Monday, September 21, 2015

Oh hey

Let me tell you something...

Death is exhausting. That's one thing I never anticipated. I have never been so emotionally exhausted as I have been this past year and I think that's reflected in this blog. I have little motivation to do things I did before my mom died, including talking about my life. And blogging is dying (or dead), easily being replaced by Instagram as we share so much already through photos and trips and everything else we would have shared on our blogs.

Except I don't share them on Instagram because I forget or I want to save it for the blog.

I have hundreds of photos on my laptop that I've said, "I'll put them up on the blog," and never do because I can't seem to find the words to go along with them. Again, exhausted.

So maybe it is what it is. I'll put up photos and minimal words. I'll give you glimpses inside The Washington Ballet without the fear of sharing too much (there is that worry I'll somehow overstep my bounds, hence a lot of silence about the company and school on my end). I won't care about the death of blogging because, in the end, I never really cared about numbers in the first place.


I have some really exciting news that will make your heart squeal.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Remember Life?

Rehearsals started last week. Classes start this week. My mind is slowly letting go of the luxury of sleeping in and doing nothing really that important. But it doesn't feel like Summer during childhood when the last weeks of August marked the end of freedom. I'm excited to go back into the studio and see I can do and what my students can do. I'm excited to meet my new dancers and see progress in returning ones.

Growing up, Summers were remembered by big events accompanied by big emotions and big memories: The Summer we moved, The Summer I went to Yosemite, The Summer I went to Paris, The Summer of weddings, The Summer of concerts in the park.

As I get older, Summers blur together- perhaps it's because I don't feel as deeply so these events don't sink into my memory as well. Things aren't new and excitement isn't as overwhelming. If I'm honest, unless I go through this blog, I don't really remember what I did last Summer except see my mom. Well, that's an overriding memory and rightly so. But still... I know there were many memories I should have kept but somehow I let them go. Somehow I let Summer get away.

So now I have a new resolve: feel more deeply so I can remember my life.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015


Cyd and I had an incredible time in NYC this Summer. Her college friends put on a rock opera off Broadway and we decided to make a weekend of it. We ate, we shopped, we went to every iconic place we could find, and we got hit on a lot. And we walked. One day we logged in seven miles and I'm fairly certain it was on the same street. But it was worth seeing NYC in all its glory day and night.

Where we went:
Stayed at the wonderfully located Hilton Garden Inn
Ate lunch at Burgers and Cupcakes solely based upon the name
Stopped by every flower cart we encountered
Roamed Eataly for a few hours
Saw Deep Love off Broadway
Gorged ourselves at Wafel and Dinges
Meandered through New York Public Library (this deserves its own post)
Ate at Broadway Bites for every hipster food stand imaginable
Relaxed our feet at Shakespeare in Bryant Park

Monday, August 10, 2015

Hey I'm 32 and I...

I remember as a young girl envisioning myself in my twenties. In my head I was confident, fun, and ran six miles in a sports bra and short shorts. But the vision stopped there. Past the exciting twenties, I was sure I would be married with kids and a house, stuff too boring to day dream about unless you were drawing your dream mansion with a sports car parked in front. 

Oh, what a fool I was.

There are bucket lists and there are "I Guess I'm an Adult Now and Here Are Things I'm Doing and Things I'm Not Doing" lists.  So here's an honest look at life in my thirties. It's not glamorous, but I think some things are important to note.

I'm 32 and I...

~ am no longer terrified of the eight color eye shadow palette and the four brushes that accompany it.

~ can make an entire Thanksgiving dinner without throwing eggs on the floor out of frustration (not like when I was 22).

~ can't call Apple technical support without getting irritated.

~ am still intimidated slightly by people with British accents.

~ can't change a tire.

~ can apply for health insurance without crying.

~ know what f stop, shutter speed, and ISO means on my camera.

~ drink the recommended amount of water per day.

~ know how to comfort a crying baby.

~ know how to draft a press release, poem, novel, and a strongly worded letter to a CEO.

~ don't own a library card.

~ still haven't seen Twilight.

~ don't read the terms of agreement for anything (and probably never will).

~ still get lipstick on my teeth (I blame my front left tooth that slightly sticks out thanks genetics).

~ can walk confidently in heels past a group of men.

~ still can't walk confidently past a group of teenagers.

~ genuinely enjoy listening to the news and talking about current social situations with mixed company.

~ know what dresses fit me properly.

~ still can't pull of a white button down.

~ can travel to a foreign country alone and survive.

~ take at least twenty selfies to get one good one.

~ know how to kiss a man properly.

Thursday, July 30, 2015


The morning of my birthday he asked if I wanted a cake. I said, "Not unless my name is on it." Bless his heart he bought some cookie decorating pens and wrote my name on it."

The weeks leading up to my birthday I didn't want to celebrate it. In fact, I didn't even want to recognize it and hoped to let the day quietly pass by. This is a huge detour from my usual hopes and dreams of a surprise party. Ever since I was little I've wanted a surprise party but it's never happened. I think it has something to do with my mother. It's strange celebrating your birthday without your mom calling you.

On the day of my birthday, we had our big show for the school and I went home exhausted and already fulfilled. To my surprise, the apartment was decorated in streamers and a Happy Birthday banner. There was a huge wrapped box on the dining room table. Cue heart flutters. Mr. B assured me there was no surprise party and I was grateful for that. 

He then asked what I wanted to do and I decided on some Thai food and an early evening. 

I get ready. I barely put on make-up. I wear my go-to Summer dress. There's a knock on the door.

It's Cydney. What is she doing here?

Then another knock. It's Niki! Niki? What...

Then Abbey. Then Sarah.

Then Mr. B says, "You have a reservation at a fancy Italian seafood restaurant." Seafood and Italian is my favorite. He then sends off all he ladies with an envelope of cash and a birthday girl pin on my chest. It was like Pretty Women but with streamers and tiramisu.

After dinner, the ladies came back to the apartment for ice cream cake and gifts and more laughter and story telling. I felt very loved.

I have to say, this birthday beat every other birthday I've had. Even the Care Bear party when I was five wasn't as wonderful as this. Thank you, Mr. Branflake. You did good.

Thursday, July 16, 2015

Country vs City

My mom was a city girl who grew up in a big house in Berkeley, CA. Her childhood was surrounded by the Civil Rights movement and Beatlemania. I loved hearing stories about my grandfather's auto shop in Oakland and how he fixed up cars for the Black Panthers and built hot rods from scratch.

My dad came from a small rural town where there was one street light between miles and miles of farmland. I loved visiting his home and grew up dreaming of one day owning a small home in some rural part of the world where walks in thick grass and sunsets unobscured by buildings were an every day thing.

Then there's me: a product of suburbia and Target.

I don't think anyone plans on ending up in suburbia, but I do believe it takes a special kind of grit to live in either the city or the country. Grit and personality. Extreme environments create a wonderful breeding ground for diverse thinking and thoughtful living.

I've been thinking a lot about where I want to end up. The city girl in me hates bugs, darkness, and planning ahead, but I love to think about living in utter quiet one day.

Maybe it's a generational thing. My generation is obsessed with rustic. We love things pretty and charming but not perfect. We've gone back to our pioneer roots of ball jars, floral aprons, and eating fruit in season. Farmhouse restaurants with big, wooden tables filled with hipster diners reign in even the biggest metropolitan areas.

It's an agrarian movement I fully support, although the face and purpose of it is quite different than what our parents knew. But maybe it's coming back for a reason- simplicity is needed once again.

I'll be honest, I'm not sure why I wrote this post, but I have this need to talk about my parents. They had such diverse, interesting backgrounds and I didn't appreciate that until now. I'm part city girl and part country and it wasn't until now I realized this duality came from them.

Thursday, July 9, 2015

Cherry Picking

Growing up, cherry picking was serious business in our family. We would head to Lodi, CA and spend an afternoon filling huge flats of cherries for our friends and family. On the way home, we perfected the art of spitting pits of the window without staining our hands and shirts. It was the mark of the beginning of Summer for us.

While visiting Sean and Steph in Indiana, we went cherry picking after a failed attempt at strawberry picking. We grabbed our buckets, headed into the orchard, and gloried in all the beautiful plump, red fruit surrounding us. The little ones were the perfect helpers and the older ones (me) ate much more than they picked. Sampling was encouraged, thank goodness.

The days after included cherry chocolate pies, cherry cakes, and chocolate dipped cherries. It was a wonderful way to begin a lovely Summer.

What marked the beginning of Summer for you?