When I was ten years old, three of my bedroom walls were painted bright pink. The fourth wall was wallpapered with something meant to look like a patchwork quilt of pink, blue, yellow and green patterned squares bordered with white rick-rack. I thought it was the most beautiful bedroom ever.
My favorite scent is night-blooming jasmine, followed closely by fresh lilac, followed closely by the dusty scent of pine trees in high, dry summer.
I don’t collect tea cup sets, but my grandmother did. Thus I have about two dozen lovely tea cups and saucers.
Sometimes I crave stuffed mushrooms of the sort made by a restaurant outside San Luis Obispo that’s changed too many times to have the same menu. The mushrooms were stuffed with cream cheese and green chilies, broiled in butter, and served surrounded with cubes of warm, soft sourdough bread. I’ve tried to recreate it home—it sounds so simple!—but it’s not quite the same.
I performed with a show choir my freshman year of high school.
I much prefer hardwood or tile floors over carpeting, though nice rugs are certainly nice on a winter’s morning.
My father used to call me Baby Flamingo and carry me through the house on “flamingo rides” before bed. To this day, my little sister picks up the odd flamingo gift for me now and then, the most recent being a Christmas stocking bearing a flamingo in a Santa hat.
I do not like to swim.
The first year I lived on the farm, I had to help fight a sudden brush fire on the property. It was enough of a crisis that I ran out of my house to help while still wearing slippers. I couldn’t find a shovel, so grabbed a plastic rake. It was a relatively small and slow-moving fire, but determined to take the hill from us. By the time we stopped it, my rake had melted down to a nub and my charred slippers were falling off my feet.
I once had to see a doctor because I’d badly sprained my wrist during a scene in Antigone. I had been wearing handcuffs at the time of injury. That was fun to explain to the nursing staff.