A 21st Century memoir.


Who Still Blogs Anyway?

bloggingThe first 10 notes of Beethoven’s Fur Elise rang from my phone notifying me that I had received a text message. I unlocked the iPhone that had been decorated with a brand new navy blue and rose-gold case and read the message to myself.

“Jas!” I could feel the shock and excitement emanating out from behind the words that I was reading. “Catching up on some of your blog posts and ‘A Collection of Memories’ had completely inspired and touched me!”

I don’t think that I was able to wrap my head around what she was trying to tell me. Clearly my friend wasn’t referring to any of the posts on my blog. However, I responded with appreciation for the kind words. Read the rest of this page »

Moving Out and Moving On

“So this is it.” I said as I looked around our empty college apartment. My sister, our other roommate, and I had just finished taking all of our belongings to our new apartments and were ready to drop of our keys at the front office desk downstairs.

The apartment unit, which sat across from the university where I had completed my Master’s degree, had served as the place where I stayed the longest in the region of California below the Grapevine. Read the rest of this page »

A Collection of Memories

The first family road trip, that I can remember, happened sometime around the age of eight or nine. I was handed a Kodak disposable camera and carefully tried to ration the allotted photos that could be taken on the wind-up-operating device. However, because I was only eight and had no experience with cameras and didn’t feel like using the view finder, I quickly went through the film reel by taking terrible pictures with thumbs partial blocking blurred views of ordinary trees from the inside of a moving car. Read the rest of this page »

The Los Angeles of Old and New


La Brea Tar Pits in Los Angeles, CA

The four of us stared down at the black sludge bubbling up from the short blades of green grass that had been blocked off with black iron gates. A small gust of wind had picked up a smell, of what seemed like burned tire rubber, and found its way into our nostrils. I instinctively moved my feet around a bit as if to sidestep the process that was taking hold underneath my boots.

“This all seems very unsafe,” I said as I continued to look down at the ground that was pushing up this dark liquid from decades passed. The ground at La Brea Tar Pits looked like some sort of horror scene nestled between the picturesque LACMA and LA Brea Tar Pits museums. Read the rest of this page »

Across State Lines

13083371_10209041309613957_6841760751063450198_nI glanced over at the odometer and watched the digitally scribed numbers on my dash grow as I crept forward through the California desert. Death Valley’s hot breath blew past my windshield and into the open windows of my mid-sized vehicle as my tires continued to spin over dusty asphalt roads that were beginning to sizzle in the late spring heat.

The car full of people that I was towing were all headed over the first of three state lines that I would end up crossing within a month’s time frame, and with every border I crossed, and every mile that I traveled, I could only hope for more to come. Read the rest of this page »

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