tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14533083637593254922024-02-02T12:25:28.317-08:00Fieldnotes from the Soul GardenVarious journaling, philosophy, analysis, and essay scraps of a college studentKristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-20516381117321453122018-04-12T08:58:00.001-07:002018-04-12T08:58:30.441-07:00i hate cookingWhat happened to me? I used to claim to like cooking - I didn't know how to cook and I still don't. As a matter of fact, I hate cooking. All those threads on Reddit I degree with. About why would anyone spend all that time and energy doing something boring for only five minutes of eating.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-64420606481531649122016-03-14T22:51:00.000-07:002016-03-14T22:56:08.308-07:00UpdateNature vs. Nurture<br />
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I just went to the Greenery with Olivia, Dulcie and Marann. It is Marann's last day here. She's going back to New York State and not returning until next year. Tasha already left for Spring Break and Naomi is going to move out to off campus and not take class during Spring Quarter. Olivia and I leave for Spring Break on Wednesday.<br />
Olivia said she is going to transfer to PSU next year and then transfer back to Evergreen and graduate here the next year. Her saying her plans really inspired me, opened me up to a world of possibility. I thought I was stuck here. Evergreen is really not what I expected it to be. I recalled browsing fancy prestigious girls' colleges on the East Coast during Thanksgiving Break. Olivia really has a plan. I thought I did too -- but it turns out I don't know what I want. I tried to explain what that meant to me when Dulcie asked us what we thought Evergreen was going to be. and I had trouble describing it. I thought I had finally found where I belonged,That was the whole plot of my adolescence, my Personal Statement... But I guess I still have some figuring out to do. Not even that though, because I thought I already knew who I was. I was so. sure. I had a strong sense of identity before coming to Evergreen... now I just feel frazzled, disoriented, empty, I just don't know myself anymore. I like who I was before. Now I'm no one. I don't like it. I can't stand not being myself every day. I thought coming to Evergreen would only reinforce my beliefs. I can't stand all of this. Life is so drab.<br />
I get panic attacks all the time. There are so many things I don't know or know how to do. I have failed at things, being on my own. I thought I would love living by myself. I don't like living with my family either -- I don't know where I belong. I don't ever feel at peace, no matter where I am. I am not me anymore<br />
Don't even get me started about time. It scares the fuck out of me.<br />
The world seems so small now. It is not magical, no big deal. I looked at the world with awe and wonder before... now, I am so desensitized and nothing really surprises or appalls or phases me anymore. I hate that. I can't feel anything. It takes so much for me to feel normal emotions, and yet it takes so little to feel anxiety or panic. Today I went on a jog around the soccer field like I like to do, and I looked out onto the field... and I felt a glimpse of that old feeling. I felt the biggness of life, the vastness. There was someone walking across the field, and they were so small compared to the field. I wish the world was like that field again. I was doing PMNA work today and I hated it at times, it was so boring and it's like I'm It scares me that before, when I was me, I would look at these websites, these institutions, this work, and be starstruck. I would fall in love. I have no capacity for love. I have no passion anymore. They say college is the place where you find yourself; well, I have lost myself.<br />
I was in the Women's Resource Center today and I looked at some books in the library. I wish I was a competent reader. There are so many books there that I want to read... Gloria Steinem, fertility resources, responses to the Men's Rights Movement (I've been researching MRA viewpoints and have developed a huge crush on this one MRA on YouTube named Josh O'Brien, he's so dreamy... we will have a son named Oliver, I've decided).... Maybe the problem is that the covers look really good but when you open the book, it is intimidating as fuck. That's what happened to me today. I want to read these books but I know I never will, or at least not any time soon. There was a time when I had ambition. Now I just come to terms with the fact that I will never have my shit together to read these books like I want to. I wish I could love reading like Josh O'Brien does. My new life goal is to have sex with this guy, I've declared.<br />
I had sex with some high schooler I met on Tinder last night. It occurred to me that this was my first encounter with someone not out of high school, including myself. It seemed so strange to me. Can the two mix? Sex was only something I dreamed about in high school; I never imagined that a high schooler would be competent enough. I don't know, like sex was something so incredibly out of reach and the two worlds don't mix. High School and sex life were two different dimensions that couldn't exist simultaneously: they were mutually exclusive. I don't feel like an adult. But I don't feel like a high schooler. I don't feel like myself. I don't feel.<br />
Someone posted in the Graduating Class of 2015 Facebook group asking what everyone has been up to since graduating last spring. I read through everyone's comments... people are moving all over the place, getting engaged, completing trainings and getting relocated for the military, buying houses, getting legit-ass jobs.... I don't know what to say about this. I'm kind of indifferent. My old self -- my <i>self </i>-- would be proud of my peers and write a poignant blog post about it, like the one about my 18th birthday. But like I said, nothing phases me. It takes a whole lot of stimulus to trigger me; it's like I have pornography-induced erectile dysfunction and can't get it up with an actual partner. Er, wait. Yes I just made that analogy. Deal with it.<br />
Remember when a kiss was a big deal? I kiss everybody all the time now. And I don't feel anything. That scares me. Will I ever feel the joy and wonder and excitement and mystery of the world ever again? I remember my mom saying the last time I saw her that she actually believes "being promiscuous" is damaging to oneself. But the thing is I don't know how to love. I am making up for lost time not ever getting any action in high school.<br />
I saw Julian in the Greenery today when I was having dinner with my suitemates.<br />
My mind feels bigger than my life, time travels too fast that I feel like time has become an illusion and this could be last September or in the future and I wouldn't know the difference. I can't become absorbed by one thing, I always am outside of myself. I think that is nature -- as opposed to nurture -- because I've felt this way more and more gradually since sixth grade; when my brain starts developing.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-2176321601419132442016-03-02T22:37:00.000-08:002016-03-15T09:48:57.958-07:00My Evergreen DreamI used to believe that the universe has a force that either hates you or likes you.<br />
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All aspects of your life followed this swinging in and out, there was a rhythm, a yin and yang.<br />
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Now life has no meaning. I feel hopeless. All. The. Time.<br />
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Sometimes I get glimpses back to my old life, like today when I was reading my old blog from a year ago, and I feel the magic that life had. I don't know what happened.<br />
I was positive, I could feel it: this is where I belong. This was going to be the best year of my life. I was feeling everything falling into place... Intuition.<br />
Depression for no reason. So many things are going perfectly in my life, but I can't get psyched about it. I am sad all the time and I don't know why.<br />
I recently lost my job with the Food Systems Working Group. Two years ago I would have taken that as a sign, that I got involved in the perfect opportunity right away, a dream come true... and then it not be what I thought it was going to be, not vibe with the work, and end up being fired. I would have taken that as a sign. That the universe hates me.<br />
I have lost my passion. For anything. Over Winter Break I worked on my beautiful planner, but I felt like I was just going through the motions. I remember looking at the glorious binder and being like, <i>I don't feel anything. </i>This fat booklet is what I have been dreaming about and working for since last year, and yet it brings me no joy.<br />
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<li>Jacques and Tasha. I had sex with Jacques on the third day of being at Evergreen. As the school year progressed, he started dating my suitemate, Tasha. I would always see him in my suite and he and his friends regarded me with awkwardness and immaturity. I am the one-night hook-up, guys really want girls who they can be friends with. I don't know how to make friends. I guess some things never change. I think that's why I like pole dancing so much; it takes away having to talk; it lets you communicate with your body and movement... I much prefer that method of communication to actual talking. </li>
<li>Anthropocene. Everything seems so much smaller. Nothing has wonder.</li>
<li>I miss my family. Which is understandable emotionally but not mentally. I thought I could manage grief of drastic change in a healthy way. I thought I was over the hump of the realization that my life is going to go through the biggest change it has ever gone through. </li>
<li>Turning it off, like with Mom. Emotional numbness.</li>
<li>"College Hyper Speed." No familiarity, no home. The people I know I have only known for a short time and will only know for a short time more. Friends move around. I will live in this room for one year and move out, and then move out of my next apartment after one more year. I finally am a gypsy, but I don't like it. It is not romantic or empowering, it is uncertain and scary. </li>
<li>Sex, marijuana, alcohol, exposure to other "adult things." I have friends who are 25. I had a wine tasting unit in class in addition to drinking at dorm parties. I have slept with so many guys. EVERYONE at Evergreen smokes marijuana and/or psychedelics, for the record. There is a world of a difference between under and over eighteen. A year ago, my 23-year-old cheer coach was so high above me. She was professional, out of reach, distant... she was an <i>adult</i>. Now, I have friends who are older than her. I have slept with guys closer to her age than mine. I worked on a class project with a 26-year-old classmate. I'm in her peer group now. <i>I'm</i> an adult.</li>
<li>I experimented with cannabis, and I have a hunch that it can explain why I am depressed and anxious all the time. </li>
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Is my Evergreen Dream still alive? Can it still take place and be a reality? Perhaps if I think of myself as a gypsy, that romanticized idea of a young woman moving away by herself to follow her dreams.... I could be more at peace. Maybe if I remind myself more often what it was like to be that dreamy, ambitious, grateful, starry-eyed girl I was before coming here.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-73920870874145965502016-02-24T14:40:00.000-08:002016-02-24T14:41:01.192-08:00My Reality CheckI just had a meeting with my outgoing Real Food Calculator campaign leader and mentor Jesse, and she said she was worried about my capabilities as the Vice Chair of the Food Systems Working Group. My motto this year was to just jump in, and that's what I did. It was overwhelming and intimidating, but I got up courage and took risks. But even if people are strong swimmers, if the currents are too strong, they still drown.<br />
Sometimes I need to know when to step back. It's difficult to know my limits though. Steve, one of my professors, recently said to me to deny more projects to take on so I don't spread myself to thin. "You get really good at doing a shitty job at a lot of things, instead of doing a really good job at a few things." He was gesturing to my new internship at Permaculture Magazine North America. Oddly enough, my other motto was "You can do anything, but not everything." That's why I stopped writing in this blog.<br />
This year I found myself a small entity in a vast, cold empty void. I had a lot of things to do but didn't know where to start. I ended up soothing my poor overwhelmed brain with free days of knitting in my dorm and listening to Lana Del Rey and Marina and the Diamonds.<br />
I became hopeless. I wasn't passionate anymore, I didn't know what was going on. Health problems layered on top of school and work. I became depressed for no reason. I have everything I've always wanted but I am not phased by any of it. The world suddenly looked meaningless to me.<br />
The difference is, I love my internship job. So much better than the FSWG job. We don't do anything in FSWG - we just <i>talk</i> about everything - and work in the magazine industry is so fast-paced and we <i>get things done</i>. I have specific tasks that I know the purpose of.<br />
My other professor, Sarah, scared me shitless the other day when I was asking her questions about my ILC project: "No, you can't do this. You're not ready for that." She was basically yelling at me. In the real world, you need to grow a thick skin. I was aware of this. I am working on it.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-21981979846847246292015-12-20T17:51:00.002-08:002016-03-02T22:42:52.233-08:00After a Quarter at CollegeI just finished vomiting the contents of my heart out onto my mother. It was awesome. I felt so refreshed afterwards, almost like I was my old self again for a moment. Sometimes I try to write what I'm thinking because I need to release my thoughts and I feel like if I work them out and organize them I will be more put together and what will result is a powerful, effective piece of writing. My brain goes too fast for my hands to type. Or my brain works in a scattered random way and my page ends up being a list of random thoughts. Or sometimes I don't even know what genre I'm writing in, where I can't decide if this should be a blog post or a poem... or if it will be more effective read on a page or heard out loud. This time the predecessor to the written word had to have been speech.<br />
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I don't know shit about art. Do I have the right to enjoy music when I don't understand it? The only thing they teach us to analyze in school is literature (which is taught because it is an extension of reading and writing which are basic core subjects we learn in elementary school, yet it is an analysis class, which ergo I argue is an art class, I digress). I also learned to an extent how to analyse music because I was in band. I wasn't in AP Music Theory, but I was in band, so I did learn some about how to analyse music. And there is a lot of information no one knows about. There is a scientific theory behind music. Contestants on The Voice should sing and be rich and famous because they have the "talent." In any other field, for someone to be that successful, they would have had to go through years of schooling, extensive experience... but our culture capitalizes on image, and marketing milks boy bands for every teenage girl's mom's dollar (ahem, my sister...). Can I decorate my dorm with minimalist hipster canvas art that only mimics the ingenuity of DIY Culture from Office Depot of trendy symbols like the "&" sign plastered against a white 6 x 6? What does that sign even mean in this context?? And what?? It is literally just a swirly symbol of the word "and" randomly placed in my bedroom! Is it supposed to be some sort of romantic gesture to literature or journaling? Is it supposed to symbolize connection? Hopefully by now you can see that sometimes I wish I would stop thinking quite so much and go back to living in ignorant bliss in my bubble of a world filled with meaningless swirly gold "&" symbols.<br />
What if I had been taught to analyze, say, paintings instead of novels? I don't know why certain colors look good together--I don't know the logic behind it. And I know there is a science: I had a taste of it when I was really interested in fashion design when I was in fifth grade. I had a design book that taught all about different styles, techniques, prints and the color wheel. So there has to be more than that. Can anyone just put on an outfit, or do you have to be qualified in order to look good?<br />
Moreover, do I have the right to enjoy music if I don't understand it? There are some popular songs that I do like. Can I indulge in cheap pop culture if I like it or am I just manipulated by market?<br />
It is immoral to eat animals, but it is how the world works and we just need to accept it. The wrong thing to do is the correct thing to do, and it depresses me. We can be happy or we can be real. The act of eating itself has become a tragic oxymoron.<br />
I feel like I'm floating. Floating with my thoughts... I feel so distant from everything, with my mirror. I almost expect to wake up into my old life tomorrow. At the same time, I am having a harder and harder time remembering what my old life was like. It seems so foreign now. This is reflected from my physical existence: I am in my first year of college, swinging back and forth from my dorm at Evergreen to my parent's house in Sequim. I don't have a home. This is kind of what I wanted--a gypsy, living on a dream and a dream alone, my spirit enough to sustain me. I guess my young adult idealist girl ambition wasn't enough.<br />
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During this talk/vent with my mother, I realized a few things:<br />
1. This is called <i>thinking critically</i>. It is what liberal arts schools are supposed to teach. This is what's <i>supposed</i> to happen when I go to Evergreen. Phew.<br />
2. I say, "I feel like I'm braking everything I used to be down and starting from scratch." My mother says, "I don't think you're starting from scratch. I think you are growing."Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-66612992338807868152015-12-20T17:17:00.001-08:002018-04-11T08:10:55.016-07:00Turns out I'm not always right. Turns out intuition is bullshit. Turns out that <i>feeling </i>was wrong.<br />
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Last year, whenever I would tour colleges, I would get an overwhelming feeling of anxiety. "<i>I am scared.</i>" I wrote a whole blog post about this phenomenon. Every thought would end abruptly with a quick dismissal, leaving my brain empty and lost, like a mousetrap snapping the thought away. Now, I have that feeling to some degree every day of my life. College is like a radioactive magnet that turns my brain into a frantic mess the more I get near it. I am not passionate and ambitious and grateful and wholesome like I used to be. I have seen the real world now. I am tainted. <i>Snap!</i><br />
College is where you open up your mind to new ideas. I fear that I am questioning too much that I am going backwards.<br />
When I would get bored and/or homesick, I would do one of my old dances from a company I used to be in. Now that I am home, I still do that dance. I was home again, but a piece of me is still missing. I was not homesick; I want my old life back.<br />
When I climb the stairs, I go right out of habit towards my old room only to remember that I don't live there anymore.<br />
"How is college?"<br />
"Is it everything you wanted it to be?"<br />
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The people I meet at Evergreen are some of the ugliest people I've ever met. Yarden has hideous skin and is chubby. Emily has glowing skin and some extra pushin' for the cushion. What we look like and our health is luck of the draw. I have put all my faith in food to fix all my problems.<br />
The fifties was a gilded time, a facade.<br />
I fear that my career choice is based on a lie.<br />
I am not passionate about things I used to love. I spent all day yesterday papercrafting in my planner. As I looked at it, full and fat with gorgeous goodies, just like I dreamed of since last year, I felt nothing. It was just like the plannergirls' planners that I would ogle over all the time last year. I have everything I wanted, and yet why am I so sad? I go through the motions.<br />
Sex is the only thing I. When I fell sad, I just think I'll have some more sex and I'll feel better about myself. Like I am doing what I am sure of. People don't think of women when they think sex addiction.<br />
And that's another thing. I lost my virginity four months ago, a month before I started at Evergreen. Sex is something that I have always knew would be my savior. The first time was everything I wanted it to be.<br />
I have experienced strange health problems. I sometimes get lightheaded for no reason. I get anxious, sometimes nearly to the point of panic attacks.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-72231572942615304132015-11-26T14:12:00.000-08:002018-04-11T08:11:23.033-07:00My Visit to Olympia, WashingtonMarch 2015<br />
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I went to Olympia yesterday. I noticed that it has become somewhat of a tradition to write a blog post after every visit to The Evergreen State College. Hell, my tabbed page entitled "Me in 3--- Words" is about the first time I formally visited Evergreen. Indeed, the story I felt accurately sums up myself and my life at this point. It makes me so happy to be able to say that Evergreen is a large part of my life. Even before I knew I was going there, Evergreen has been the founding subject of this blog.<br />
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So it is only appropriate that I tell you all about my adventure. When I first arrived to the campus, I blankly stared at the directory for a few moments before deciding to just wing it and wander on. After all, just look for the clock tower. Sure enough, I found myself in front of the Daniel J. Evans Library Building. This campus just sucks you in. It is as if it wants me as much as I want it. I cannot begin to explain how incredibly important that kind of mutual love is to me at this point in my life.<br />
I find that my artistic ability and flow are heightened when I travel outside my hometown. I am speaking poetry. Poetry is a language.<br />
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During my Academic Advising meeting, my adviser asked, "Too much information?" In all honesty, it was not as overwhelming as in the past because I have gotten used to Evergreen in my life. I could actually handle this. "A little," I said, to counter all the stress I've endured for Evergreen in the past. "I don't see smoke yet," he joked. <i>That's because it's steam.</i> From my acid brain. Lately an image of a hot, acidic, toxic, fried brain has come to me. It feels like my mind is dormant, especially when I read. I cannot focus or concentrate. It feels like I am disconnected from reality; information merely bounces off the entity that is my brain, instead of being sucked in and moved around, contorted, taken apart and processed.<br />
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While walking back to the car, I came across cute shops. The first was an art supplies store, which I was drawn (ha) to by the planners in the window. Then I gravitated to the journals. Of course. And I scoped the store for some gel pens (I need some more). But all of the pens were special, expensive pens that cost like four dollars each. :( Not what I was looking for. (When I came home I realized I should have looked for a journal to give my sister for her birthday.)<br />
Then I walked on, and a few shops over was Radiance, a massage studio and larger abundant store. I remember Maryna (she goes to Evergreen) telling me about this place. Before I even entered the shop, I was drawn in by the peaceful smells that were radiating out of the door and onto the sidewalk outside. </div>
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I love leisurely wandering around shops like these. It sells a variety of things, such as sustainable cleansers and cosmetics, ethically made clothing, indie greeting cards, a rolling wall of bulk herbs, and BOOKS. Oh, the books. I had to jot some titles and authors down on my reading list in my journal. I circled the store at least twice, taking in all the condensed richness and beauty. In the book section I nearly freaked out (I definitely let out a gasp rather aggressively) when I saw on the bottom shelf <i>Women's Bodies, Women's Wisdom</i> by Christiane Northrup. I have that book at home. That book has pulled me out of a moral crisis about a year ago. It is my savior and something that I hold very dear to my heart. Then my eyes fell upon <i>Spiritual Midwifery</i> by Ida May Gaskin, which has been on my reading list for quite a while. Gaskin has the inspiration potential to be one of my heroes. In the card section I spotted a brand that triggered a flip-out of excitement. Curly Girl Design. I immediately recognized the style, for I had read about Curly Girl in an issue of Mary Jane's Farm.</div>
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Then I found comfort inside of the library section and sat down on the rocking chair there, took out my journal and ended up writing six pages about my experiences in Olympia. Then I realized that I had spent a lot of time in there (though I don't know exactly how much time was spent--my sense of time escapes me when I enter this kind of a place) and felt obligated to purchase something. I contemplated buying <i>Spiritual Midwifery</i>, but I recalled the half-read <i>The Omnivore's Dilemma</i> already in my bag and the several other books at home that have yet to be finished. I ended up getting a facial cleanser, which worked out because I needed some more anyway.<br />
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One significant thing about this trip was that I was calm and collected the whole time. Another is that I was alone. (These two may or may not be connected.) I was fairly confident. It was my first time going to Olympia by myself. I have been to Seattle without my parents, but that's it. I drove on the freeway with ease. I love being an adult. I believe I will actually succeed here. No nervous breakdowns this time. No lingering thoughts of "does this all matter?" After all, I have been turning this over in my mind more at home lately, and am adjusting to the idea that I will be moving to a different city and attending a different school with thousands of strangers. I remind myself:<br />
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1. <b>Don't expect others to judge you. </b>Don't waste your time trying to prove yourself to others. Don't try to prove that you're weird enough to go here. Don't try to wow people with the fact that you're a girly-girl who is studying agriculture (gasp!). In high school, I made it a point to let people know that I was both a cheerleader <i>and </i>a band geek. This always led me to an empty feeling. I thought I was special for not being boxed into one stereotype, but this is no use: especially at Evergreen, such boxes don't exist. Don't expect others to notice how special that is.<br />
2. <b>Do what YOU want. </b>I am self-conscious about not being weird or unique enough to go here. And about a lot of other things. Thousands of people came before me and thousands will come after. No one is going to notice me. <u>I am here for a reason.</u><br />
3. <b>None of these people know you.</b> None of them know that you used to be shy or ugly or awkward. I have a blank slate before me. Now is my chance to reinvent my own identity out of what I choose to be. I have the opportunity to take control of my fate.<br />
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Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-84084456588393427542015-06-02T08:03:00.000-07:002018-04-11T08:10:32.846-07:00My Daddy and his JobApril 2015<br />
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I am taking a class that my daddy teaches on Natural Landscaping. Everything I'm interested in lead me back home. Whenever I ventured to where I wanted to go, I ended up back where I started: home! Whatever I learned and whatever I am interested in, at least as a career, I learned after the fact that my parents have been doing this the whole time!!<br />
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I am in this class because I found out that my dad hates lawns too! I, through my own thinking, figured out that a yard (or any land for that matter) should be productive, not consumptive. A lawn requires so much of the land owner's energy, resources, and time to maintain. In contrast, one could have a garden or landscape to produce food, beauty, or habitat. (Can you tell I'm into horticulture?)<br />
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My dad actually teaches a class all about how to reduce the size of your lawn. He suggested that I take it, and I agreed without hesitation.<br />
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It seems strange and backwards to disappear into school everyday of my childhood to learn a bunch of irrelevant things when I don't even know what my parents do during the day. I don't know what's going on in my parents' lives, but I know the quadratic formula. I don't know my parents' passions and beliefs and how they want to better the world through their service to the community in their jobs, but I know all about the Oregon Trail. *Frustration with the American education system and the way children are brought up now*<br />
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I knew their jobs had something to do with nature, but that was about it. My mom is obsessed with birds and I've always found that annoying.<br />
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The apple does not fall far from the tree.<br />
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My dad told me a story about what life was like when I was very young. He and Mom were in Michigan in graduate school. Once both had finished their Master's degrees, my dad wanted to continue his education because he wanted to be a professor. I never thought about this before, but my dad LOVES college. He was raised on a dairy farm with four older brothers and a younger half-sister, and none of them went to college. My dad was the first person to go to college in his family. And go to college he did! He almost completed his PhD and was going to <i>teach</i> college! But... then he looked around at all of this professors, and none of them had families or hobbies. They didn't have time for themselves or others. They didn't even have time for their students! All they ever did was research. My dad, with a two-year-old (me) and an infant (my sister), decided he didn't want that lifestyle. So he dropped out of school and he and my mom moved back to Washington. They love their life now, where they live in a beautiful place (my mom hated Michigan) with jobs in their field they are passionate about, and that also allow them to have a life outside of it - my dad can do the things he loves, like garden, cook and play basketball; and he also has time to be present in my and my siblings' lives.<br />
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Why didn't he ever tell me that story before?! I feel like I would have been more grateful for my life had I known that. I never realized it but I have a relatively awesome life. What if my dad <i>had</i> chosen that path? My life would be a whole lot different. I'm telling you, I've been asleep my whole life and am just now waking up.<br />
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My parents were around for my childhood. They were very involved in my life. They came to my dance recitals, band concerts, royalty parades, etc. to support me and be a part of my life. They know me and my life, but I don't know theirs. I don't know what life was like before I was born; I don't even know what their life is like now!<br />
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<br />Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-13046513241225032552015-03-01T10:15:00.000-08:002015-03-28T10:18:07.037-07:00The Free-Spirit Beautiful Soul Hippie Gypsy I amMarch 2015<br />
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Sometimes I envision obsessively and hopefully what I want to happen that never would.<br />
My latest vision has been about the band trip to Disneyland that the Sequim High Band will go on soon (the marching band marches in the parade there). This was triggered when I stayed in a hotel for the Dupree Dance Convention when I competed there, and Eden brought face masks and I brought pink and gold nail polish that matched our group number costumes. Eden, Allie, Joie and I painted each other's nails and did facials. I even talked with Eden about boys. We were whispering because her mom was right there in the room (but she's part deaf and can't hear well). It was a typical slumber-party experience. I <i>love </i>that kind of thing!<br />
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So at Disneyland I'm thinking of bringing face masks and nail polish and doing the same thing. I would invite all the girls into my hotel room. We'll do each other's hair and talk about the boy band members. But once I got to be thinking about it, I realized that it would probably be a huge flop because I tried to do that kind of thing at the Lional Hampton Jazz Festival last year. I offered Devyn, Carmen and Olivia lotion but none of them would take it. I also tried to get them to talk about boys, but of course Olivia went and sat in the corner (she's a lesbian), and Devyn said of her boyfriend James "it's between us," and the most I could get out of Carmen was speculating the possibility of her with Seth or someone else, I forgot who.<br />
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I have also pictured myself bringing tea, my diary, my planner, my Evergreen Geoducks t-shirt that I use for sleeping in, and a playlist of sexy yet classy songs. Things that represent me. I want to keep up my perfectly organized (ha), healthy life by having my morning lemon water ritual, taking tea every evening, meditating upon rising in the morning and before retiring to bed (I just started doing that), and finish off the day by writing in my diary or art journaling in my planner while listening to Broods, Meg and Dia, or Lorde, Banks, or classical piano music. I can picture my roommates walking in on me meditating, or hanging upside-down off of the bed and my shirt comes up (I like to do that to stretch). I can also picture myself dancing around the airport or hotel or something, to my sexy-yet-classy playlist. Think Melanie Martinez, or <i>Abracadabra </i>by The Steve Miller Band. I do a combination of sexy, technical, and hair-brush-microphone moves. In my hopeful visions, I am always dancing at some point or another. I love to dance.<br />
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<b>I just recently noticed how special and hippie and beautifully gypsy, free-spirit soul wonderful I am.</b> I want to be this person, but there is a gnawing feeling that I am not and I merely want to be. Can I decide my own destiny? After all, what dictates who I am? Can I become who I want to be? Does wanting to be someone make me that person? These are the scary thoughts in the back of my mind. I usually dismiss them while I immerse myself in the life I create for myself.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-57246815712587093622015-02-28T12:32:00.001-08:002015-02-28T12:32:26.535-08:00My Eighteenth BirthdayFebruary 2015<br />
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I celebrated my eighteenth birthday recently with five of my friends. Before my party started, I was worried that we would run out of stuff to do before it ended at eight. We had no such problem! The party didn't end until like 2:15 am! Judi and Eden had to leave at the normal time, but Benny, Mikaele and Kaylee stayed into the night. And guess what we spent hours doing?<br />
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We spent literally five hours just talking. We had a brilliant, terrific discussion that was rich, enlightening and intelligent. Later Dad would say we sounded like college students. We discussed such subjects as religion, feminism, the Iraq War on Terrorism, the death penalty, pedophilia, and pretty much every other political and social issue of our time. I love this group of people. We are all so different, and definitely had differing opinions, but we were capable of having a mature, respectful, rich discussion. Mikaele is a flute-playing extremely nerdy boy who loves literature, history, medicine and the military; Kaylee is an outgoing, extremely girly female wrestler who loves democratic politics, business, sports, fashion, and performance arts; Benny is bookworm who loves Lord of the Rings and nature, and is a Christian who ironically has a fascination with evolutionary biology; and I am a shy flute-playing, ballet-loving vegan cheerleader who is dedicated to ethical food systems.<br />
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But because we are eighteen- and seventeen-year-olds, we discussed these complex topics in the way we know how to, using what we knew. We referenced Disney movies like <i>Brave </i>or <i>Frozen;</i> or books we read in class throughout high school, like <i>The Kite Runner</i>, <i>Things They Carried</i>, and <i>Crime and Punishment</i>. This is because this is how we understand the world; this is our starting point.<br />
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It was one of those moments when I realize that these people sitting in front of me, WE ARE THE FUTURE. These are the leaders of tomorrow. I have the pleasure of witnessing the bud start to open up in front of me before we all get dispersed throughout the Northwest next year: I will be at Evergreen in Olympia, WA; Mikaele will hopefully be at University of Washington in Seattle, WA; Kaylee will be at Warner Pacific in Portland, OR; and Benny will be matriculating in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada.<br />
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This birthday was actually pretty magical. It dialed my vision of my life out into the big picture and I reflected contently. I am so happy, eager, and excited to graduate and start my new life.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-74922323475392433312015-02-12T15:43:00.001-08:002015-02-17T16:41:14.670-08:00"The Food Babe Way" by Vani Hari<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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February 2015<br />
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I have read many food books (<i>In Defense of Food</i> Micheal Pollan, <i>Foodopoly</i> by Wenonah Hauter, <i>The China Study</i> by Collin Campbell, <i>The Optimum Nutrition Bible</i> by Patrick Holford) and right now I am reading <i>The Food Babe Way</i> by Vani Hari, which just came out in stores on February 10. It is an incredible book. I admire and look up to Hari from having followed her blog for the last few months, foodbabe.com. She is a food activist, investigating how the food industry dupes consumers about what's in their food, how our food is processed, and what is actually good for us. Not only is she extremely wise and knowledgeable about her field, but her book is easy to follow and includes a 21-Day Guide that lays out all the steps to take to transform your life and make lasting, healthy habits.<br />
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There is no doubt that trying to navigate the health world is overwhelming. Hari takes all this information and presents it in a simple, straightforward way. She makes it substantially easier, especially for a beginner. EVERYONE NEEDS TO READ THIS BOOK.<br />
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As you would imagine, this book's success will influence the market. The more people who follow the guide in this book, the less money the major food corporations are going to make. That is why, right now, The Food Babe Way is under attack on Amazon.com because people are creating multiple accounts to deliberately write as many one-star reviews as they can. These are people who have never read the book and who work for the corporations. They don't want people knowing what is in their food. Please, if anyone is reading this, do the world a favor and go to Amazon, get this book, read it, and post an honest review. The important information presented in this amazing book NEEDS to get out.<br />
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http://smile.amazon.com/The-Food-Babe-Way-Younger/product-reviews/0316376469/ref=cm_cr_dp_synop?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=0&sortBy=bySubmissionDateDescending#R4AI7Q0QVWYGW<br />
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<br />Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-36183081558353326872015-01-14T23:45:00.003-08:002015-01-16T10:35:20.124-08:00The Value of the Liberal ArtsJanuary 2015<br />
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Lately I have been working on an essay for a scholarship contest about the value of the liberal arts. I have invested more time on it than I thought I would, learning the history of liberal arts, how it traces back to Ancient Greece when Plato outlined the basics of the liberal arts curriculum and how it's purpose was to make democracy plausible. I've read last year's winning essays to see what they are looking for. As a writer, I need to find balance between what I want to say and what people what to hear. I also read my best friend's essay on the value of the liberal arts, which he is not going to submit because he is not going to a liberal arts school (and his essay is ten pages--the word limit is five hundred--but that's Mikaele for you). I also read an essay by Todd Gitlin that he referenced heavily in Mikaele's essay, and it was so inspirational I read the entire thing. But more on that later. I've also emailed my Grandma for help, who, before she retired, was a college professor of the classics and Greek language. I emailed her the rough draft today so she can review it. And I made an appointment at Peninsula College with the Writing Lab so it can be reviewed there by a professor. I spent approximately three hours working on it today, as the deadline is two days from now. Here is my draft as of now:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">There
are three potential purposes for education: preparation for professional life,
civic life, and personal life. The former increasingly takes precedence in our
society over the two latter; most students are conditioned to believe that the
single object of matriculating is to eventually secure decent employment. However,
until climbing the socioeconomic ladder became the ultimate goal, education
meant much more. In the case of liberal arts, the purpose of education is to
allow a free person to actively participate in government; produce a
well-rounded, cultured citizen capable of complex thinking; and live a
meaningful and productive life.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Our
current education system contrasts that of the Ancient Greeks, where the
liberal arts originated—not surprising considering Ancient Greece produced the
greatest thinkers of all time and is the only society with a government
comparable to the great American democracy. Plato outlined this curriculum: the
seven liberal arts, in classical antiquity, worked together to create a basis
for education. Essentially, one learns how to learn.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
original intent of a liberal arts education is to create a population that
would make democracy plausible. Each individual shall to be an informed,
virtuous citizen capable of actively participating in public debate, serving on
juries, defending oneself in court, and electing qualified representatives. We,
as members of a free nation, are obligated to contribute to our country through
public forum. Intelligence is worthless without the ability to exercise it. Without
articulation and rhetoric, ideas remain quiescent. Society is propelled by the
minds who communicate effectively. Moreover, not only do the leaders of society
require the ability to think on a higher plane of thought, but—perhaps even
more importantly—a free person needs to effectively govern <i>himself</i>. Otherwise, power may be corrupted when individuals cannot
keep their politicians in check.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">With
this in mind, the liberal arts are now perhaps more relevant than ever. The
world today is, in the words of Todd Gitlin, a glut of saturated information
and images, much of it meaningless and redundant in the form of cheap culture
from television or other media. American lifestyle is high-velocity, constantly
in flux when the human condition prescribes a more stationary existence.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">This
is where the liberal arts come in: productive citizens needn’t be fed even more
information only so they can merely regurgitate it back to their successors;
they need the tools with which to <i>process</i>
this information. Even if a student has a superior ability to recall facts, the
need to do so becomes obsolete when the phenomenon “The Google Effect” lets the
internet do that with far greater speed and accuracy. In a culture concentrated
with information, the ability to think critically is threatened because an
unhealthy reliance on outside thinking is imposed. Knowledge is only the first
tier of Bloom’s Taxonomy: information alone does not make us more intelligent
as intelligence is not measured by the amount known but rather the extent to
which we are able to comprehend, apply, analyze, synthesize, and evaluate this
information.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">A
liberal arts education can even—contrary to popular belief—be the right choice
in regard to the assumed main purpose of higher education: to get a good job.
Indeed, employers now look for communication, analytical, management, and problem
solving skills—all of which are found in a liberal arts degree. The average
American has six to ten jobs in her life; a liberal arts education is the most
adaptable. In addition—though we seem to somehow place seriousness on the STEM
subjects and careers in those areas, deeming them “real” jobs—we don’t know
what kind of jobs will be the highest paying or in the highest demand in the
future; the job market is constantly adapting to new inventions, technologies
and lifestyles.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Finally,
politics and careers aside, on a personal level, education can help one achieve
a better sense of self. A liberal arts degree is the most effective in this
regard because it teaches the student to find the material’s relevance to their
own life, and by exposing her to different subjects and points of view, makes
her a more well-rounded being. Many people with a degree don’t end up applying
it to a job, but it helped them in the long run because it exposed them to new
environments and challenged them. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> So yeah, I hate word limits. The word limit is five hundred and mine is over seven hundred. This essay is comparable to my personal statement. That was the most challenging piece of writing I've ever been faced with, as I have seventeen years of content to condense into a little over a single-spaced page. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">My favorite concept in this subject is the theory Gitlin proposes about the liberal arts being increasingly important in an age of "info glut." In writing this essay, I noticed myself looking around more at the world around me as I did normal day-to-day things. I recalled that I am living in a upon watching television and questioned this practice; likewise, I realized that some of my research I did on this topic led me to petty entertainment-based magazine-style websites. "As a student of the liberal arts," I declared, "I have the ability to process information and distinguish between reliable sources and otherwise." Then I promptly went to Peninsula College's research database to look for more credible, scholarly articles. I haven't even started my liberal arts post-secondary education and I'm already benefiting from it!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">One thing that may be a stretch is my analysis of the relevance and worth of recipes. Yes, cooking recipes, like from cookbooks and pinterest. In essence, recipes are a ready-made formula for preparing food that is supposed to make the lives of cooks easier. I venture to argue that recipes do </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">not </i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">make life easier, and even hamper the process of truly learning how to cook. Following a recipe does not mean you know how to cook; it means you know how to follow a list of directions. First of all, most "recipes" are just a combination of different foods arranged in a certain way, and anyone could have thought to put avocados and tomatoes on a slab of bread or to put cabbage and carrots on some greens in a salad. Also, many recipes include ingredients that are not in season at the same times of the year, and often times will contain ingredients that either the cook does not like to eat or currently have in the kitchen. </span><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 32px;">Often, the cook will have to go to the grocery store and buy ingredients for something they saw in a magazine instead of creating something of her own out of the ingredients already in her fridge. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Recipes, in fact, are </span><span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">inconvenient </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">and </span><span style="line-height: 32px; text-indent: 0.5in;">irrelevant</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">. They ignore the enormous complexity of the question "what do I eat?" The true process of cooking involves chemistry to some extent: learning what makes the bread rise, or what combination of ingredients make a cake qualify as a cake, or how to boil something without burning it are examples of the kinds of things cooks need to know but aren't included in recipes. If they know these basic </span><span style="line-height: 32px; text-indent: 0.5in;">essentials</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">, though, they can make all their own "recipes." Same could be said for DIY projects: they rely on outside thinking instead of being creative and resourceful with what one already has. </span><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 32px;">I looked up vegan cake the other day and found a normal cake recipe only with vegan butter, presented by The Minimalist Baker. </span><i style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 32px;">I </i><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 32px;">could have thought of that! What I was really looking for was a different definition of cake: how to imitate the texture, taste and chemistry in a completely alternative way. After all, what makes a cake, a cake? You know, after going through a baking phase when I was thirteen where I made a different cake every weekend, I still don't know the answer to that. A lot of the ingredients and processes are a blur in my mind because I was blindly following a recipe, not completely engaged and aware of the process. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; line-height: 32px;">This phenomenon is new to our generation: when my dad taught me how to make oatmeal, I would insist on writing down the "recipe" because I wanted to be completely organized. He said there was no recipe; he throws in the spices and sweeteners he has on hand and adjusts the amounts to how many servings he's making. He seldom uses measuring cups. My mother says using measuring tools is imperative only when baking because amounts need to be exact lest they disrupt the chemistry of the product. <i>That's </i>the information I need to know. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; line-height: 32px;">Likewise, older cookbooks have a different approach than newer ones. My grandmother's cookbook has a simple lay out of all the recipes: the dry ingredients are grouped together and the wet ingredients are grouped together, and then you add the two groups. This is essentially what baking is, finding that out after weeks of experience with a more modern, unnecessarily complicated cookbook that contains long lists of ingredients and blurbs of instructions that occupy large amounts of space on the page. In addition, this cookbook includes pages on different ways to make cake (the Double-Quick Method or the Simplified Creaming Method?) which truly teaches HOW to cook. It also has a different way of presenting recipes: for some, there is a "Key" recipe that serves as the basic version, and then there are instructions for modifying it for variations on that recipe. For example, there is a basic Chiffon cake, and then a chocolate chip, maple pecan, butterscotch, spice, orange, holiday fruit, peppermint chip, cherry-nut, bit o' walnut, mahogany, and banana variation that uses the same recipe using added special ingredients, and changing certain things like omitting or decreasing certain other ingredients, using a different pan, adjusting bake time or temperature, etc. The older way takes into account the big picture of the process, and newer doesn't distinguish between the main ingredients like pasta and the minuscule ones like salt. The reader doesn't understand that what she is making is essentially pasta with spices, until she makes it: what she sees is several ingredients that include pasta and spices listed on a page in front of her. Now if only she had a liberal arts education, she could make sense of it....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">A truth I've learned through this process of writing my essay about the liberal arts is that much of the information we </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">receive</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> is not asked for. We didn't know we needed it until it was </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">glittered</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> in our faces. I looked up vegan lunch ideas today and some of them were things like an avocado on toast. I've already been doing that! But it looks so glamorous in the photo in the "Oh She Glows" blog article... and yet so simple and normal in real life. This stirs two responses in me: one, condemnation of the media and </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">disdain</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> for its </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">deceitfulness</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">; and two, a newly awoken appreciation for how beautiful real life is. </span></span></div>
Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-1466900661884725032015-01-04T13:42:00.000-08:002015-01-04T13:42:10.867-08:00To Grace YellandJanuary 2015<br />
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A woman named Grace said, "Hi, Kristina" to me on our walk up to the church this morning. Grace is a pediatrician; her daughter just graduated from Lewis and Clark College in Portland last spring. Her husband, Joel, is also a doctor and attends fellowship with her every Sunday. He is the choir director of the church, in fact, and plays percussion with the Sequim City Band, where Grace plays oboe and flute. I often see Grace riding her bike. She is a fit, strong woman. They are wonderful people. I was delighted when Grace said hi to me, and I said hi back.<br />
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Which is why it was so alarming to hear Grace light a candle of sorrow at the service and announce that she has breast cancer. The doctor has breast cancer! What has this world come to?<br />
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The most ironic of this news is that a few weeks ago the fellowship hall was decorated with plastic mannequins of women's bodies painted and accessorized with statements, celebrating the female body. It payed a special attention to the issue of the breast cancer epidemic. It was Grace's idea. Grace made her own: it was covered with all the reasons she doesn't need breast cancer. Most were jocular notions, like "I like my body the way it is" or "chemo is not all it's cracked up to be." It had a playful undertone, almost mocking. No one knew it would become a reality.<br />
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If only I'd known when she said hi to me earlier that day; to think I was saying hello to a person living with breast cancer. I also saw her yesterday when Joel was in Olympic Theater Arts' production of Twelfth Night by Shakespeare. I had no suspicion. No idea.<br />
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This news tempts to destroy my faith that cancer is not a random, inevitable thing. I trust that cancer is caused by things and can be prevented. But this makes me so scared. Of all people. Why Grace??Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-56928926832884838492014-12-27T22:21:00.001-08:002015-01-15T00:06:12.178-08:00Love you, Grandma!December 2014<br />
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Every once in a while I will dedicate a post to an inspirational person in my life. I can't think of a more nurturing person than my mother's stepmother, Diane. I have always loved that lady--she is upbeat and comedic yet intelligent and talented. Not to mention accomplished; she has a PhD and taught as a professor of classic literature at Western Washington University before she retired. She frequently traveled to Greece to teach abroad. She didn't stray from the domestic arts: she is a skilled quilter. In fact, within the last few years she has gotten a whole farm of animals for her backyard: chickens, geese, dogs, cats, oh, and rabbits. Crate after crate of rabbits. She sheers the rabbits and sheep for their wool and then spins it into yarn, which she uses to knit clothing accessories. For Christmas she sent my family four scarves.<br />
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My family visited her in Bellingham today. It seems like she always has something special to give us when we come. She doesn't plan it--it's not like a wrapped gift or anything--but as conversation evolves, we are brought to something to which Grandma says "why don't you take this home with you? I don't need it anymore! Take it, it's not a problem." She gave my sister an adjustable dress form and a how-to sew book, which delighted her so much because Hilary wants to be a fashion designer when she grows up and is determined to make her Senior Ball dress to wear in two years from now. For my brother she gave a DVD copy of The Comedy of Errors by Shakespeare because he's learning about that play in his sixth-grade drama class and is quite passionate about it (which is rare for Erik). And to me, a spindle, some fresh wool, and a how-to book called "Respect the Spindle." XD I attempted to spin yarn in the car half the way home!<br />
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This spring break I'm going to come back and spend quality time with Diane. There's so much I want to learn from her! I not only want to learn to spin my own yarn, but also to sheer wool, sew, knit, and quilt. (Next year I want to join the Fiber Arts Club at Evergreen!) I also want to help her take care of all her animals and help her in her garden. Being a writer, words enchant me, so naturally I want to learn about Latin and language. We could cook delicious, fresh healthy food and explore Bellingham together. I need to introduce her to Mary Jane's Farm because she reminds me so much of it. And I would art journal and write a lot in this blog, maybe even post some pictures, which I've never done!Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-23586539836066818242014-12-23T16:28:00.000-08:002015-01-15T00:02:49.048-08:00My friend SaraDecember 2014<br />
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I have a friend who graduated from Sequim High School last year named Sara. She is such an inspirational lady with an uplifting aura and lovely vibe. She's the type of person who calls you "darling" and ends an email with "hugs, from Sara." She founded the Gay-Straight Alliance at Sequim High School, knits her own clothes, did theater, is building a Tiny House out of shipping pallets, and is half black. She reminds me so much of Joanne from Rent. Which is why it is perfect that she went to The Evergreen State College. XD<br />
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I just needed to get in touch with her so I can hear all about Evergreen, so she can give me her advise and wisdom. She's in the Fiber Arts Club and the Black Student Union there. She spoke at the Sequim High School Alumni Lunch the other day and today had lunch with her today at my favorite restaurant, Nourish. She is such an incredible girl! I admire and look up to her so much. She is just so confident and present.<br />
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When I was a freshman and she was a sophomore, we had geometry class together and we both were cast in A Midsummer Night's Dream by Shakespeare (I played Mustardseed and she was my fairy queen, Titania). One day she said I should come over to her house sometime so we could hang out. I'm embarrassed to say that we never did. If the truth be told, I didn't want to. I was a shy, introverted little fourteen-year-old who found that kind of stuff intimidating and pressuring. Now, I am so glad I have connected with Sara again! I am always looking for a networking opportunity, a mentor, an inspiration, a like-minded friend... and boy is Sara a gold mine!<br />
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A year ago she saw me in school and invited me to a Winter Solstice celebration. I didn't go, but I should have. Little did I know that I would choose the Solstice this year as my main holiday, a secular alternative to Christmas! Sara was always one step ahead.<br />
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Today I found out, not only is she building a Tiny House (http://nymphofwildwood.wordpress.com/), but she is studying sustainable architecture! I really want to build a Tiny House in the next few years. My plan right now is to live in a dormitory for my first year of college, an on-campus apartment for my second, and then by my third year I would have my Tiny House built and habitable. And this is far in the future, but I have fantasized about hiring someone with whom I went to college to build my dream family house, specifically specializing in eco-friendly design. Indeed, the creation of a building is such an intimate and special thing that it requires a lot of thought and attention. I was so excited when she told me she was building a Tiny House!! Small world. She said she wants to work on it more this summer, and I offered to help her with the construction. She will be such a wonderful resource for learning and diving into the world of Tiny Houses! Starting a Tiny House project is extremely overwhelming, so I need all the help I can get. And Sara will be a BIG help; it's almost a miracle I found a friend so devoted to sustainable and alternative construction right when I needed it! I have another friend Lynley who is almost done with her Tiny House that she is building with her husband (http://agnewtinyhouse.blogspot.com/) and I visited the House to check it out, but now I'll have a full-on mentor to show me the ropes!Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-69478207136487727592014-12-23T15:48:00.000-08:002014-12-23T16:28:35.992-08:00Money HardshipsDecember 2014<br />
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Recently I had a dispute with my parents. Thanksgiving just passed and that means it is officially Christmas season, and I wanted to inform them of my gift boundaries. Instead of making a wish list like my sister and mom do, I gave a slide show presentation of a "Gift Proposal" laying out all the things I wanted and why I believe these are reasonable requests, reminding them that I have always been a rather abstemious spender.<br />
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I was not expecting my father to react the way he did (I think it has something to do with the fact that I stood in front of the television when the Cougs were playing the Huskies). I had proposed my idea for a senior trip: the Mind-Body Restoration Retreat in New York this summer. I spent like six slides on this gift, explaining how it would benefit me, which I believe it would immensely. I am completely confident that I was mature and responsible about it and that my request was perfectly reasonable. But they apparently didn't.<br />
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They gave me the whole speech about how they didn't get any help from their parents when they were my age and they had to pay for college all by themselves. They have always "lived below their means." Completely contradicting that, my mother also gave me the speech about how if I truly wanted to do something I have financial support from my parents.<br />
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I am not asking for stupid unnecessary things. Half the things on my wish list are books (a thing of which most of my peers cringe at the mention). I also asked for a bicycle (I've been using my mom's bike for the time being) and a laptop for college next year. They should be so grateful that I am not only willing to ride a bicycle, but I <i>want </i>to. My sister on the other hand hasn't ridden a bicycle since fifth grade and refuses to, and my brother sits in the recliner playing video games 24/7. My dad said he already gives me a lot, like a car. But he fails to see that the car is not a luxury; it is a convenience, and moreover, a convenience for them. Not me. If we didn't have the extra car for me to drive, the only difference would be that they would have to drive me everywhere and pick up and drop off Hilary and Erik where I otherwise would have. My dad pointed out that I would take the bus if I didn't have a car, as if that is a threat. I've wanted to start taking the bus for a long time but it's overwhelming for a small-town local to try to navigate the transit system, and MY DAD discouraged me from taking the bus because its a lot "easier" just to <i>drive </i>25 minutes to Port Angeles twice a week for class.<br />
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I don't know what else they want me to give up. I did <i>everything right</i>. I wrote a poem about this phenomenon once. I am not going to be miserable like they were just so it can be fair to them. I left this conversation feeling drained and guilty. I really thought they were going to embrace my ideas. I feel like my parents should be extremely grateful that they scored on such a nonmaterialistic of a millennial as their daughter, but I never feel appreciated. For example, my dad is always bitching about how I leave the cutting board out or I spill a drop of egg on the stove, but he should be SO LUCKY that I actually have an interest in real cooking and am committed to my health when most people my age don't know what a tablespoon is.<br />
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I am learning about arguments and persuasion in my English 101 class, which spends a great deal of attention to rhetoric. There are three ways to argue, one of them being the Rogerian method. This has three steps: explain both sides objectively, find mutual values shared between both parties, and then find a compromise that suits everyone involved. My dad tends to argue in a different way: dogmatically and proudly.<br />
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I announced that I would stop eating out in order to save money. My goal with this was to show them how determined I am and that I am willing to make sacrifices for this senior trip. But they weren't impressed. My dad twisted my words, saying "so since you're not grateful for getting breakfast in Port Angeles before class sometimes, you don't want to do that anymore?"<br />
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If there is one thing I have learned so far about people, its that LOVE HEALS. So instead of fighting them, I have vowed to make some changes to my life. I have decided to cut myself off from spending to allow my bank account to grow. I said I would pay for the plane ticket and lodging accommodations--which is approximately $600--as long as they pay for tuition.<br />
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Things keep interfering with my plan though. It's just my luck that this happens during the beginning of Christmas season . My sister told me she wants us and our brother to pool our money and get some get some gifts for our parents this year. I reluctantly told her I am not spending money anymore. I will probably write them a decorative letter in lieu of a store-bought gift (I have started doing that: I wrote one to Red Rooster Grocery staff and to my brother for his birthday). Also, the other day I got my first speeding ticket ever. So that means I'm down $113. And if that wasn't enough, Wen automatically billed me and my bank account went under, charging me $30. So I'm starting at -$90.<br />
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The worst part of all of this is that my mother <i>told </i>me not to spend any more money, as if I am notorious for frivolously spending money. I already made it clear that I am insisting on not spending any more money. I don't need her to tell me that.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-42210682627902932332014-11-27T15:12:00.000-08:002014-12-02T22:02:37.398-08:00A Saturday Well LivedNovember 2014<br />
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Two Saturdays ago, I went on an adventure with my Dad. We went to the Lazy J Tree Farm to buy a crate of apples, and we got some leeks while we were there. My dad is friends with the farmer who owns Lazy J, Steve. He was his first boss when he moved here, and he said he was around the age of one of his older brothers so they formed a special bond and have been friends ever since. Every year we go to Lazy J to self-cut our Christmas Tree and my favorite memory was getting hot apple cider in the barn afterwards. We asked Steve if we could see his cabin. Steve had started building this cabin on his property when he was about my age but put it on the back burner when other things came up in his life. And now, forty years later, he picked up where he left off.<br />
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This cabin was incredible. I have gained an interest in architecture lately, being especially fascinated by the Tiny House Movement. I've been reading <i>A Place of My Own</i> by my favorite author, Micheal Pollan. I've already been obsessing on floor plans and things, and even have a rough sketch of what I want in Tiny House. It's the way to go for college students because it is a financially sound option, and there need only be enough space for one person. My goal is to have it built by the time I'm a junior in college.<br />
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Steve could totally help me build my Tiny House. He obviously knows a lot about construction, and so does my dad. They can help me so much. So could my friend Lynley and her husband who are building a Tiny House right now and will be ready to move in by February(http://agnewtinyhouse.blogspot.com/) . I realized lately that this whole time during my senior year, I have been <i>networking</i>, but I didn't know it. I read that word on collegeboard.org once and it felt overwhelming. But it is fun! It's actually kind of easy, maintaining connections that could be beneficial to me in the future.<br />
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After Lazy J, Dad and I went to Nash's Farm Store, Dunguness Valley Creamery, and the Sunny Farms Store. That night he made potato and leek soup with the ingredients we bought. While I was relaxing on the couch, he handed me some mail. One was a brochure from Whitman College, my former dream college until I realized that none of their majors were appealing to me (and I didn't want to drown in student dept from a private school for the rest of my life). But the other content of the mail pile was a package from The Evergreen State College. I don't think my dad realized that this was probably my letter telling me if I'd gotten in or not because I've been so bombarded with mail from colleges for the last several months that we don't really give mail a second look anymore. But my heart was pounding as I opened this bulky envelope. I've thought about it a lot and I know Evergreen is the perfect place for me. Every aspect is perfect: the academics, the learning philosophy, the location, the price, the size.... I even wrote an extensive blog page (Me in 3064 Words) about it after an overwhelming and terrifying tour of campus last summer.<br />
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Evergreen has a 96% acceptance rate, and I'm an honors student with a long list of extracurricular accomplishments (and the admissions recruiter, Erin, loves me; no big deal), so I had no doubt that I was going to be accepted. I just wanted to be able to have that comfort and security of knowing for sure where I am going to be in a year from now.<br />
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The first word I read on the letter was "congratulations," and I just started balling.<br />
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The words that followed went something like "It is my honor to offer you admission to The Evergreen State College!" At the end it said "I hope you choose to accept this offer of admission." For once, someone <i>wants </i>me, instead of just putting up with my presence. So far most people are indifferent if they don't hate me, and there are few who actually <i>want </i>me. I also read that they want to award me with a $600 academic achievement scholarship. And that's <i>before </i>applying for financial aid.<br />
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I took a few moments to read and cry happily, and then my dad came in the room and I stood up and pranced around to him while saying, "I'm going to Evergreen!" Then I hugged him, and I can't remember the last time I hugged my dad like that.<br />
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That was a good day. Yeah, I would say that was a day well lived.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-52295985385910328142014-11-16T14:50:00.002-08:002015-01-15T00:03:27.271-08:00I Love Sequim, WashingtonSeptember-November 2014<br />
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This post took forever to finish itself for publication. I started it in September and am just now releasing it. In the last few months, I noticed just how wonderful and beautiful my home is. My rural hometown Sequim, luscious Washington state, the house I grew up in, the spacious yard complete with a huge garden and chicken coop.... I never fully appreciated it until recently. The trees, the water, the mountains... and the FARMS. I love farms. I have some theories about what opened my eyes to this awakened appreciation: discovering the wisdom of the Mary Jane's Farm franchise and lifestyle, Sequim Irrigation Festival Royalty, and - ironically - thinking/dreaming about the future.<br />
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About a year ago, I discovered a magazine called MaryJane'sFarm. I fell in love with it from the beginning. It is unlike any other magazine: it includes advice, inspiration, literary essays, recipes, DIY instructions, stories, news, how-tos, ideas, and spotlight features for real-life Farmgirls, all as part of a heartfelt celebration of simple living and womanhood. It values the creative pleasures of farming, crafting, community, cooking, sewing, reading, baking, blogging, gardening, quilting, writing, scrapbooking, and decorating. I have tried to quell my habit of compulsive magazine buying upon my realizing that <i>books </i>exist for knowledge, whereas <i>magazines </i>exist for consumption. But alas, MaryJane'sFarm is the one "magazine" that is unique above all the rest because of its certain genuineness and warmth. Mary Jane is a real person, not just an idea, and she really does have a farm: in Moscow, Idaho to be exact. In addition to editing her own magazine, she runs a "Sisterhood" organization where members can complete tasks to better their lives and earn badges, much like an adult version of girl scouts. She truly believes in the womanly dignity of being self-sufficient and including natural humble beauty in everything one does. So, in a way, I wouldn't really classify MaryJane'sFarm as a magazine so much as a way of life. It doesn't adhere to the mainstream magazine formula ideologies and Weltanschauung of consumerism and cheap convenience.<br />
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I didn't think the rural farm lifestyle was near me, nor did I think that lifestyle was <i>for </i>me. I thought of "farmers" as dirty overall-wearing hicks. Not me. But I looked up from this magazine and noticed the big garden and chickens in my backyard, the neighbor's goats, the horses down the road, the hay fields that surround my house, the cows across the road. The historic farmhouse down one way of the road and a historic railroad bridge over a river down the other, and the famous irrigation ditch streaming all the way down the road. There is and has always been inspiration in my own backyard, and MaryJane'sFarm opened my eyes to that. Reading this charming and inspirational magazine, I will admit that I felt a little ashamed that I wasn't as self-sufficient or backwoods-y as the cowgirl-y women featured. But over time the concept grew on me. I even found myself wanting my own mini farm. Me! Who knew?<br />
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My childhood was a contrasting binary of urban and rural juxtapositions. In kindergarten I wanted to be a farmer when I grew up because I loved growing gardens and I loved animals. I had my own plot of my family's garden where I loved growing vegetables and flowers. I even gave names to all my flowers, which were a rainbow of six different colors. But when I was a little older I was easily enticed by the glamour and fast exciting tempo of city life. When I took trips to Seattle and Victoria, Canada I was dazzled by the massive glimmering skyscrapers and the strange street performers. Big, sparkly cities are preached as being run by and centered around an energetic elan vital. I was convinced that when I was twenty and my sister was eighteen, we would move to New York and play guitar and sing on the street so we could get "discovered" and be popstars. There was always something going on: an embodiment of a culture that complies to instant gratification. It isn't like that in Sequim. Third through fifth grade I wanted to be a popstar or fashion designer, starstruck by Hannah Montana and Lisa Frank. I don't repudiate those thoughts or wishes; they are a part of me. I have always been <i>very </i>girly, and remain so today. I hated boring, ugly things and believed everything should be pretty and touched by beauty. Sixth grade was a turning point, a changing time. Different parts of my brain awakened, and I started viewing the world with a more realistic, structured, aware, intentional fascination with an air of naive, unrealistic permanence. When I started learning more about the world, I learned of all the problems in it: poverty, crime, pollution, consumerism.... and noticed that urban environments are concentrated epitomes of all these problems. I went to Seattle again and suddenly there was a fake, dirty vibe about the city. The street performers were not fasinating, exciting characters, musicians and entertainers anymore: they were poor homeless people laid off of work, trying to scrap together some money from the tourists. The big city is a phony pseudoutopia, swindling innocent dreamers. It is a guided site: glorious and promising on the outside, but dark, lonely and betraying on the inside.<br />
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One day I was feeling fatigued, so I went outside for a few minutes for some "nature therapy." The last apple on my tree so high that I could not reach it from the ground. The thing about nature and the homemade lifestyle is that it forces one to be creative. This tree was very small when I first planted it as a little girl; this year she outgrew me. I climbed the rope ladder up to the second story of the nearby old playhouse my brother and sister used to play in when we were little. I gingerly stepped across the roof and plucked the fruit. I bit into the sweet juicy thing, still perched on the old roof. This view was so interesting. I pivoted to face the opposite direction of the tree, looking down over my family's large garden. I went into the house to get my book, <i>A Place of My Own</i> by Micheal Pollan. Then I returned to the roof. I was drawn to that place in space; the surroundings and views fed off of each other to create the optimal serenity and coziness. <i>A Place of My Own</i> is all about appreciation for space and architecture, and it has helped stir a dream in me to build a "place of my own" for myself with my own two hands. Pollan didn't hire someone to build this for him because the reason he built it was to vacate from the abstract "world of words" in his writing career, and experience something in the physical world, through the construction of a building.<br />
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I read part of this book aloud to Dad when we were driving to Olympia to tour The Evergreen State College. Not being a big reader himself (that's where I got my difficulty with reading), he seemed disconnected, intimidated by the sophisticated philosophy, and even regarded Pollan as foolish for getting into something where he hadn't the slightest idea what he was doing. Here, and in many other instances, I dismissed my parents as not understanding and lacking ambition. But looking out over my yard on this roof, I remember my father built this playhouse, the greenhouse, patio pergola on which we grow grapes, the tool shed, and the chicken coop with his own two hands, a hammer, imagination, dreams, and ambition. My exploring and learning of the world led me back home.<br />
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At some point I accidentally dropped my bookmark and it fell off the roof, so I carefully climbed down the garden trellis, got it, and climbed back up. It gave me a confident, powerful feeling. I got here and could go back.<br />
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I never realized how amazing the life my parents have made for me is. If I were to pick somewhere to live, Sequim might be a place where I would live by choice. One day I was out and about in the town, and instead of coming home, I kept driving. It occurred to me that I have grown up in this small area, and yet there are so many spaces that are unfamiliar to me. For example, I was driving with my dad to a berry farm once and we passed a piece of property that was hosting a garage sale, and we checked it out. The yard was a fenced in space filled with chickens, ducks, geese, and sheep, all wondering around sharing the same pasture. I explained to Dad that that is the kind of yard I want to have someday. But that's what I mean - that place offers inspiration and connection, and yet I never knew that property was there.<br />
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Another example isdowntown Sequim, which is ironic. How did I miss that? One
would think I would be familiar with the most Sequim-y part of Sequim. In the
heart of Sequim lies amazing small businesses, many of which don't sell a
certain type of merchandise, but rather categorize their product by theme or
decor. "Over the Fence" is a garden + patio, furniture, bath +
utility, home accents + decor, and kitchen shop. "Heather Creek"
sells found objects, up-cycled furniture, and fragrances for body & home,
and all of it is displayed in French Country inspired decor. "Red Rooster
Grocery" is a small organic grocery. "Doodlebugs" is a small
scrapbooking and craft store. And my favorite, "Fieldnotes," the name
of which inspired the title of this blog, sells decorations, stationary,
clothing, books, and dreams. :) It is pathetic that everyone knows where
Walmart is but no one knows where any of these gems are.<br />
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There have been many a country song written about this
phenomenon, like<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Taylor Swift's unreleased song "Drive All Night." Or the song "Going Away" by Meg and Dia. </span><br />
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Now, every once and a while, I will take that out-on-a-limb turn out of the blue. I did that again the other day. I drive down the winding road passing the creamery and old Dungeness School House to Nash's Farm Store, and while I love that road, I <i>always </i>drive it. There is a road, Taylor Ranch, off of that one that sparked my interest, and one day I went down it. I saw where it took me. I got lost in my own small town! I loved it. The thing with that is that you are only lost for a short while, and if you keep driving you will end up in a familiar place. This road took me passed beautiful farms, to which I thought, "I never knew how much food we produce <i>right here</i>," and wondered why any Sequimite would shop at a big supermarket when we have such a bounty already. I even ended up at the beach at some point.... Then I turned back around and it took me passed a dairy farm. Then I became ecstatic when I recognized the property with all the farm animals living together in the front yard, and I freaked out as I took in as much as I could. I saw chickens, and goats. They had goats too. Then it took me down the main road that goes right through downtown Sequim. My favorite shop and this blog's namesake, "Fieldnotes," and I freaked out yet again when I saw newly placed dazzling Christmas lights around the window. In the dim evening light, it was such a special sight. Then I realized that the people in the car next to me were staring at me, undoubtedly judging me. It is such a shame that most people in this world don't notice and appreciate the little things in life, and now I am the odd girl in traffic gawking at some lights on a store window.<br />
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On a similar adventure, I turned left onto a road that I didn't know where it lead. I freaked out when drove past Five Acre School, a preschool and private elementary and middle school, where I attended preschool years and years ago!! I was so excited! I kept driving along the road that looks over a small valley of cow pasture, and it was so special. My home is so small yet so big.<br />
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As a Sequim Irrigation Festival Princess, I travel all over the state to be in parades. I noticed how shitty other towns are compared to Sequim. Sequim is a retirement community and about 51% of the population is over 55 years old. Growing up, most of my peers hated Sequim because it is boring. Oh, and because of lavender.<br />
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See, Sequim is famous for having lavender farms. Every year we host the Lavender Festival in July. Most Sequimites I talk to about it said they hate lavender. They either hate the smell or are allergic to it. But I love lavender: the color, the smell, the taste, the look.... And I love all the farms! And the festival is so much fun! I love being a tourist in my own town. The local restaurants jump on board and serve lavender dishes. The farms have activities like tours, cooking demonstrations and entertainment, and the park and street is filled with tent vendors selling food and handmade finds.<br />
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One of my last parades was in Leavenworth. That is such a charming town. It is themed - yes, themed, the whole city - Bavarian. The buildings and everything. German-esque. On the journey out there, we passed through forest. I decided that I either want to live in a small house in the suburbs or a big house in the middle of nowhere. The other girls were talking about this, and the queen said she feels like it would be scary living in a desert place like this. That's the initial response, but not without reason: one might be lonely living in such a segregated place. But I thought about it, and asked the question I've been asking a lot lately, "why not?" The queen said you would be far from schools. But I an going to homeschool my future kids. Then the royalty mom said "what if you forgot bread and milk at the store? Then you'd have to travel miles to go back!" But again I discredited that conflict: I would make my own bread, and I would have goats or something to milk. When every objection to living here didn't apply to me, I realized that it wouldn't be boring or inconvenient to live in a place like this. It would be nice. I pictured it: an picturesque estate, a huge garden, chickens of course, some goats, sheep, a small orchard.... It was lovely.<br />
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Last Saturday I went with my dad to a class that he teaches. He is a conservationist and that day he lead his class through a rain garden that was a project of the conservation district. I realized how little I knew about my parents' careers and I regret not soaking up more of it through my childhood. Afterwards, the class migrated to a property in Gardiner, where the owner, Paul Gautschi, toured us through his garden teaching us that how to succeed in gardening is by imitating nature. This was an incredible experience and I felt so elevated and empowered for the rest of the weekend.<br />
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I love Gardiner. I first learned of this unincorporated community neighboring Sequim when my ballet studio regularly held class in a facility there in eighth grade. My teacher would meet us after school and we would carpool out to a cabin among luscious trees about 20 minutes outside Sequim. The building didn't have indoor heating but we lit the fireplace before class sometimes in the winter. Gardiner is a beautiful, enchanting place. And apparently my parents have owned land there since before I was born that I didn't know about until a few years ago. I want to go to that property sometime and just hang out. Sit in the grass, climb in the trees, explore. Experience.<br />
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It wasn't until my grandfather passed away that I learned how incredible of a person his wife is. Diane is not my biological grandmother: my real grandma died when my mother was eight, so I never knew her. But my grandfather remarried to Diane, and I consider her my grandmother. She is an inspirational lady to whom I look up with awe: she has a PhD and taught as a university professor of classic literature, frequently traveling to Greece to do exchange teaching programs. Not only is my grandma accomplished in the professional world, which is exceptional for a woman of her time, but she still stays true to the domestic arts! She is an experienced quilter and quilts by hand. When she retired, she bought an abundance of animals and now geese, rabbits, sheep, chickens, dogs, cats and pretty much everything else are being raised in her backyard. I want to go spend spring break with her this year so I could help take care of her animals and so she could teach me how to sew and quilt, and so she could mentor me and pass on her wisdom.<br />
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Before this year, I spent a lot of time dreaming about an idyllic adult life for the future: a small sufficient house, a mini-farm, four homeschooled kids, and a tall red-headed husband. I was living in the future and the past because my present was so unbearable. I had the mindset of "Once I have this, then I will be happy (or I will be able to accomplish this or I will be healthy or whatever)." But after my rebirth after junior year, I realized since then that life is an accumulation of sub-stories overlapping each other, constantly in flux and never frozen in a snapshot of one perfect time. So until one lives in the present, she will never be truly happy because that utopian moment is never going to come. Then I looked around and noticed all the beauty and life and resources that were around me all along.<br />
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I have made some lifestyle changes because of this realization. I made making dinner every Monday a goal of mine. It occurred to me that despite growing up with a huge garden in my yard, I don't know the plants or how to harvest or prepare them. So I am determined to pack a childhood of learning into this last year I will spend living on this property. I spent last Saturday helping my dad in the yard: I put on my work shoes and jeans, braided my hair in the iconic Mary Jane Butters long side braid and borrowed one of Dad's sweatshirts and planted garlic, dug up yard turf to make room for mulch, pruned asparagus and artichokes plants, learned how to use a drill and unscrewed some nails in the greenhouse.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-77453743064127923952014-11-03T19:50:00.001-08:002014-12-02T22:03:28.221-08:00A Tribute to Red Rooster GroceryNovember 2014<br />
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I spent the better part of my morning today outlining Mary Jane's Farm magazines (yes, I do that. It helps me organize, understand and appreciate. Don't judge) after I did the Sisterhood Issues and Raising Jane Blog yesterday. Burying myself in the Mary Jane Lifestyle for a few hours helps me gain a renewed appreciation for life and puts me in a good mood.<br />
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By the time afternoon rolled around, I was feeling serene and peaceful. I walked to Pan d'Amore, a small local bakery that's run by a cute little old man who makes you feel like you walked into the 1940s when you walk into the two-by-four of a store. I was in the mood for something carb-y and sweet, like a soft chocolate cookie. But I saw something else: thick pizza, with artichoke hearts, whole olives, pesto, and I think sun-dried tomatoes. I asked if I could have just one half of a square, and the cute old man said "we don't usually do that, but I'll do that for you." Then I ate it outside of Hurricane Coffee, the local coffee shop on the other side of the street. I saw a huge, intimidating red truck drive by that had rows of Coca-Cola bottles printed on the side. I cringed at the sight.<br />
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Then I realized I never satisfied my cookie craving, so I walked over to Red Rooster Grocery. I discovered this little shop that's tucked behind a scrapbooking shop downtown a few years ago and fell in love with it. I have patronized this organic food shop ever since. In fact, last year when I didn't have any friends to sit with at lunch I would drive down the road to Red Rooster Grocery alone and buy lunch and eat in my car. It was just me, my silver Camry, and my vegan sandwich made with sprouted-grain bread. Now my car smells like junior year: loneliness, the salads and dried fruit my mom packed in my lunch, and soups and chocolate from Red Rooster Grocery. I go to Red Rooster at least once a week; after school, during lunch, when I'm downtown. It is conveniently right down the road from the high school. I have brought so many people there who never knew it existed. I have had many conversations with the husband-and-wife owners and their employees who know me by name.<br />
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But when I bought my cookie (and peanut butter cup... I really wanted chocolate in that moment. Don't judge.) the woman asked me if I was on their email list, and I said no. She looked sad and mournful. She said she had some news. They are closing the store soon. Like, closing forever. They are shutting down. They won't be in business anymore. I asked why, and she said "lots of reasons." The news hit me like the news that someone had died. It was so sudden. This little store had been my companion in the midst of solitude. She and the man who was ringing me up thanked me multiple times for my patronage over the years, and I thanked them back.<br />
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This made me so frustrated. Earlier that day I had seen a Coca-Cola truck transporting hundreds of bottles of the soda. We live in a world where soda companies are so powerful, and adorable organic groceries cannot stay open?? Reading Mary Jane's Farm so much lately has committed me to the special, unique things in life, like small businesses. If anyone happens to come across this little corner of the internet and has read this far, I want them to walk away from this and go give love, appreciation, patronage and support for your local merchants, especially organic farmers. In honor of Red Rooster Grocery, I have vowed to only patronize small enterprises from now on. I will continue to patronize Pan d'Amore, Rainshadow Coffee around the corner, Good to Go Grocery in Port Angeles, and Nash's Farm Store. They need me now more than ever. I will promise to make all of my purchases meaningful. I think I shall write the owners a handwritten letter disclosing my appreciation and best wishes.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-38729215382645154692014-10-27T19:45:00.001-07:002015-01-15T00:03:42.700-08:00Dancing with the Elephants<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">October 2014</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I just visited my friend Angela's blog, Dancing with the Elephants. </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">http://angelabentley.blogspot.com/ </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">She just graduated last spring from Sequim High School and started at Barnard College in New York. </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I've known Angela since preschool. She just graduated high school last spring and just started at Barnard College in New York City, a highly prestigious private women's liberal arts school. She goes to a college where everyone is named Elizabeth or Caroline or Mary or Jane (you know what I'm talking about). Something from Pride and Prejudice. Everyone always new Angela was destined for great things; she excels in nearly everything she does (count for dancing--that's one thing I have on her lol). Born two months apart, she and I were in the same grade until she came back from spending a semester in Panama and decided to skip eight grade and go straight to high school. She busied herself with high-level academic classes, photography, journalism, being the Sequim Irrigation Festival Queen, international club, student government, tennis, ballet (she and I were in the same class), and theater (and I probably left out a few of her many accomplishments) and still effortlessly ended up a Valedictorian, always fantasizing of someday getting out of our small town and doing more than she could ever dream of doing here. She is such an inspiration for me, and looking at her blog even inspired me to get my own blog off the ground.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Gosh, every time I hear anything about Angela, it makes me want to go do something productive and incredible. It seems like that's all Angela does! When I doubt myself, I think "if Angela can do that, why can't I?" Her blog and facebook page are filled with pictures of her at book signings or a high tea date with her mother or an Idina Menzel musical or a concert of a Swedish folk band. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There was a moment a few years ago where I saw a picture of Angela on facebook and almost didn't recognize her. It was professionally taken, and in elegant black and white: she looked like a <i>woman</i>. She looked like a grown-up, beautiful <i>woman!</i> That's when I realized that we weren't kids anymore. That was one of those moments. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">One thing about Angela is that she <i>reads</i>. A <i>lot</i>. How does she read all that? I've had the same books sitting on my shelf for years. I've said it before and I'm going to say it again: I'm a writer, not a reader. I have never been a good reader. Nevertheless, it is one of my life goals to develop a love and skill for reading. I have a public library, a high school library and a college library at my disposal, and I could take advantage of those resources to accomplish so much. I feel like libraries are heavily underrated. I am so grateful for those opportunities, but I haven't been taking advantage of them and I'm kicking myself for it. For crying out loud, I am a high school senior and never have I once checked out a book at my school's library! I was writing in my diary in this said library earlier this year and I saw a book staring at me on the New Arrivals shelf, and I recognized the title from somewhere. "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" by Barbara Kingsolver. I picked it up and started reading it. It was then that I realized that reading books didn't have to happen in a sequence of asking for it for Christmas (Foodopoly by Wenonah Hauter or a host of Micheal Pollan books) or buying it from Port Book and News in Port Angeles. I could read one for free at the place I go every day anyways! It's so convenient! Isn't that pathetic that the average student doesn't even know how to use a library for its original purpose? I would pick this book up every few days to continue reading, but one day it wasn't there: no longer being a new arrival, it was relocated to elsewhere in the library. I had a hard time finding it. This year I seriously need to learn how to library. I will make this effort in honor of Angela. </span>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-26678341496674242712014-10-22T21:45:00.004-07:002014-12-02T22:03:51.488-08:00The frustrations with applying for jobsOctober 2014<br />
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Lately I have worried that I am spreading myself too thin. I am too busy that I don't have time for all the things I want to accomplish. I have been behind on diary writing, and still have one long, extensive blog entry that I have yet to finish and publish. I also have been trying to read a little of my book every day, and I have certainly <i>not </i>been succeeding. I have never been a good reader, but, as my bucket list says, one of my goals in life is to gain a love of reading. I'm a writer, not a reader. But I believe reading is a valuable skill I should acquire and there are just so many books I want to say I've read! And not to mention I have prolonged applying to Evergreen State College, which I wanted to get out of the way in September.... I barely keep up with my schoolwork!<br />
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And yet, I just wasted a bunch of time applying to something that would potentially take up a lot more of my time. I applied to work at Joann Fabric, only to get to the end and see the question that says "Are you able to show documentation proving that you are 18 years or older?" I was reticent to apply in the first place because, obviously, I'm worried I don't have time, but also I didn't know if this was a professional type job or an after-school type job. I even called the store to ask what type it is, and she just said cashier and things. So I went ahead and dedicated myself to applying just to say I did. Why not? I was driving home from the college yesterday and nearly drove by Joann Fabrics before I pulled into the parking lot on a limb. When gathering paper stack collections and glitter adhesive paper to use for my scholarship notebook, I saw the notice on the door that read "now hiring." I got really excited! I wasn't going to let that excitement go to waste, now was I?<br />
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I have applied to a few other places but my schedule has never lined up with them. Such was the case for Adagios (a local coffee shop), Dungeness Valley Creamery (a raw milk dairy farm) and Oak Table Cafe (a from-scratch breakfast and lunch restaurant). Oak Table said they need people for weekends and they would only hire me if I was free all weekend. But I have Fellowship on Sunday, and I've been working there for three and a half years and really consider myself a Unitarian Universalist now. (I've worked as a paid childcare worker since I was 14 at the Olympic Unitarian Universalist Fellowship every Sunday). Going there really means a lot to me and I will not sell out for a different, more formal job. I still get my $60 a month from that, and I guess I will have to make do with that as long as I am this busy.<br />
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I concluded that I simply don't have the time for a real job right now. Applying to Joann Fabric was certainly one of those out-on-a-limb decisions, wasn't it now? My plan was to try and get a job at Nash's (an organic farm) I once school winds down. Prospects look good for that opportunity. I know Nash and his wife Patty, and they are family friends with my dad. I have been attending the educational presentations on GMOs held at the old barn building next to their farm store and have stuck up conversations with them while I was there, and they seem to like me and take me seriously. Patty even said "Oh, we need you to work for us!" half jokingly when I explained to her what I want to study in college. Nash said they need seasonals starting in June, which is perfect because that's when school gets out. I even suggested even a mere internship because at this point I don't care. I am so desperate for employers to want me. But Nash said they don't really do internships and they would rather just hire people, and I secretly said "yes!" in my head. So I don't expect to work for Joann but that's okay because I have plenty of other things with which to occupy my time.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-37372240251996614252014-10-12T16:45:00.001-07:002016-03-05T19:07:46.859-08:00"Healthy:" a Dynamic, Deeper DefinitionOctober 2014<br />
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The other day I was at a Sequim Irrigation Festival Royalty function where a six-year-old birthday girl offered me apple cider topped with whipped cream. The "royalty mom" Mary (disguised name) laughed and said, "She gives Kristina the sugary whipped cream!" I didn't know what to say, so I just sat there with a confused look on my face. "Cause you're the healthy one. She gave you the sugary whipped cream. It's a joke." All the other royals stared at me staring at Mary. All I could manage to squeak out was "Sugar...?"<br />
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At times like these, there are so many contradictions racing through my mind (not to mention emotions) that I end up saying nothing. "Confusion" is what sums up my disposition at times like these. But yet, this is anything but the truth. <i>Mary </i>is the confused one. I understand <i>so </i>much more than she does.<br />
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I chose to give a presentation to sixth graders for my community service platform as part of royalty duties. It was about how what we eat effects the consumer, environment, economy, and farmer. Not once did I say anything about sugar. Did Mary hear any of it? Sugar exclusively concerns the weight of the consumer, which is unfortunately what health means to the public. This is foolishly ignorant of the real problems. Once one develops this false, superficial perception of health, it is near impossible to brake that.<br />
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Our society has a very isolationist mindset. There are so many reasons not to eat that canned whipped cream, and its sugar content is not one of them. It is irrelevant, and even selfish to think about. What about the preservatives? Artificial colors and flavors? What about the fact that you're supporting a monopoly of a corporation? What about how the production of that product impacted the environment? What about the cows from which that whipped cream came? What about <i>their </i>health? "Healthy" eating is seldom actually about <i>our </i>health.<br />
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I realized in that moment that I didn't exclusively want <i>healthy eating</i>. I want to live sustainably and meaningfully, and <i>then </i>I will have health. Health comes <i>with </i>that. Healthy eating is not my goal. My goal is something greater than that. When I started gaining an interest in this, my starting point was healthy eating. The further I got into it, I realized that one has to rearrange their whole lifestyle in order to eat well. Now, healthy eating is my <i>ending </i>point. My Point A is now a quest for a rich, meaningful lifestyle. In the middle is gardening, cooking, experiencing, tasting, caring and loving. I seldom think about this as "healthy" anymore because health is just a natural byproduct of this lifestyle. But how do I explain this to someone like Mary? That's why I still label my lifestyle as "healthy eating" and I say I want to be a "holistic nutritionist."<br />
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One time, at one of our parades, I was bullied by the other royals about my lifestyle and beliefs. I knew it was because they didn't understand, but that wasn't enough to stop me from feeling sad the whole weekend. They were offended by my belief that everyone should be healthy.<br />
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Once, I overheard one of the other Princesses say "I don't like that he smokes cigarettes. If he smokes, he is <i>not </i>beautiful." Everyone knows smoking is not healthy. People who smoke do it because they <i>like </i>it. It is a false joy, however, because it is a result of addiction. It is the same way with unhealthy eating habits. Dietary diseases kill millions of people every day and yet we still believe that we shouldn't intervene because it is "their choice." This is the same Princess who defended her "right" to eat unhealthily because that's "her choice" and she "likes food." (It is no surprise that she is on the Military Diet to lose weight before wrestling season; she is the type of person who has the "diet" mindset.) Unhealthy eating is taken so lightly now. It is so sad that I am abnormal for eating well and eating unhealthily is normal. We do not look down upon the obese for eating unhealthily, but we look down upon smokers for smoking. You would never see her saying "I don't like that he eats McDonald's five days a week and drinks 32 oz of soda each day. If he is fat, he is <i>not </i>beautiful." Both habits are equally dangerous and are done for a lot of the same reasons, and yet there is such a double standard.<br />
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Lest I conclude: we live within a system that - dare I say it - almost pressures us to be unhealthy. It is seen as being "confident," "strong," and "comfortable in their body" to be overweight. Just look at Meghan Trainor's <i>All About That Base</i>, which, though a very catchy and fun song, justifies obesity - and that is not okay. The media is now blaming <i>other </i>media for "pressuring" viewers into "settling" for salads so they could be skinny. It is all part of a complex, cleverly designed system that favors unhealthiness.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-52819379034605864192014-09-15T22:28:00.000-07:002014-09-22T20:11:39.793-07:00My life doesn't suck. September 2014<br />
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I realized today that my life doesn't suck. I spent the whole day at school even though I didn't have to be there until sixth period for band.<br />
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This morning I attended an information meeting for The Evergreen State College, and I confirmed that it is the perfect, ideal fit for me. It is my dream college. And they're accepting applications <i>right now</i>.... I can't believe I'm <i>applying for colleges</i>; it's surreal. I'm practically an adult. In fact, I'm going to legally be one in less than five months. I talked to my friend Brenna today, and she just turned eighteen eight days ago. She said it's terrifying. At the meeting I got this burst of confidence that I will throw together a personal statement, fill out an application, send it in, receive my assumed admission notice within a few mere weeks, and just like that I'm on my way to my future. I believe there is a moment in the college decision process where you can truly see yourself being there and have no doubt in your mind that this is the one, kind of like the special moment a bride has when picking out a dream wedding dress.<br />
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After the AP exam in literature class last year when we didn't have anything else to learn, we were assigned to write a draft of a personal statement. My idea for the topic was perfect - how naturopathic philosophies apply to other areas of my life besides health - but I wrote it and then started over and over again, not really sure where I was going. It felt like a bunch of random flimsy paragraphs, and not one rich essay. This is not acceptable: I know I can do better than that. I love to write and I have written some awesome essays before. When I started thinking more about my personal statement and how concentrated it should be and how I should feel 100% proud and confident of it, I realized that I was describing my blog. Would you look at that - this blog is like an extensive, online personal statement. I am going to take pieces from two of my entries, <i>My College Visiting Trance</i> and <i>I Hate High School</i>, to build off of the vision I imagined last spring.<br />
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I had a moment in band where I felt this feeling of joy and it was foreign and strange. I sit next to my sophomore sister in band and we talk and laugh daily like best friends. I missed her. We haven't been friends since we were 14 and 12. We went through a super rough patch in our relationship. I spent three years smack dab in the middle of my teen years without the moral company of my sister. It's such a shame. The bond of sisters is an irreplaceable companionship. If there's one thing essential to my well-being, it's companionship. I love her.<br />
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In band I had a blast. Mr. Fosket wasn't there and we had a substitute teacher, so the Drum Majors conducted and lead class: Mikaele and Eric, both very awkward and funny boys, lead us in rehearsing pep band songs. I felt so comfortable and like I belonged. Hilary made comments about Eric's miniature mustache (in her words his "lip caterpillar") and she said he reminded her of the cucumber from Veggie Tales. There is something so completing about giggling to fellow girls about boys, regardless of whether or not we like them. There is a fundamental spiritual bond between girls, especially sisters.<br />
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After school I said a cheerful, confident hi to the people I knew whom I walked passed. I was in a fabulous mood. I was wearing a really cute outfit and got some compliments, and I gave out some as well. Danica, a girl on the JV cheer team, walked by and I had a brief exchange with her about her shoes (I have the same ones).<br />
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During first lunch I saw the new kid, Blake, lately to whom I've been regularly talking. He has been kind of rude though and refused to spend lunch with me. You know you're happy if you have a strong base on which to stand, so that you are able to withstand minuscule disappointments. I have other joys in my life to fall back on.<br />
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Speaking of which, during second lunch I hung out with my boyfriend of two days. I met him last Friday at the away football game at which I cheerleaded and he played, and I am so happy with how uphill this change in my life is going. It is about time and I am more than ready. I know myself enough and deep down have always known that to be complete I must be connected with a significant other. There is nothing weak or shameful about that: it is love, it is belonging.<br />
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After school I attended a Gay-Straight-Alliance Club meeting and since I had to drive my little brother Erik home I just kind of dragged him there with me. He is a very mature sixth grader. Afterwards on the drive home we had a very intelligent conversation about stereotypes, which extended into the next hour we were home. I am so proud of my brother; he's way beyond his almost twelve years. I have the same kinds of conversations with him as I would with someone my own age.<br />
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My mother and I went to Senior Parent Night at the high school in the evening. I learned about the Scholarship Notebook of achievements that college-bound students submit in order to receive scholarships and recognition from the community at the annual Scholarship Award Ceremony at the end of the year. Some thing I have learned this summer is that I should own everything in my life, including academics. When I was little, my notebooks and binders for school were plain and boring, but my journals and stationary for personal use were decorative and intentional (my idol was Lisa Frank). My scholastic and design existed in two separate worlds. In theory, my education is for <i>me</i>; I should pursue it with the same deliberateness as that of my creative life. An exception was when I was in middle school I had my own pretty day planner that I liked to use by choice, in lieu of the generic planners they gave out for free that no one really used. Lately, I have envisioned myself at Evergreen State College using the sentimental, beautiful type of journals I treasure, but as class notebooks.<br />
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Anyway, today it registered that, just like with the personal statement, I could have lots of fun with making my scholarship notebook. After all, it is kind of like a more formal version of a scrapbook. I have wanted to make a scrapbook for a long time: I even bought several varieties of paper, stickers, and other supplies. But alas, scrapbooking is a LOT more difficult than it seems. So much respect for those who have mastered that art. The hardest step is the first one. This scholarship notebook task gives me an excuse - and a motivation - to finally make one.<br />
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The things I have already been doing have ended up being the things that I have to do anyway during my senior year. Things are falling into place. I am beginning to live deliberately: the key to living a wholesome lifestyle I want to someday achieve in every corner of life.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-63854705795792985912014-09-05T17:22:00.000-07:002014-09-08T16:34:21.388-07:00The Girl on the SkateboardSeptember 2014<br />
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Today on my way home I drove by this girl riding a
skateboard on the trail by the road. I recognized her from school: she's a
junior, a grade younger than me. I don't know her name, but I've seen her
around now and then. She has dark raven wild curly hair and dimples. She reminds
me of Carrie from The Carrie Diaries, except with dark hair.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Last year I would see this girl walking around campus
holding hands with some football player. He was handsome, and she was gorgeous
and sunny. They complimented each other. I thought they were such a cute
couple--and couldn't help being slightly disappointed when I started seeing him
hold hands with the tall blonde foreign exchange student. I didn't even think
this new girl was even that pretty. Carrie 2.0 is so much more beautiful to me.</div>
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Now I see her walking around campus alone. I saw her
recently, and she had cut her hair to her shoulders and she was carrying around
her skateboard. Her fashion sense is a unique blend of girly and tomboy. She is
not boxed into one type of person but rather a million different people: she is
herself; nothing more, nothing less. I admired the way she walked: with a
purpose, not taking any shit from anyone. She was going to accomplish amazing
things in this world.</div>
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I saw her quietly weeping in the library once. The librarian
didn’t know why, and Mr. T had to drag her down to the office. I never heard
anything else about that. </div>
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This is probably all in my head, but I assumed she is proud
and dignified that she is on her own. I smile when I see her walking or
skateboarding by herself. She is the epitome of strength and independence in
young women. Ambitious, naive, a small girl in a big world, but brave enough to
look the eagle in the eye.</div>
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I looked for her in the yearbook when I got home, but
couldn't find her. She's so mysterious. The September sun was shining on her
face—she was cruising—she was going somewhere. Seeing her made me want to go
outside for myself and make something beautiful out of the gorgeous day. I
don't personally know her, so maybe it's weird that seeing her on her
skateboard today filled me up with this powerful feeling of love towards her.</div>
Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453308363759325492.post-60247606193257040652014-08-26T17:10:00.000-07:002014-09-20T16:57:22.809-07:00"Miss Brill" by Katherine Mansfield<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">August 2014<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"Miss Brill" is a short story of harsh
disappointment and loneliness by Katherine Mansfield, and it is not modern pop
culture like the last piece of literature I analyzed (the song "Team"
by Lorde). It is true literature, for I read it for the first time in my AP
literature class during my junior year of high school. It resonated with me
because it was the only thing I've found that accurately describes my situation
and feelings. These ideas are dear to me and are extremely difficult to put on
paper, but I'll try my best to lay out the ideas expressed in this story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"How she enjoyed it! It was like a play.... Even she
had a part and came every Sunday. No doubt somebody would have noticed if she
hadn't been there; she was part of the performance after all.... She thought of
the old invalid gentleman to whom she read the newspaper four afternoons a week
while he slept in the garden.... But suddenly he knew he was having the paper
read to him by an actress! 'An actress!' The old head lifted; two points of
light quivered in the old eyes. 'An actress - are ye?' And Miss Brill smoothed
the newspaper as though it were the manuscript of her part and said gently;
'Yes, I have been an actress for a long time.'"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Miss Brill is an elderly lady who entertains herself by
eavesdropping on strangers' conversations in the park every Sunday. In this
paragraph, she enthusiastically describes a realization: she has had an
important part in the dynamic of the park. She imagines the normally phlegmatic
old man being impressed with her and she was proud. She naively fantasizes
about being noticed and admired. The reader can conclude about this old man,
though, that he would probably be indifferent as she is irrelevant to him: Miss
Brill recognizes and cares for him but he carelessly sleeps through her
efforts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The reason for why I insisted on clinging to theater as a
hobby was because being included was always guaranteed. Everyone had a part to
play, and if someone had lines with me they had to talk to me; they couldn't
choose to ignore me. I obliviously and blindly lived off of this false
sociability for years until I was harshly informed of how unwanted and disliked
I really was among theater people. I believe this is how Miss Brill feels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">No one notices nor cares if she is there or not, and this is
the very thing Miss Brill is terrified to acknowledge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"The day was so charming - didn't he agree? ...But he
shook his head, lighted a cigarette, slowly breathed a great deep puff into her
face, and even while she was still talking and laughing, flicked the match away
and walked on."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">This time Miss Brill observes a younger couple. The young
woman acts happy but in vain because the man acts bitter, cold and rude to her,
and even acts as though she doesn't exist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"Just at that moment a boy and girl came and sat down
where the old couple had been. They were beautifully dressed; they were in
love. The hero and heroine, of course.... And still soundlessly singing, still
with that trembling smile, Miss Brill prepared to listen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">'No, not now,' said the girl. 'Not here, I can't.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">'But why? Because of that stupid old thing at the end
there?' asked the boy. 'Why does she come here at all - who wants her? Why
doesn't she keep her silly old mug at home?'"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">This is the part when Miss Brill finally gets hit, hard, in
the face with the harsh truth. No one really wants her and she is in actuality
not important to the others in the park.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There are theories that these people Miss Brill observes in
the park aren't actually there, but rather flashbacks of her own life. After
all, three groups of people get progressively older and more dysfunctional. the
girl is the one who is mistreated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"On her way home she usually bought a slice of
honey-cake at the baker's. It was her Sunday treat. Sometimes there was an
almond in her slice, sometimes not. If there was an almond it was like carrying
home a tiny present - a surprise - something that might very well not have been
there. But to-day she passed the baker's by, climbed the stairs, went into the
little dark room - her room like a cupboard. She sat there for a long time...
she thought she heard something crying."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Miss Brill is so crushed that she can't risk another
disappointment, even if it is a minuscule disappointment such as not getting an
almond in her honey cake. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It is worth noting that cupboards are mentioned in the story
- and a cupboard is a symbol of things being dormant until they are useful.
This is a very important symbol in the story. Miss Brill is not useful in
society. Mansfield mentions cupboards once earlier in the story: "They
were odd, silent, nearly all old, and from the way they stared they looked as
though they'd just come from dark little rooms or even - even cupboards!"
This a creepy, almost gothic description of the other garden patrons. They have
come out of their "cupboards:" they are important and noticed by
others. But here, at the end of the story, Miss Brill retreats back to her
"dark little room - her room like a cupboard" after her deception of
herself is shattered by two harsh young people who deem her "stupid,"
"silly," and "old." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The last line is one of my favorites: it clicks with me. It
was talking about her fur coat that she thought was a live pet keeping her
company, but the reader can assume that it was Miss Brill who was actually
crying. But the vagueness, surprise, and distance of "she thought she
heard something crying" shows how little she was willing to admit her
loneliness, and more importantly it implies that it is not her fault how
miserable she is and she cannot simply choose not to feel this way. Instead of
saying "Miss Brill cried," where she is the one doing the action,
Miss Brill is the observer yet again - the observer of herself.</span></div>
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Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00432018823561137052noreply@blogger.com