The Truth About Pinatas

As a child I was always afraid of pinatas. For one, they look absolutely terrifying. The majority of them are shaped in the form of a donkey, with obnoxiously bright colors plastered all over them. It’s like a tiny not-human version of a clown.

Pinata.

Secondly, as a very self-conscious person, being blindfolded and handed a bat did not exactly appeal to me. Especially when I was told to start beating the thing. What person wouldn’t be nervous when surrounded by a group of kids their age, and told to beat something until it broke without help from their sight?

It’s just not right.Read More »

Growing Up

When I was little, we lived in Marin, a small town outside of San Francisco, California. Specifically, we lived in Kentfield, which is a town that even some of the people who live in Marin have never even heard of. Number 338, Kent Ave. was not a new house when we moved in. The stairs leading up to my brothers’ bedrooms were covered with the ugliest green carpet you could imagine. It was absolutely horrendous.

But then my mom decided to put her decorating talents to use, and we moved into our friends cabin while our house was remodeled. The cabin was so small that I had to share a room with my two brothers, and the youngest of the two eventually had to get his tonsils removed because he snored so loud.

The remodel seemed to take years, although in reality it didn’t take very long at all. I remember sitting on the front porch and talking to one of the workers. I ended up begging him to have the house down before my birthday.

And although the house wasn’t done in time for me to have my birthday party in it, it was eventually done. My favorite room quickly became the living room. It was in the very back of the house, with a door leading to the backyard. All the walls were painted white, except for one. It was hidden by a gigantic blue book-case, filled with novels, dictionaries, and my personal favorites: The picture books.

Picture Books.Read More »

Backpacking Excursion

I spent my eighth grade year at the Aspen Middle School, which is not surprisingly in Aspen Colorado. In all honesty, Aspen is not my favorite place. I love warm weather and going to the beach all year long, instead of wearing three different jackets to school in the morning and being called a marshmallow.

But going into eighth grade was especially daunting. We all knew that the second week of school we would be leaving on a week long backpacking trip, where we would hike some thirty miles in three or four days and arrive at a small town called Marble.

The mountains in Aspen

Let me just tell you that we had not been thrown into something we weren’t prepared for. In seventh grade the ODE trip is a week spent on the Colorado River rafting. In sixth grade the students go on a hut trip, and in fifth they spend a week camping in Moab, Utah.Read More »

Finny Tales

Those of you who attend the Ojai Valley School may have heard of, or perhaps even been lucky enough to encounter, the dog Fin. Fin is no ordinary dog. He belongs to the head of the girls dorm, Ms. Megan, and it is perhaps from her that he has acquired his original qualities.

My first encounter with Fin took place the first week of school, during a dorm meeting. Ms. Megan’s sister was recalling a cautionary tale of how, one day, she was bending down in order to give him a loving cuddle, and was snapped at in the close proximity of her face. It was at this point I decided I would avoid Fin at all costs.

For those of you who don’t know, and I’m guessing the majority of you don’t, I am a dog lover. In fact, I love all animals (except insects and snakes, but let’s face it, not very many people like them either). However, the thought of being bit in the face, even if the dog is toothless, is not particularly pleasing to me.

Unfortunately, my plan to avoid what I thought was a dangerous dog did not exactly follow through. One night, which was an especially terrible night, the fire alarm in the girls dorm decided to go off an amazing three times. Now imagine the fire alarm from your high school, the nightmarish one that never stops. Then imagine yourself sleeping peacefully, only to be startled awake and pulled from your cozy bed for a fire drill. We were not happy.

The first time the alarm went off that night, there was chaos as all the girls attempted to go through two doors at once. Ms. Megan was standing off to the side in one of the hallways, ushering us along. For some reason, probably just because I was the closest one to her, she thrust Fin’s leash into my hands and told me to take him outside.

Deciding to put on a brave face, I held Fin at arms length and escorted him to the outside. Instead of ruthlessly attacking me, as I foolishly expected, Fin huddled against my legs and looked up at me with the sweetest puppy dog eyes one will ever see. Besides my two dogs back home, because well, no one can beat them. Not even Fin.

At that precise moment my resolve to avoid Fin dissolved, and I instead decided that he would be my best friend. Of course, surrounded by amazing people at school and in classes, that did not exactly happen. However, whenever I do see the wonderful dog Fin, he brightens my day.

Without even meaning to, I have become that annoying person who uses the baby voice when around animals. I promise I only do it with Fin. I won’t lie, there are a few exceptions. I also bend down and scratch his head.

When he’ll let me that is.

But the lesson contained within the ramble of this story is not that Fin is a nice dog, even though he is. The lesson is that you should make decisions about whether or not you want to be around someone based on your own experiences, not someone else’s.

The Beauty of Independence

About three weeks ago, on my way to the Ojai Valley School for the beginning of the school year, I was dragged out of bed at six in the morning and loaded into my dad’s truck along with my luggage and two little brothers.

We were on our way to the airport in Denver, Colorado, and set off from my hometown Aspen so early in the morning because of the four hour drive ahead of us. Although the drive might sound long, it is not as tedious as one would expect.

My dad starts the truck with just a little bit of trouble, enough to make me look over at him and raise my eyebrows in a sleepy haze. He’ll blame it on the cold of the morning, but I think he was just as tired as the rest of us. He did manage to successfully back out of the driveway (without hitting any mailboxes or trash cans), and we were en route. Knowing these were my final hours with my family before not seeing them for three months, I settled in for the drive up Independence Pass.Read More »