was that I had built all my hopes up higher than reality would meet. Pointless fear (the way fear usually always is).
In August again, I packed a couple suitcases with fresh journals and cardigans. I went with open arms. I had recently become single, cut my bangs short (these things are important sometimes), emptied my mind of a whole lot of preconceptions about the world. Got on a plane. Started the practice of constantly looking out the windows. Haven’t stopped.
I could talk to you about ‘when I was overseas’ forever. I mean literally hours and hours. I think I do it too much—way too many of my sentences start with ‘when I was in Switzerland.’ Anyway, I love it there, because I met myself there, and I don’t care how cliché that is. You can judge if you want. So here is what I learned during that semester, in three brief points:
1. Community.
2. Everything is gifts. Every single day there was like waking up on my birthday, if my birthday was on Christmas, which was combined with Valentine’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day and I was incredibly in love and Irish. The most common emotion I felt that semester was a combination of elation and gratitude. Greatlation. Elatitude. Something that was complete awe of life and energy.
3. I am alive.
There were a lot of evenings that after classes before we’d walk to dinner that I would stand in front of the glass door to our little balcony behind the curtains like a little kid and watch the sun go down over Lake Geneva.
Almost every weekend I was on a train out of Lausanne to somewhere else. All the hours I had spent working in crappy Murrieta that summer turned into trips to Zermatt, Cinque Terre, Paris, Berlin, Corsica, Dublin, Barcelona, Aix en Provence; into nights out in Lausanne, groceries, conversation desserts; became cups of hot chocolate and those little bottles of wine in the park.
I wrote a lot, looked out so many windows, had those conversations with people on trains and on the street that I hadn’t even known existed until the minute before. Those trips were I think where I learned that I love to be in transition and know new things. Looking forward to arriving or leaving puts me at so much peace.
This will be added to soon, but for now I need to stop being on the internet in my new friend's house and join in on the knitting party. Until the next tea,
Rach
Ok. 18-year-old Rachel Who Knows Nothing About the World: Pack your things (including sewing machine and the knitting needles that you stole from your mom at 15 and then never returned…sorry Mom—they’re coming to China with me, FYI), throw them in the car and jet off to new student orientation at Pepperdine, which is essentially a country club where serious non-profit entrepreneurship, wonderful learning and world-changing conversations happen on the cliffs with the Pacific Ocean next door. Done and done.
I remember that the night before moving to school I hung out with my good friend Ryan at Harveston, which is one of those man-made pond things in the middle of this housing tract in Murrieta where everyone goes to take prom pictures. And I remember thinking that it was that ‘last hang out’ kind of thing, and I wasn’t sad about it—just so ready and springloaded almost, to start something so fresh the next day. I honestly couldn’t tell you what we talked about—we probably did a lot of repeating of those “so crazy,” “so excited” sentences that everyone uses when they’re looking forward to the next biggest thing they’ve never done before, but I remember that in the fresh-trimmed grass, on the warm clean white sidewalks under the streetlights I felt really full of life, in love with transition, holding onto friendship with one hand and feeling out newness with the other. That was a really happy night.
The next morning my mom and I woke up, for familiarity I put on these light gray cords that I loved, and we went to school, knowing that I had all the excitement and school supplies I could ever wish for. NSO was a whirlwind of signing up for things and asking and answering the following questions: What’s your name? Where are you from? What dorm are you in? What’s your major? And then…silence. After a couple days of that, I hardcore bonded with my roommate Whitney, who was from Oklahoma and loved musical theater and knitting; my RA Chenese, who had just gotten back from studying in Buenos Aries and was crazy loud and always funny; and my English major/dorm/big-brown-eyed buddy Casey, who was also from the Inland Empire and is almost the same person as I am, but different enough that we still like each other three years later.
Freshman year went so quickly and I grew up so much. I could say that for each of the three years I spent at Pepperdine, but what makes that especially true of my first year is how special the time was and how different than anything I had done before. Freedom to take little adventures was so beautiful to me, just what I wanted and very much needed, and I love thinking about those first experiences with the little things, realizing that I was smart enough to make my own decisions and young enough to enjoy doing it.
I spent a lot of time reading, because 1) I was still a nerd; 2) I was an English major and in a Great Books colloquium; 3) who doesn’t love a girl in glasses and cords with a book (kidding…kind of. But really, kidding); but most importantly 4) it blew my mind—absolutely had me head over heels—how interconnected all of my classes were and how much everything I was learning spoke from the world right to my heart, way more than I had thought was possible. Plato and Josephus and Beowulf and ee cummings and Franz Kafka seemed like they had just everything in common, and I loved it and wanted to hang out with them all the time. So for a lot of the time, I did.
I also hung out a lot with my with my boyfriend, who drove to Malibu from Orange County almost every weekend to hang out (God knows why). We went into Santa Monica a lot, sometimes to the Getty Center (one of my favorite places in the world), sometimes back to Fullerton, mostly just to my dorm. We both loved being out of Murrieta and having someone to love, in each case in whatever capacity we could. Being with him then helped me process so much about growing up, just by having him to talk to and be next to. Bummer/annoying that I spent too much time wishing we were always together. Now I know they call that neediness, how incredibly lame I was about it and how little I want that now. Apologies to all. I've changed so much since then, and now I'm just thankful for the memories and what I learned.
Also during this time I cut my hair short again and had my septum pierced. When I wasn’t in class or walking around Santa Monica, I worked on campus in the Fine Arts department, building costumes for the theater productions, which was a dream job for me. It never felt like going to work—I would just show up, cut or sew or finish things for a few hours, and then every couple weeks I got paid enough to eat and cover my bills and play a little bit. That was three years of awesome employment with a crackup boss named Carol, who was sassy and a half, super resourceful and flexible. If I ever am blessed enough to be employed again, I’d love it to be like working in the costume shop.
So freshman year happened, and absolutely before I knew it I was living at home in Murrieta again, working as much as I possibly could at my second summer job, stockpiling money and cardigans for a sophomore fall semester in Lausanne, Switzerland through Pepperdine. All I remember about that summer is being at work, being at the boy’s house, or taking walks around my neighborhood and journal-dreaming about what Europe could possibly be like. Of course, I had no idea what anything would look or feel or taste like. I had never been out of the country before. My only fear was that I had built all my hopes up higher than reality would meet. Pointless fear (the way fear usually always is).
In August again, I packed a couple suitcases with fresh journals and cardigans. I went with open arms. I had recently become single, cut my bangs short (these things are important sometimes), emptied my mind of a whole lot of preconceptions about the world. Got on a plane. Started the practice of constantly looking out the windows. Haven’t stopped.
I could talk to you about ‘when I was overseas’ forever. I mean literally hours and hours. I think I do it too much—way too many of my sentences start with ‘when I was in Switzerland.’ Anyway, I love it there, because I met myself there, and I don’t care how cliché that is. You can judge if you want. So here is what I learned during that semester, in three brief points:
1. Community.
2. Everything is gifts. Every single day there was like waking up on my birthday, if my birthday was on Christmas, which was combined with Valentine’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day and I was incredibly in love and Irish. The most common emotion I felt that semester was a combination of elation and gratitude. Greatlation. Elatitude. Something that was complete awe of life and energy.
3. I am alive.
There were a lot of evenings that after classes before we’d walk to dinner that I would stand in front of the glass door to our little balcony behind the curtains like a little kid and watch the sun go down over Lake Geneva.
Almost every weekend I was on a train out of Lausanne to somewhere else. All the hours I had spent working in crappy Murrieta that summer turned into trips to Zermatt, Cinque Terre, Paris, Berlin, Corsica, Dublin, Barcelona, Aix en Provence; into nights out in Lausanne, groceries, conversation desserts; became cups of hot chocolate and those little bottles of wine in the park.
I wrote a lot, looked out so many windows, had those conversations with people on trains and on the street that I hadn’t even known existed until the minute before. Those trips were I think where I learned that I love to be in transition and know new things. Looking forward to arriving or leaving puts me at so much peace.
This will be added to soon, but for now I need to stop being on the internet in my new friend's house and join in on the knitting party. Until the next tea,
Rach
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