Hippies & Jelly Donuts.

Mar 20, 2025

The last two months have been an absolute rollercoaster.

I started out feeling juicy delicious. Valentine’s Day came in the vibration of sensual rose, black slip dresses, and spontaneous skinny dips in the sunshine. Lapping up the Miami heat every chance I could get. I pranced around in my black cowboy boots and ripped jean shorts, I dove for seashells, I slurped up every moment of my High Fae soft porn literature in the morning.

But alas, balance is indeed..reality. The pendulum must swing. For every caramel dipped butterscotch tanning session in the sand, there is a sea urchin waiting for you in the shadows. Sometimes we refer to this as “the tax.” For every sparkle, there is a tax.

C’est comme ça.

The last two weeks have laid me out and challenged me in a way that has humbled me to my core. On multiple occasions, I described my mood as “guts splattered all over the pavement.”

No matter how adventurous your soul might be, change is f*cking hard. Liminal space is hard. Uncertainty is hard.

In a matter of days, I found myself packing up my apartment, getting rid of my furniture, and trying to sell my beloved ‘95 Mercedes Convertible aka my Barbie Mobile.

* RIP Beach Barbie Era (honestly we loved you!!! Bubblegum pink bathing suits 4ever!!!) *

I left Miami, closed the chapter, and flew home to California–my roots.

California.

Recently, I have taken up crying in the car.

Having come from a background of crying publicly in NYC parks, constantly at the mercy of strangers, a car cry is a rare and bespoke indulgence.

Of late, there have been two gothically romantic sessions to report 🥀

The first was more of a stare into the abyss, single teardrop sliding down face type of cry. I found myself pulled over on the side of Cabrillo Highway in Half Moon Bay, blasting The Scientist, and slowly chugging a carton of organic whole milk as I gazed upon a stormy, grey sea. I was almost too depressed to even shed a tear, and instead found solace in remaining lifeless and immobile as the world continued to swirl around me.

The second was a no frills, classic, familiar fully body sob. It snuck up on me in a moment, and I suddenly found myself choking and sobbing into my green crewneck sweatshirt, gulping for air, as I drove around the nostalgic bends of Santa Cruz. Those roads are like a patchwork quilt of all my past haunts and memories.

The road that led to my safe haven and happy place: my first love’s house. The Capitola Exit that contains so many memories from our powder-blue house on the corner. The Dairy Queen where me and my stepsister would religiously get a chicken basket and blue raspberry freeze that indeed matched the color of our house, sometimes laughing so hard blue would come out of our noses.

From eight until eighteen I spent every other weekend in the house on Capitola Court.

From eight until eighteen I spent every other weekend with my half sister, dad, stepmom, and stepsiblings.

I was sobbing because I was thinking about my past. I was letting all of the memories wash over me and tumble me around like the San Diego sunset swell. I was recognizing how this place, my loved ones, my memories, make me exactly who I’ve become.

My stepmom, my dad, my stepsiblings, my half sister, they make me exactly who I’ve become.

I was sobbing because we recently found out that my stepmom has stage four lung cancer.

I was sobbing because memories of dancing around the powder-blue house while Fat Bottomed Girls played in the background came flooding back to me. So much energy it seemed to be bursting through the walls—threatening to break through the plaster and crack the walls open at the seams.

I was sobbing because my stepmom, Dee, was the person who smelled like flowers and dew drops growing up. She was the person who scratched my back before bed and gently stroked my hair.

I was sobbing because those moments–the love, the tenderness–gave me slices of what it felt like to have a mother. The feeling of mother.

I was sobbing because life is unpredictable. Because it was Pisces season, which only heightened my permanent resting state of emotional mermaid. I feel everything in full color, all the way down to my left pinky toe.

C’est comme ça.

Dee.

My stepmom is a hippie to her core.

She has a butterfly tattoo that cascades down her calf, which sweetly meets and kisses all of the anklets that adorn her petite legs. She always carried a lighter on a leash and would use it to whip us on the bum with a laugh when we were growing up. She drove a baby blue 1976 Volkswagen Van with a purple tie-dye tapestry pinned to the ceiling. How fcking cool*. Her and my dad had a wiggly water bed that always felt like a special privilege to dissolve into. She was, and still is, a walking ‘70s fever dream.

She has always made me feel safe, at home, and loved.

She is exactly who she is, and has never tried to change one part of herself. She is a stubborn son of a bitch. She is a collector of sacred objects. Crystals, abalone shells, porcupine quills, you name it. She keeps things extremely tidy. She takes care of her belongings. She sets the vibe. She is either barefoot or wearing black ballet slippers, and that is the only footwear this woman owns. To me, she is beautiful.

Last week, I went over to her place. We spent all night reminiscing about my childhood, sharing memories from the powder-blue house on Capitola Court, and exploring her vast collection of crystals. I had never taken the time to really examine these strange and mystifying alien kingdoms, somehow trapped in a tiny piece of matter that our human eyes and hearts can discover and devour.

We had our own alien kingdom at Capitola Court. Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd blasting, smoke filling the air, the smell of garlic bread meeting your nostrils in eager anticipation. We stashed Monopoly money all over the house, we made forts, we watched recordings of Freddie Mercury performing live, shaking his delicious hips. We got freshly baked donuts from the place down the hill (always a maple bar for Dee) and went to the sea.

I grew up in that house. I learned how to be a teenager in that house. I learned how to be a woman.

Taylor taught me how to put on makeup and told me to shave my legs. I met my first boyfriend, Nick, at her birthday party in the backyard.

Santa Cruz is part of my soul. She feels like a warm hug enveloping every inch of my skin.

Today.

Today, I feel much lighter.

I’m ducking my head under as I see the swell approaching and sinking into the foam crashing overhead. I’m wrapping up my time in California feeling filled up with memories, with family—a nostalgia tour of all the eras of Barbara (and Melissa, IYKYK) that are trapped in my childhood home, the Santa Cruz air, my fingertips, and my toes. I stopped at Happy Donuts and shoved a fluffy glazed donut in my mouth for old time’s sake. I woke up next to the ocean and smelled the eucalyptus trees filling the air. I spent hours with Dee, looking at old photographs, laughing and crying. I hugged my sister and my brothers; I told them I loved them a million times. I gave my dad the snake necklace I’ve been holding onto for a year now and he painted on an embroidered tee shirt live at the breakfast table after we ate our eggs. I laid my head on my stepmom’s lap and let her scratch my ears and my temples, lapping up every last drop of puppy love. She wore a sage green printed mini dress with koi fish and flowers and waved at me happily as I drove off into the distance. We blew each other a kiss through the window.

Today, I feel much lighter.

I’m grateful for the time with family, for making friends with all the old versions of myself and hanging the eff out.

The unknown still looms like a shadowy gnome on my shoulder. He creeps in every once in awhile, giving me a begrudging tap tap to remind me he’s there lurking. Today, he’s busy, but tomorrow he might be on the clock.

Trying my best to befriend the gnome and breath easy knowing it will all be okay.

Sending you all an old fashioned, chocolate cake, or extra fluffy (maple, chocolate, glazed, only options) donut because those are the best ones. Ick jelly filled!

Sweet Dee, thank you for loving me 🖤

Thank you for filling my childhood with light, with love, with laughter, with pure, delicious joy. With amazing siblings who made me feel so much less alone.

You are Amethyst.

Deep & Boundless / Boney, Textured & Ridged / Full of Sparkle. I love you.