My 100 Year Old Mansion

I knew I wanted to take some time to travel after graduating college. The lack of a job proposal after I walked to get my diploma did help with that decision, but I knew after my *next* trip I'd get a job, get an apartment, and decorate my windowsills with succulents while stressing over a car payment. That's the life, right? The summer after graduation was peppered with trips to Yellowstone and drives down to southern Utah. Thanksgiving travels brought a spontaneous trip to India. After Christmas, Chinese visas were stamped into my passport. Now, that gap year I had planned after graduating has turned into a year and some change. But after China, that's when I'd settle in and start work in a proper office like a grown up, right? Now I find myself typing away in California cafes and coffee shops during an extended stay in Coronado.

The invitation was too good to pass up. I write and edit for a couple different companies on a contracted freelance basis, meaning I can rack up my hours wherever there's wifi. And there happens to be wifi in this gorgeous home I'm staying in. Now, technically this mansion isn't mine. Just in case you didn't get the "I can't afford a house in Coronado because I work as a writer then spend money on plane tickets vibe", I can't even think of being able to afford to live here because I work as a writer and spend money on plane tickets. My cousins are managing the property in their own inspired turn of events, and there happens to be 14 or so extra rooms for me to stay in. How could I say no?

I've got hours to spend with my 3 darling second cousins; I mean, you can't resist when an adorable little curly haired 3-year-old says "Can you pick me up and read me a story?". I'm more than happy to play on the rope swing or pick oranges with the kids while parents can run errands without their energetic entourage. I'll plug away in the library reading articles or out the porch with a cuppa tea in the mornings, read some stories and join the princesses in their castle or battle with lightsabers before packing a bag for the beach. It's a walkable 10 minutes past charming beach homes and sprawling estates before reaching sandy shores and ocean views, interrupted only by the massive naval ships out in the distance. I'll stay for the afternoon, devouring novels and snacking on goodies from the adorable grocery store down the street. My calendar has the local farmer's market pegged and I'm already used to scheduling in the beach a couple days a week (in between appointments at the princess castle, of course).

I still am infatuated with the blue tiled and old styled bathtub knobs, and the ivy carpeted windows. Everything is so old and enchanting. Sure, a house this old has its quirks but it's an adventure to live somewhere with old metal door knobs that twist to open heavy wooden doors, or black and white tiled kitchens with an actual icebox refrigerator.

It's lovely.

I bought a one way ticket to California and don't know what the next chapter will be in my extended gap year. Maybe I'll get that succulent filled window sill and car payment, or maybe my post graduate year will spill into two...or three.

Being Home.

That drive to and from the airport will never get old. The way there is usually early in the morning, suitcases stuffed full of necessities and snacks you'll miss while abroad. Your passport is anxious for a couple more stamps. The way home is different, but sort of the same. The zipper on your suitcase tugs more around that one corner, and your old passport stamps join the new ones whose ink has dried...but you still feel the pull of the empty pages near the back. Its the same road, same freeway, and same exits, but feels different. I love the drive home from the airport more than the way there. Big hugs and chats about being home fill the car as you pull into the driveway of the house you haven't seen for bit. I usually bee-line it to the fridge the minute I walk in the door.

China's return meant pouring a huge bowl of cereal with ice cold milk. And spoons. I'd had my fill of chopsticks and rice filled breakfasts the past few months. It's been almost 2 years since I had seen sister S., which meant a lot of catching up to do. It was lovely to see her again.

The recounting of a trip is also something to look forward to once you book your flight home. It's always bittersweet leaving somewhere, no matter how much you miss Mini Wheats and cold milk. But you get to relive and catalogue your adventures once you are home. Meeting with friends for lunch, or finally being able to FaceTime without the WiFi cutting out gives you the chance to tell those stories independent of their circumstances; the hilarious hotel situation in Hangzhou- the one with the missing wall?- is devoid of the feeling of frustration and freezing cold rain. Instead, it's a humorous story that your friends really can't believe. What do you mean all five of you shared a bed?

Which is good...and bad. You love visiting with the people who were there with you or who have been there because they get it. They don't need the backstory that really only provides a fraction of what it was really like. And not that you tell these stories to replace someone else's own experience- your version of canal rides in Suzhou can't ever replace the actual chance to do that for yourself- but it's frustrating to not convey in exact detail what it was like. You can talk all day long about the people you met and the kids you taught and show pictures, but it doesn't do it justice. But you don't really travel to create that experience for someone else, you do it for you. You get to see the world and learn about you in ways nothing else can replace. You push yourself to experience circumstances you would have declined at home but you whole heartedly agree because you love who you are when you travel.You love that compulsion for experience, that hunger to understand, and the chance to come home and believe that your escapades in India, or your contemplative prayers in Israel happened to someone else. Flipping through photos reminds you that it was really you who did all those things... how could you have forgotten? It feels like those adventures belong to someone else.

I love how you come home and fall into familiar patterns, but with a slight twist. A smile when you pull out the porcelain bowls you bought in Turkey are filled with your neighborhood's 'version' of gelato that reminds you of a time in Italy, which is similar to what happened to you while in Jordan, which is also like that one time in China. The association game goes on and on, and hopefully won't end. And while I'm still reminiscing about my last adventure, and I'm happy to be home, and I'm grateful to be speaking English again...but there's something to be said about planning my next adventure, wherever it might be.

Teacher, This Empty Glue Stick is for You.

I knew when I came to China the days of making construction paper binoculars and teaching spelling lessons would come to an end. Between the weeks of visiting other cities in China, I always came back to a classroom of kids whose stories (and names) made me laugh. I'd grown attached to all 84 of them; how could you not? Each one has a little personality and while sometimes that personality meant snarling and speaking behind your back in Chinese, you love your kids...meaning the end of the semester held some very sad goodbyes. 

All the teachers and students had worked very hard to put on a final performance for the parents of each of our students.  My older kids combined with the other 3 classes and put on a production of "The Wizard of Oz". It was a bit of an issue trying to make sense of a play that included talking lions, melting witches, and flying monkeys, but by the end it seemed like the students enjoyed themselves. Our adorable second graders embarked on an underwater adventure, each class divided up into different ocean going groups; lifeguards, pirates, sailors, snorkelers, hula dances, and beach goers. It. Was. Adorable. The production was beyond cute, each class had learned a little skit and dance to go along to their dance with each kid dressed up in their little beach attire. My 7 cuties were dressed up with white suspenders over blue and white striped tee shirts as the cutest sailors I've ever seen...and because I'm in charge, they all belted out the Beatles' "Yellow Submarine" and danced with sequined construction paper fish after their skit. It was so cute, however having the production over meant only 2 meager days with our kids before saying goodbye. 

SO. CUTE. 

The fourth graders seemed indifferent to our departure. The last two of days of classes were filled with lawless games of Uno (seriously, in what universe can you play Uno on teams and put down a blue 4 when the card on the deck is a red 7?) and towers of Jenga. Origami lessons happened while movies played, and a random assortment of treats were shoved into open mouths until the bells rang.  It was all good fun but the only difference between the previous party day and our last day was the fact that some students were interested in swapping WeChat information and a hug before running outside the classrooms. And that was that. 

Second grade was a different story. My cute kids lined up by class in the gymnasium, looking eager to see what sort of games or crafts awaited them. Their Chinese teacher wanted us to read a book with our classes, but we all interpreted that to mean taking as many pictures and videos as we possibly could in the truncated class period. When all six classes lined up to leave, all the teachers were in tears. Their Chinese instructor told them in Chinese that today was the last day which prompted the sweet girls to sob and sob and sob. After some wet hugs, they lined up to leave. 

This is intentionally in black and white because of my blotchy crying face. 

 A couple of days later, we were allowed to say a quick hello and goodbye after classes had ended which was a much happier affair. Kids swarmed to supply their WeChat information and eagerly accepted ours. I had written notes for my home room on Salt Lake City postcards which were received with mixed results; some kids loved the notes, others were confused as to why I had given them a card with snowy mountains and a skier on it. I myself received a few gifts; a Snow White pencil, a 'white-out' sticker roll, and an empty glue stick. It seems my cute kids had shoved their hands into desks and pulled out whatever school supplies they could part with in 10 minutes. 

With the promise of chats and video calls from my cute kids, I'll leave for the Shanghai, Pudong airport after a couple days longer in Nanjing. In the meantime, I plan on drinking buckets of coconut bubble tea, slurping up plates of hand pulled noodles, and trying to fit all my souvenirs into various suitcases. I'll be sure to find room for a Snow White Pen, a white out roll, and an empty glue stick. 

“I like to eat Duck Tongue”

Abby is the queen of construction paper
iPhone Selfies. She's a cutie. 

Between weekends in Shanghai and trips down to Southern China, I teach a gaggle of darling 2nd graders and slightly less-cute-but-more-articulate 4th graders. There’s more teaching going on for the older kids; Language Arts lessons and Spelling tests occupy my afternoons while construction paper iPods and musical chairs with 7 year olds is how I spend the rest of the day. I’ve been teaching these kids for several weeks now and have all but gotten used to the hilarious stories and quirky names; but there are still moments that catch me off guard. The stories are funny, made even funnier by the fact that some of my kids have the most absurd names. You have the traditional titles like Josh and Kyle, Steven, and Taylor. Then, there's group that must have gotten their names out of the 1950’s sock hop registration list; names like Gary, Oscar, Scarlett, Linda, and Vicky. I’m also partial to the names are those that are not so much as names, but are objects; Cookie, Robot, Daisy, Honey and Kitty. However, my very favorites are those that aren’t really names at all: King, Happy, Blaze, Sweetie, and Michael Potato, to name a few. They are cute, they are sweet, they are naughty, and they are my kids….and their stories are hilarious. 

I’ve got a dozens of little tales that I painstakingly write down to make sure I remember them well enough to give me a giggle years down the road (or still make make my stomach turn). My 4th grader’s have more bewildering anecdotes. I’ve got one kid, Blaze, who doesn’t know much Englis

h. He can string together a few words to let me know he’ll be getting drink or going to the bathroom instead of writing down this week’s new Spelling list, so when he came into class wanting a “small this”, or a “little bag”, it took a minute for me to realize what he was asking for. “No Blaze, I don’ have a ziplock back…this is Spelling class. Why in the world would you need a bag or container?” Blaze opened his clutched hands, releasing about a dozen ants that immediately started crawling between his fingers. Luckily, a small houseplant was available to be the ant’s new home. I’m often asked for objects that don’t really make sense (“Teacha, do you have a lid for this?” “Teacher, do you have a picture of a hedgehog?”) but I have taken to carry around tissues in case they are needed. Once during reading, a boy named Jerry (there are about 7 Jerry’s in the ILP program, go figure) asked for a tissue, and I didn’t have one. He then proceeded to stand up, walk out the door to the bathroom, then changed his mind…spilling a loogie into his hand, then wiping that on the rubbish bin. In. His. Hands. 

Gross. Gross. Gross. 

My second grader’s are much cuter (see photo) but sometimes that gross. We end each day by piling all the kids into the gym room for a song and the chance for them to report their behavior to their Chinese teacher. Most of it is conducted in English, though sometimes it’s in Chinese. The American teachers usually tune out during the Chinese parts, but our attention was called once Hanson’s eager hand was finally called on, he said his comment, and the whole class chuckled. Lily, the Chinese coordinator replied sheepishly: “Thank you, Hanson: Chris; We mustn’t eat things out of the rubbish”. These kids will eat anything. Sunny (a 4th grader) once dove down to lick what turned out to be baking soda off the floor because it had fallen out of the fridge. You would think they didn’t get fed all day; they do, I promise. One afternoon, my horde of cute 2nd graders came running in to tell me that “James eat an ant!”. The girls were grossed out, the boys smiled and shrugged their shoulders when I asked them why in the world James would eat an ant, but I never got a straight answer.

Sometimes that communication barrier makes conversations even more hilarious. I teach a ridiculously cute and ridiculously loud 7 year old named Simba. He has the puffiest eyes that hide behind yellow rimmed glasses and the child shouts everything. His face is often found freshly flushed from yelling his report or screaming hello at friends. He is so-oo cute. Chris is his classmate (the rubbish eater) who is very naughty but has taken to giving me hugs for what I’m sure is some ulterior motive. He came into class and said sweetly “You are milk”. I looked to Simba who speaks slightly better English, who made a drinking-something-motion to confirm my question of “Milk?”. Simba replied “YES, MILK”. I asked again: “I am milk?”, utterly confused. Simba screams back at me: “NOT ME! CHRIS THINKS YOU ARE MILK! MIILLLLKKKKK!”. I have no idea what that even means. 

Simba is the star of one of my very favorite stories. My lesson included asking the kids what sort of pets they had at home. Some were eager to share their cat just had kittens, or that they have a bird at home that’s their very own. Simba rain forward to get right in my face and screamed at the top of his tiny lungs “I HAVE A BUNNY, 2 BIRDS, AND A DOG BUT THEY ALL DIIIIEEEEEEEDDDDD”. I was laughing hard, meaning I wasn’t paying him my full attention so he felt the need to shout the follow up: “TEACHA, I HAVE MANY, MANY FISSSSSHHH”. Oh Simba. My heart and eardrums won’t be the same ever again. 

King tries to play it cool, even on the St. Patrick's Day
slash Easter party.

This is usually how pictures go. 

There are also the offhanded comments that lower your self esteem in one swoop. King has to be one of my favorites (also he’s in my homeroom, so that’s a plus). He is sooooo cute, which is good because it means he gets away with saying things like “Teacha, so soft” when he jiggles my upper arms. Thanks, King. It’s a good thing I like you. 

The girls have sweet stories; shocker, I know. Pictures are often drawn and have the most heartwarming anecdotes. Taylor I think is the sweetest student I have; bonus points because she’s in my homeroom. Taylor drew a picture of Superman with hearts and when I asked what her Superpower would be she pointed to her paper because “She would make the whole world love each other…”  Could she be cuter?? 

Don’t get me wrong: the trips to exotic and exciting places have been wonderful, but it’s nice to come back home to my kids. I’m going to miss telling me their favorite breakfast food is duck tongue, or needing Michael Potato to make sure I don’t forget the “Potato” when I roll call his name just as “Michael”, or drying off leaves before class one by one for the pet silkworm for my 4th graders. Oh, I'm going to miss these kiddos. 

Not My Monkeys

Several years ago, I was inspired to keep a quote book. Truth be told, I was intending on emulating someone I rather deeply admired and took the idea from him. Not that it was thievery by any stretch of the imagination, but it's become something I'm very glad I did (though that admiration has somewhat been redefined over the years). I collect the quotes I find in books and hear on podcasts. I'll jott down phrases spoken by friends and the famous, and anything other collection of words that tickles my fancy. Any and all are typed out on my phone, later to be transcribed into my handy little book. It's fun to flip through and see what struck me as impactful over the years.

There's a quote scrawled in the margins of the early pages of the dog eared quote book that seems inexplicably applicable to my adventures in India. I think I found it online, so it's veracity should be questioned but I like it all the same. "Not my circus, not my monkeys" my looped handwriting reads. I do think it is attributed to a Russian Proverb, but the quote kept popping in my mind during palace tours, car rides, and street wanderings while India. I suppose that could be read as a very prophetic and deep analysis of the cultural differences I was scrutinizing, but mostly it was because there are monkeys everywhere in India. Monkeys everywhere=monkey quotes. It's simple logic.

Granted, there could be a little more depth to that quote than I give it credit for. There's a certainly carelessness that accompanies me when I travel. Not that I abandon all sense of a schedule, but things just don't matter like they do back home. I guess that's where the "not my circus" part of the things may come into play, but the monkeys were actual monkeys and were nothing metaphorical. Running around on palaces, chomping on fruit in the middle of the road, and swarming the rooftops of all the neighborhoods; Yes, the monkeys made India pretty magical.

And while there weren't monkeys running around all the places we visited, India still maintained that magic...case in point, the Taj Mahal. There is something surreal about seeing one the proclaimed seven wonders of the modern world. Not that I was counting, but this was number three out of seven, soon to be followed by a fourth in the spring (I'll pretend readers are dying to know where that mysterious location will be, but you will just have to wait for that announcement). I do think since the spring of 2016 will cross off four out of seven, I might as well just make it to the next three. It would be a shame to just stop halfway, and never see the others.

The thing that is difficult to realize is that travel is like a virus. It's something you catch and its voracious appetite is only temporarily satiated when you book a trip but the craving only intensifies to consume more culture, experience new adventures, and taste new foods. I'm contemplating my time in India while chomping at the bit to get onto my next cultural meal. It's a vicious cycle. India held many adventures, and still maintains a mystery I didn't quite fully decipher during my time there. It's a place I'd visit again, though I don't think that chance will come for another couple of years...Maybe on a trip to see the seven world wonders for a second time.

The Ugly Dumpling

I've had my eye on making dumplings for a quite some time. The whole process seems rather therapeutic; rolling out thin rounds of dough, spooning a tiny amount of filling inside and artistically folding each little half tightly before tucking it atop a floured sheet and under a damp towel...Not to mention the indisputable fact that potstickers are delicious and I'm a staunch believer in gastronomy therapy. This whole week had me hankering for dumplings of some kind,  so Saturday seemed the ideal time to test out my wrapper folding skills. Though I've seen the wonton wrappers in the grocery store and knew it would streamline my afternoon in the kitchen, there's something about making a meal completely from scratch. Yes, you could buy the frosting to schmear atop your cake, but it kind of feels like cheating once you've put in the effort to make the majority  of the edibles all by yourself. 

For potstickers, the ingredients are simple enough; basic elements mixed together to create something that is from it's foundation delicious. Salt, water, and flour was all the dough needed, in addition from a few minutes of kneading. Hands removed of ring and watch stirred flour from a knobby mixture into a smooth dough that tightened up quite nicely into a firm and solid ball. Ground chicken, loads scallions, spicy grated ginger root and a few other ingredients made up the filling and that's really all there was to it. 

Almost. 

The painstaking process of making these dumplings should have been thought out more thoroughly. A late breakfast Saturday had me skipping lunch and arriving home ready to tuck into a heaping pile of the crunchy yet juicy little dumplings. Although I did get my reward, it wasn't until I had rolled out dozens of evenly round circles of dough, spooned tiny bits of filling inside before folding the dough over and haphazardly 'perfecting' the crimping fold. A tray full of mostly proportional sized dumplings gently floured just waiting to meet their tasty demise meant we were getting closer, but weren't quite there yet. 

Then came the boiling and the frying and the agonizing wait until the entire batch had been rolled, filled, folded, boiled, and fried. Then, and only then, was it was time to eat. Albeit a little uneven and a tad bit ugly, were delicious. 

Sunday Driving

When the chance for a weekend trip up to Yellowstone comes you way, take it. Bonus points if the invited party brings Oreo's and all happen to listen to the same type of music as you do (it's a deceivingly long drive, and no one wants to be in a car where so called 'radio style music' is being played).  Cicily and I were classmates in college, (I was also her TA my graduating year, which could have made things weird but actually seemed to create the perfect storm for quite a friendship). Maybe slightly more fortunate is that Cicily lives a couple hours outside of Wyoming and had me at the top of the invite list for a quick trip up north. Of course, I said yes. 

After stopping twice for gas, once for 0.75$ twist cones at the Little America, and once more in the middle of nowhere to stop and shiver while you admire the waxing gibbous moon and enormity of the stars and all, you'll get in decently late in to Powell, Wyoming. Cicily's mom is the cutest and had the beds all turned down, complete with the whole mint-on-the-pillow deal. Saturday was well-spent wandering around Red Fort Montana, a charming little touristy town with the neatest candy store and a slightly endearing but dilapidated animal sanctuary; an obvious choice on how a Saturday afternoon should be occupied. 

However, Sunday really was the reason we made the trip (well, maybe for me...I'm sure Cicily loved seeing her parents and everything). Somehow, we dragged ourselves out of bed at a seemingly dreadfully early hour to drive into Yellowstone, but the early hour was well worth it (I'm no morning person, I suppose 6:30 isn't that early).  It's been a few years since I've had the chance to visit Yellowstone, but I'm convinced autumn is the ideal season in which to drop by. We had miles of roads to ourselves, lined with emerald pines that burst into golden yellows as the aspens hung onto their foliage before falling into more winter appropriate attire. All the crowds are gone, but the animals stick around, resulting in some pretty close bison encounters and even a roadside show of a couple grizzly bears lazily snorting around in the dirt. 

Driving from geysers to waterfalls certainly leaves time for music and musings if you are in the car with a load of English/Humanities/French majors. Børns thumps out a beat in the background and discussions about literature and art seem to take the foreground before being paused for a photo op. in front of a billowing cloud of steam, or to lean out the window for a quick snapshot. We took the long way home to get a little more out of Yellowstone park, but it still seemed too short a visit.  

Despite the limited time we spent there, I was able to shoot some pretty stunning shots. Yellowstone makes it easy, being so picturesque. Dressed in grays and olives, I seemed to fade into the steamy swirls quite nicely, and the bison did well to graze in front of waterfalls or on rich amber fields...all making for some rather nice photos to remember the trip by (and to post onto Instagram, but that goes without saying). 

Needless to say, today's Sunday drive was quite lovely indeed.

Autumnal.

It's an under-utilized word, autumnal. Somehow able to capture that warm afternoon while simultaneously hinting at a chilly evening,  a single word is both all spiced with cinnamon and wrapped in a knit sweater. Exaggerating, I am not.  Maybe I'm prejudiced, but it's factual that fall is the best season. 

How could it not be? Complete with rich oranges, pureed root vegetable soups, and frothy chai, the food alone in this season takes the cake (cardamom and apple studded cake, that is). 31 days of haunting Halloween films, 2 birthday celebrations in the Cummings family, and roadside stands of Honeycrisp apples, striped squash and hayrides makes October very difficult to beat. 

Twenty three was a quiet affair, the 5th being tucked after sessions of Conference, and landing on a Monday. Family celebrations happen on the 4th, with a little shopping and a celebratory lunch with pops before the work day began. Such a grown up birthday, needing to go into work....though the flowers at the desk did help a tad. Wednesday was a social affair, with a hand picked guest list of those who would most appreciate sipping drinking cocoa out of tiny glass teacups and cooling everything down with pumpkin spice popsicles...I told you all there would be popsicles when summer time officially ended. 

While 22 was spend running around the Hagia Sophia, no matter where you are in the world, being home for the holidays or for birthdays is exactly where you'd like to be.

Just like Mum

This weekend was spent down memory lane as I came to Holladay to nanny 2 of the 3 kids I spend quite a few summers with. They have gotten older, and no longer run to see what surprises I had in my big Mary Poppins bag. Which makes me sad...I enjoyed those little science and art projects almost as much as the kids did. I did have a project or two planned but this time around, the weekend was a quick blitz of soccer practice, soccer games, and track meets. Though I've enjoyed the rain Utah's recently been swimming in, the sunshine made for a great afternoon outside. Egg drop contests and shadow art will have to wait however, tired kids with busy schedules demanded a more relaxed weekend of cookie baking. I estimate about 7 dozen's worth of both sugar cookies and chocolate chip. The thick sugar cookies with sour cream icing made for a quick breakfast on Sunday (unbeknownst to me) but the real stars were of course, the classic chocolate chip. 

I had tried to make chocolate cookies like my mom had a few times but didn't get it quite right until I watched her from start to finish. Missing from the margins but present in her memory are little additions to the recipe that make all the difference. Make sure you cream the butter and sugar for a 'good long while '(no precise timing here, a good long while is determined by texture and color), add the chocolate chips and flour together instead of in batches, and upping the flour content are just a few secrets that resulted in my sub-par recreation attempts. You would think that following the worn recipe exactly would yield cookies just like mom: not quite. But I've tinkered with what I've seen and made an adaptation or two for myself. 

As good as mine are, the old cliche rings true; there's something about your mother's cooking. That something very well could be excellent cooking skills paired with nostalgia. These cookies have been around for years of my life, and structured  my childhood afternoon snack. A favorite family story involves elementary aged older brother J coming home from school one day to a plate of chocolate cookies. A cookie in hand and one in his mouth he asked my mom "mom these are really good, but next time, can you have them warm when I come home?" Cute. 

I'm much less picky. Warm, cooled, half-baked, or even the raw dough, these cookies are excellent. And according to Emily Ruth, make an excellent dinner. 

Pretending to be a Grown-up

I always wondered what would happen after I graduated from my university. I was flustered, and a bit lost without school. School has always been the natural progression of my life. Elementary school evolved to the junior high (which did wiped out my self confidence), but was incrementally gained back during high school. Soon enough, I graduated with a pretty good sense of who I was, but without a direction of where I was going. And school was gone. 

But now that day I thought would never come has come….and gone. When I was little, I thought college was always this far off date that I thought I would reach when I was old. At 22, let me tell you that you don’t graduate college when you are old. You graduate and then the world really opens up to you, presenting limitless opportunities. How daunting. 

Just one beauty of my walks to work

So now what? 

 I decided to get my feet wet in the grown up world, acquiring an internship with a pretty grown up company in Salt Lake City. I wear tailored pants. I take company lunches.  I even have an ID card with security clearance and everything. But to let you in on the secret, the key to being a grown up is pretending. I never thought I would thank my vivid childhood imagination and role-playing Harry Potter skills into my early twenties, but I do. As it turns out, these skills as a kid have really come in handy as you try and pretend to play grown up.  Pretending to play Harry Potter was a little easier, but there isn’t much difference in the skill set.  

 I realized this fact of life as I helped younger sister #2 helped register for classes. It was late, she was stressed out, and proclaimed that she wasn’t ready to go to college. But that’s the ticket, the unpreparedness of it all. Being grown up doesn’t come with a handbook of rules, just loose guidelines from friends and family…. and frantic Google searches. Apart from that, it’s mostly an unwritten book for you to scribble all over.    

For now, this page of life is turned to playing grown up, but not too seriously. As far as I’m concerned, this time is meant for adventure. You have your whole life to be a grown up so I intend on a couple practice runs with several adventures in between. While my paychecks don’t have to go toward payments and bills, they are carefully stashed away towards my adventures. While work is very grown up (but still fun), what everyone doesn’t know is that lunches at my desk are spent looking up flights to south east Asia and research about mango sticky rice.  

 And I most definitely keep fruit snacks inside of my bag