I was born in San Francisco, CA., but I grew up in a little town about 30 minutes outside of the city. Kentfield, the little town that absolutely no one has heard of.

Kentfield borders Ross, which is another – slightly bigger – town in Marin. Our street in particular connected, beginning at a market in Kentfield, and ending at the Ross school. Kent Ave., if anyone lives near there.

As a family, we knew every inch of that street. So often we would climb on our bikes and go to the park, where we would sit, play with the dogs, or climb the play structure. That’s where I first learned to ride a bike without training wheels.

Another of our favorite destinations was Marche aux Fleurs, a small French restaurant situated comfortably in a petite plaza, with a deck looking out. We went there so many times, that I got tired of spaghetti with butter and parmesan.

Who knew you could ever get tired of that?

One time at Christmas, we went for dinner, and I ordered a steak. I can’t remember what cut it was, or what delectable sauce they listed on the menu, but my god it was good. Every time we went back I would ask the owner about it. Sadly, it was a one time thing.

Then there was Woodlands Market. If you are ever in Marin, please please please make sure you go there. You will never find a better place to shop for food, I promise you.

Woodlands was also my favorite deli. Every so often we would go get a sandwich. I would immediately unwrap it, looking for the square of chocolate enclosed in the parchment paper.

On Saturday mornings, my brothers and I would plead with my dad, begging him to treat us to a breakfast of mickey mouse pancakes at the nearby Willie’s Cafe.

I hold so many memories from growing up in Kentfield. Some small, others more significant to me. I haven’t been back since we moved away, and over time I have lost the desire to. I want that small California town to remain exactly as remember it, not as the disappointment it may be if we were to visit.

OVS you’ll be with me wherever I go

You never really realize how big of an impact a place has on you until you leave that place.

OVS has stuck with me ever since I left. I first realized it the first day I got to Italy and read our host family booklet, which said that 95% of the students coming here had never had to make their own bed before. And I sat there saying to myself “YES! Thank you, OVS!”

To give you more insight I’ll make a list of the things that OVS has taught me and have stuck with me even though I’m across the atlantic in a completely new culture.

I eat milk and crackers all the time and have gotten my host family into it too!

During our orientation retreat to the sea I was able to keep everyone interested with cool fun facts that I learned from Ms. Davis.

I still do my homework during what would be study hall hour.

I think I’ve formed permanent calf muscles from climbing up the hill therefore the hills in Viterbo are a piece of cake!

I managed to tack up my horse within ten minutes at the barn I’m riding at here. Thanks to Ms. Gustafson and Ms. Wilson always rushing me to get in the arena!

We’re reading BEloved by Toni Morrison in my English class which requires intense annotating to understand and I can’t thank Mr. Weidlich enough for the endless annotating you made us do.

And more than anything, I have a nice reminder of you everywhere I go, due to this awesome Italian clothing store that happens to be called OVS.

I miss you all dearly ❤ I’m excited to eventually be back with you all on the beautiful campus of the Ojai Valley School.

The Drafting Table

In my home, in a secluded corner of the living room lies a large table with thin white sheets of paper laying over it. Thin metal wires line the sides spanning the entire length. A straightedge lies in between these wires hanging millimeters above the paper.

A bushel of pencils held together by a rubber band lay in a ceramic cup outside the wire.

I still feel the carpet from when I was a small child playing around it.

It has moved from house to house, the table itself changes but the items don’t. Each house has been drawn on it. From the renovations of my first house to the house in Ojai being built. When I wake up in the morning I can hear pencils drawing lines and ideas becoming reality.

This has been an important part of my creative process and it has made me a more complete student.

Having a father who was artistic and built himself from scratch makes me want to do the same. The drafting table in my house serves as a monument to the hard work and art.

So when I wake up in the morning when visiting home I am inspired to become the best I can possibly be.



A flower cannot grow alone.

It must find soil to have a home.

It starts as a seed, it probably won’t survive.

The odds are great the seed will die.

It’s a small chance but the seed succeeds.

It must steal sunlight and water from the tenacious weed.

With hope and care the seed begins to sprout.

It must fend off the occasional drought.

After a while the seed is a fully-grown stem.

Mother Nature can no longer extinguish it on a whim.

The stem will contain an invigorating power.

On it will grow a beautiful flower.

The flower will soon shoot its seeds into the air.

Once again the tenacious weed must beware.


We came from darkness

In a flash, the universe was created

Molten rock, frozen metal and fiery space dust crashed and collided across the galaxy 

Stars were born from clouds of gas, nebulae

The sun exploded in the vast blackness

Casting its newborn brilliance into the universe

Misshapen rocks were sucked into its gravitational pull

The third rock cooled just enough to create water

Tiny organisms evolved

With each passing millennium, they changed…

Rebecca’s Outlook

(The following is a work of fiction)

I walk into my third-grade classroom with my head down, my eyes purposely averting the stares of my fellow classmates. I sit down in the back, alone, as usual. My classmates began avoiding me long ago, and truthfully I am thankful for it.

The teacher comes into the room, a bright smile on her face. She’s young, and this is only her third year teaching. As she begins the lesson, she glances to me. I notice the moment of hesitation in her voice as he takes in my bruised eye, before she continues on with what she was saying before.

This isn’t the first time I have come to school bruised, and I know that at recess I’ll be pulled aside and asked what has happened. I’ll give the usual answer, “I ran into something,” or “I tripped.” But the excuse barely worked the last time, and I know that this time it will be harder to cover for Daddy.

As I suspected, I am pulled from the bench where I sit and eat, and taken to the principal’s office. When I walk in I notice the young lady sitting across from Mrs. Wilkon, easily making small talk.

The next hour goes as I suspected, with the young social worker asking me questions about my dad and what it’s like at home, with Mrs. Wilkon looking on.

By the end of it, I’m not so confident that they won’t be taking Daddy away from me this time. I consider this as I make my way home after school, retreating immediately to my bedroom upon walking in the door. That way Daddy doesn’t know I’m home, and can’t blame me for anything.

I go to school the next morning as usual, and the day after that as well. I’ve begun to relax, having not heard anything of the events a few days before. Then a week after everything has happened, I am once again called into Mrs. Wilkons office.

The social worker is there once again, and she explains to me in a calm voice that I am being moved to a foster family who lives nearby. She takes me home, and waits patiently while I pack my few belongings.

Daddy isn’t home, and she explains to me that he won’t be coming back for a very long time. I”m not very sad about it. We lost Mommy to cancer years ago, and since then Daddy hasn’t been the same. But now it’s just me, Rebecca, who’s still here.

It doesn’t take very long to get to the foster family’s house, and once we’re there I’m lead inside and introduced to my new parents and siblings. They show me the house, and finally my room, leaving me to unpack and settle in. They have a nice house, and seem like a nice family.

I don’t think I mind them too much.

It takes me a while to adjust to my new life, and especially to stop being so nervous all the time. My new family is nice, and they explained to me that they would never hit me like Daddy did if anything went wrong. I even find myself relaxing.

And I think to myself, I could get used to this.


I have been thinking a lot lately about what my future is going to be like.

Not as a grown adult, but where I want to go to college, what I want to study, and what about sports?

Thinking about what’s going to go into getting in to the schools I want to go to, and if I will be able to do it.

It’s a lot to be thinking about, there are so many choices we have to make even at the young age of 16, but I have realized the future is really up to me and how hard I want to work.

I have always been the kid who doesn’t put in the effort, and I come out with a few As and a few Bs.

I have realized I need to start actually trying to put in more effort to make it all As, instead of sitting on my butt when I have free time, maybe I should study more, and get work done before sunday night.

Maybe that means I can sleep more seeing as my schedule right now is crazy.

That brings me to the other thing I have been thinking about.

It was just last year that sports started to mean something to me again.

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Water, our great fear


Water, without it we have no life.

It covers are planet in an eternal blue dye.

Whether ice or steam it will always be here.

Water, without it, we would have great fear.

Fear that our planet will be devoid of all life.

Water soothes and protects healing all wounds.

It possesses a power more pure than the moon.

Be warned waters power is fearsome and great.

It can decide our people’s fate.

Water rising and twisting, overwhelming the coast.

We must realize that water is our host.

A host that is spreading over our land.

Depopulating the areas of all man.

We must all share in one true fear.

Fear that our planet will be devoid of all life.

Blues-y Blues

In the past, I’ve blogged about all-time greatest guitar player Robert Johnson. But I mean, its pretty hard to cover the blues in just one blog. In this one, I’ll try to go over just a few of my favorite blues players.

Firstly, I want to just bring up Sister Rosetta Tharpe. If you could, picture Chuck Berry as a Baptist woman. Except instead of an ES3-35, she had an SG. Yeah. Like this guy.

It’s pretty hard to get much cooler than Angus Young or Sister Tharpe. Set your sights high kids! Don’t believe me?

Now you do.

Now, I always think about what my “desert island” albums would be (5 albums I can take to be stranded on a desert island with), and they always change. But one constant is Super Blues.

Muddy Waters, Bo Diddley, Little Walter and Otis Spann. I really don’t see what else needs to be said about this album. If you don’t have it, go get it. Well, I mean, only if you like music I guess.

Okay, one last person, but just because his new album just came out. Gary Clark Jr. takes the cake for one of the best NEW blues artists going right now. Blak and Blu came out on Oct. 25th, and, consequently, is the only album I’ve ever pre-ordered.  Clark has some serious soul in this album, swinging between R&B to old school blues. Go get it, but here’s a taste (at the Crossroads festival no less).

Plague Inc.-Fun but Deadly!

While reviewing my most recent blog, I came to the mindset that maybe I should write something that’s got nothing to do with sports!

I know you’re all surprised but this is pretty cool. I recently downloaded a new app on my iPad called “Plague Inc.”. This simulator enables the player to take control of their very own disease and attempt to infect and (end result) completely annihilate the entire human race. Imagine sending the humans into complete extinction.

Considering I’m not human (ha), I see literally no controversy of any kind with this game. It’s not like you’re running around with guns and blowing the heads off of zombies. There’s no gore whatsoever. There’s no blood. The only thing possibly traumatic about this game is the principle that you are, in fact eliminating everyone on the planet.

There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m gonna talk a little bit about some problems I see with the game.

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