Author Archives: Jenny

About Jenny

Hi there! I am a Norwegian/Mexican/American girl who in an unexpected turn of events finds herself in Los Angeles, engaged, living by the beach. I studied Law, but do not practice (officially ;-) and I love to write about everything and anything. Here goes my attempt. I hope you enjoy!

Jennyisms

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Being tri-lingual sometimes feels like having a super cool and amazing party trick. “You speak THREE languages? Wow. Say something in Norwegian!” This question is asked of me by one out of five new people I meet. “You are half Mexican? But you are so white?” Is another ringer. A while back these comments would bother me and I would commence long explanations of, “well, the Spanish did Colonize ……” Now I just smile and giggle along and embrace my wacky background which I realize is not so unique. (The other day I met a girl who spoke five languages fluently. How does her brain function?)

I have difficulty at times with phrases that I translate from one language to the next which puzzle people. For example, a few days ago my boss was watering our plants. Unfortunately I had already watered them the day before so the pots started to overflow. As I helped her clean up the mess I asked, “so, do you have green fingers?” She looked at me with a puzzled expression and then down at her hands. In my mind I was thinking “well? It isn’t such a hard question, why is she staring at her hands you are either a plant person or not” and in her mind she was thinking, “why would my hands go green from these plants?” Suddenly she smiled and looked up at me saying, “do you perhaps mean if I have a green thumb?” Te he. That made me giggle. Potato- potatoe. I like green fingers more than a green thumb. Ha ha. So that is a definite Jennyism.

Another one came up as the office started to giggle with me when a colleague added, “yeah Jenny you are full of those. The other day you were talking about how if a design was difficult it could make the customer jump through holes…” I realized then it should be hoops. Holes hoops…same thing. Ha ha. In a meeting yesterday my boss said “well we don’t want the client to balk at that….” and I heard bark and looked at everybody smiling waiting for the laugh. Nobody did. Why would the client bark? I was then informed of the word balk which I had not really heard in conversation. When I used to live in London I one day said the word “gnaw” in a sentence and I pronounced the G making it sounds like g-naw. When I was corrected I told everyone that in the United States they pronounced it like that. I was so adamant that they believed me, I even believed me.

The English language, full of it’s random silent letters teasingly thrown into words has always made me laugh. When you hear people whose mother tongue is not English pronounce words like “Thorough” or “Because” it always makes me smile. The mis-pronunciation of words and made up phrases is something I do in every language. I copy and paste from the three that I speak and have created many Jenny words. My favourite being “pop-chops”. This confusion arose when I was a little girl. For some reason I equated pork-chops and pop-corn (two quite delicious foods) with chips or crisps as the English call them. So I have never used the word chips, I call them “pop-chops”.

Last story. My grandmother is Mexican and she has a million and one sayings that I could write a book about. One of my favorites is a translation of “por si las moscas” which means just incase but when translated literally means “for the flies”. So I will always say, “we should bring a jacket…for the flies”. It can cause confusion.  I know we all have her special words and phrases. If you have any I would love to hear them so please do share! Image

‎’We are all a …

Quote

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‎’We are all a little weird and Life’s a little weird, and when we find someone who’s Weirdness is compatible with ours, We join up with them and fall in Mutual weirdness, and call it Love’
Beautifully put by Dr. Seuss

For all of us who sometimes feel off with loved ones, who don’t always click with those you usually click with, remember how wonderful it is to be on the same page at the same time and know that, that feeling is worth waiting for. 

Sunday Film Shoot in San Fran

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It’s almost 10pm and I’m sitting at San Francisco airport waiting for my flight back to Los Angeles. It’s been a great day. I went shoot a scene for a web series I am in. It has a relatively well known actor in it which is cool and a stellar cast and absolutely brilliant director. More information to follow. I was surrounded by people who share in my passion of performance, who love to pick scenes apart. There is nothing like being reminded of what you love to do. Somehow I have to make this my reality. I suppose I will always act no matter what. That’s how it should be with things you love but there is much work that lies ahead. First I have to find time for acting classes again. With my new job as producer in a creative agency I have little time to act. But it’s time to produce my own life! Why is it so much easier to produce other people’s?
Off I go back to LA and it feels like I’m off to a new beginning.

The Long Drive

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Recently I was a model in a photoshoot for Good Works bracelets. The shoot was in Fullerton, which for someone who doesn’t drive on the highway is far. And I mean epic lengths far from my home. The photographer was my dear friend and talented photographer Gabriela Kulaif. Again, for someone who drives effortlessly this drive would be nothing to blink twice at. But for someone who has never driven on the highway this was a big deal. A gargantuan deal and fear set in. I was asked to pick up a fellow model along the way, who didn’t drive. Great, it was to be a case of the blind leading the blind. I found a route that would take me through side greets, and despite taking 30 minutes longer I was feeling confident the journey would go well. The drive went well, we journeyed through areas of Los Angeles I didn’t know. One of which was Crenshaw. For those of you who don’t know LA this is considered “ghetto”. I must say it was fascinating. It felt like a tough neighbourhood and I wished I could stop and talk to the fella’s huddling on the street corner or the girls walking to school with their mother following close behind. The area is primarily black and Latino. Would my Latina blood mean I could fit in? No. There was an unspoken language I didn’t speak in the area. This was not my hood. When I tell people I drive through this neighbourhood their eyebrows raise and I’m told to be careful. Sure it was rough but it felt very real, very honest and very important to be aware of the various pockets that make up this large city of Los Angeles. It made me appreciate the value of leaving the known network I create and stepping out into the unknown.
The shoot itself went just fine. Not more than fine or less. I had my period and was in terrible pain and bloated as a big bellied bear. I simply wanted to hibernate and sleep. But it was fun and on the drive home I felt proud that I had pushed myself to drive two hours on un-chartered roads for the first time in my life. I even stopped to get gas somewhere in a tough looking neighbourhood and found that what I thought was tough was quite nice and friendly. I got a smile it two and never felt scared. For the first time I enjoyed driving as I listened to “Fina Estampa” (my favourite song) and hummed song. My next step will have to be braving the highway which I will be sure to tell you about.
For now here are a few shots taken by Gabriela Kulaif from the shoot.
P.s. I wrote this blog post using my phone so I hope it looks alright!

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Chicken Soup

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I am home alone this week as my husband is on a business meeting in Oxford. To tell you the truth I hate being alone. I enjoy my own personal space and alone time, but not at night. My mind races and my imagination goes bonkers. I hear and see things. Ever since I was a little girl I have had a hard time with the dark and I always thought I would grow out of it. Well, I almost have. I have faith that one day I will stop letting my imagination get the best of me, but on the other hand it is that imagination that lets me write and act and do the things I truly love. So go figure.

Last night as I was on my way up the stairs home after a great session at the gym, I bumped into a neighbour who is a dear friend who let me know he was going for drinks with some friends. “There will be live jazz” he told me. I hesitated and he assumed I wouldn’t go. So did I, to be honest. But when I got home I realized that this slump I find myself in will only improve if I am pro-active. “You are going out!” I said to myself in the mirror. I gulped down some leftover quinoa and jumped in the shower.

Entering the bar was an experience. My friend hadn’t answered his phone so I wondered if they were in fact in this bar. I walked down the side of the bar and people looked at me curiously. Several men asked me to come join their table, which I found quite flattering. Then finally I found my friends and I sat down to a delicious cucumber martini. The music in the background gently painted a soothing backdrop of encouraging notes that got our conversation going. We covered all sorts of ground from relationships, to films, to politics. It was swell. True chicken soup for the soul.

One of the topics we talked about brushed upon how insecure we all are as human beings, especially when we are in a relationship. Of course there are varying degrees of these insecurities and varying degrees of how you deal with them. I am ridiculously insecure, rather destructively so. Every year I vow to get better though and I do intend to love myself more and more, no matter how ridiculously corny that sounds. Sometimes when you talk to others about how they have fought with partners you find yourself realizing, it isn’t just you. I have heard stories of throwing things like shoes or paintings, of shouting and screaming whilst pounding fists against the wall, of intentionally adding too much salt to the food, of getting out of the car in the middle of the highway and hitchhiking home. Oh, let me tell you I have heard of, and been instrumental in all sorts of fights. And I have also heard of all sorts of make-ups to. We all fight, we all react in ways that make us ashamed at times. It’s what we do afterwards that counts. It’s how we pick up the pieces and move forward. It’s the intentions we have to do better and be better. Accepting when I instigate an argument, or when I wrongfully blow something out of proportion isn’t easy. But I am learning and as my husband says, it always takes two.

At the end of the day we are social creatures who don’t like to be alone. We need acknowledgement, empathy and love from people around us. Nevertheless, we have to love ourselves too. Something I think we often dismiss as silly. Something we don’t really dedicate that much time to (hopefully, if you dedicate too much time to it – find a balance for goodness sake.) Is that why I am scared to be alone I wonder? Because I don’t love myself? Nah.

As I am attempting to find things that make me happy these days, I just remembered a quote from Elizabeth Gilbert’s fantastic book, “Eat, Pray, Love” which I had forgotten and will surely make me feel far less alone and afraid at night. She explains that the Balinese believe that when we are accompanied at birth by four invisible brothers, who protect us through our lives. “The brothers inhabit the four virtues a person needs in order to be safe and happy in life: intelligence, friendship, strength and …poetry. The brothers can be called upon in any critical situation for rescue and assistance”. She then goes on to tell how she has had nightmares since she was little of a man with a knife next to her bed. Similarly I have always dreamt of a man in my room watching me. The medicine man tells her that this man is just one of her four brothers who is there to guard her while she sleeps.

Funny how when you turn something to the positive we just become happier. I am off to bed knowing that I am protected and loved – and I say a prayer and send love to all those out there who feel a lack of protection and no love. It’s true what they say, happiness comes with being content and appreciative. But I won’t delve into the meaning of happiness today. Goodnight Moon and cow jumping over the moon. Goodnight and may you all take a moment to realize how swell you are. You truly are.

Paper Planes

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It is 9:30 pm on a Thursday evening. As I drove home today I saw the hustle and bustle of Abbot Kinney, pulsing with coolness and gigantic scarves, vintage boots and thick glasses, and I thought, “blimey, how fun it could be to go out tonight. But instead I look forward to a cozy night with my man”. As he always comes home late, I went first to Golds Gym and punched the air violently in one of my favorite classes, body combat. My teacher De Andre has a way of making you loose all inhibitions and suddenly you find yourself screaming bloody Mary as you pummel the air around you. His name is pretty epic too, De Andre. I am a fan.

After the gym we had a cozy dinner  and then we got a message inviting us out to the Fairmont for a drink. I have a confession to make. I did’t feel like going. Instead I felt like being cozy, like watching something, talking, like sitting and writing about everything and nothing. Lately life has been going past so quickly and there is something delightfully delicious about slowing down and taking a deep breathe and relishing in silence. I realize the value of silence, of watching without talking, of listening and actually hearing ones own breathe. What a treat it is to be able to have even a few minutes of quiet and peace. Perhaps I should try meditating because now I think, more than ever, I value those quiet intimate moments one has with oneself.

Talking about silence, there is something gloriously beautiful about non-verbal communication; Those magical moments where your energy syncs with someone else’s and you feel “connected.”  You catch somebody’s eye on as they step onto the train and they turn to smile at you as the train pulls out of the station. Magic. Although in most cases the magic disappears pretty quickly, there are those rare occasions, those romantic stories that make you smile and long for the serendipitous moments that make life so exciting.

Have a look at this beautiful animation that was shared with me today. It’s got paper planes and a love story. Non-verbal communication at it’s best.

 

 

 

 

Beasts of the Southern Wild and Don Juventino

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Last night my husband and I watched Beasts of the Southern Wild. What a film. I am in awe of the creative story telling which throws your imagination into a whirlwind of a journey. The imaginative, playful, brutally raw and animalistic world of a six year is who you see the world through in this fantastic picture. I tip my hat to the story telling abilities of the Director Benh Zeitlin and writing abilities of both Zeitlin and Lucy Alibar who wrote the play Juicy and Delicious which Beasts of the Southern Wild is based on.  This six year old I mention is Quvenzhané Wallis an actor that shakes your very and every core. She stirs every emotion on the spectrum. Her father, played by Dwight Henry is equally as magnificent with his rough manners almost fully hiding any hint of tender love towards his daughter. Reminiscent of the poem of a film, Alamar, Beasts of the Southern Wild is as human as human can be. It doesn’t spare any feelings, doesn’t spoon feed any scenes – its cutting. Its delicious in fact and as Alibar would have said, downright juicy.

I slept like a baby after watching this picture. My mind spinning with thoughts, missing my nephews and nieces more than ever. Feeling pangs of guilt for not being a good enough Aunt – thoughts that were quietened by my strong sleep inducing cough medicine.

We awoke to a beautiful sunny morning, Venice Beach beating its mad drums beneath us on the board walk of everybody and nobody’s dreams. A friend just finished telling me about a Don Juventino, or as his patients call him, Don Juve. He is Mexican, a retired Doctor who apparently lost his license due to the damn drink a while back. Nevertheless he is the son and grandson of shaman’s and he dedicates his life to helping his fellow Mexicanos when they fall ill or need a good massage, or as we call it ” el les soba”. “Sobar” is the cure of so many ailments, you massage out the cold, the hurt, the ailment. By Jo it does work. He also is well versed in herbs and concocts teas and so forth. How I would love to meet this Don Juventino. His name echoes in my mind, it is simply the most adequate name for him – he is for a story. No longer a drinker, he dedicates his life to helping – people pay what they can afford. Who is this Robin Hood like figure? My friend called him un viejito. When I asked how old he was she said in his fifties. Perhaps he looks older due to his manner and his previous alcoholism. Does he have wise wrinkles that encourage trust? I imagine him small with warm healing hands smelling of lavender. “When my finger hurt he massaged my shoulders and arms and neck” my friend told me. “He never touched my finger and suddenly the pain in my finger joints was gone”. This makes me feel he is good, he knows what he is doing. “My sister is skeptical of him so he told her not to pay him but she should keep coming until she is better. Then, he said, she can consider donating what she feels is fair.” This made me think of my wonderful brother Viggo who is an amazing massage therapist with, I kid you not curing hands, and a heart of gold. If it weren’t for the fact that he has a family (including a dog) to feed he would accept payment for his treatments with wine or fruit, whatever his adoring patients could give in return. This always warms my heart.

It’s a mysterious magical Saturday. A day of resting and tidying. A day of dry cleaning drop off’s and pickups, of cooking, or sitting in the sun, of standing in line at the post office and watching people, of sipping tea with organic thick honey. Today, is a good day.

 

2013

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Yeah okay so I am late to the game it is 2013 and it only now has begun to dawn on me that I can no longer date things 2012.

The blasted cold going around got to me. Literally it got into my body and took over, increasing my temperature and mucus quantities to offensive amounts. No matter how hard I blow my nose I will never get all this snot out. I have gotten through boxes of tissues and my nose is so dry by now I look far from attractive. Great. But I am getting better….yes I am.

So, as I lie in bed contemplating my walls I start to think about 2013. Resolutions. I have none set in stone yet but a few on the horizon. Must write them down.

Some people, however, have been more diligent than I have and have already started to act on their resolutions. Exercising, eating healthier, reading more… I am envious so all I can say is – yuck.

As I scoured Facebook in an attempt to stifle a strong sense of loneliness that inevitably ensues when you spend two days in bed, I saw that my friend and the best brow artist in town Kelley Baker has been giving the homeless blankets to keep themselves warm during these colder California nights (it truly does get cold here). I am moved by her kindness and her warm heart. She has also started giving a discount to anybody who comes to their brow appointment with a blanket. This woman is wonderful.

Kelley’s generosity really cheered me up. (As did a video of some of our best friends two year old daughter loudly repeating “foock…fock….” instead of fork). We all have the power to make a difference, we just have to do it. So one of my resolutions this year is to do just that. And act lots. And write. (I better start writing my list).

Cuento del Autobus

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I love to take the bus. It is the perfect excuse to sit and stare happily at people, without seeming in any way odd. As you whiz by your gaze goes unnoticed as you sit observing from your seat on the bus. If you happen to be standing, your eyes can peer down nosily at  whatever your fellow bus takers are occupying themselves with. The list of these activities are endless: knitting, reading, chatting, texting, playing with their phone, sleeping, singing etc. As the door opens to receive the new members to the bus, the suspense always catches in my throat. “Who will board today?” I wonder with a tinge of excitement. The bus interior is no more and no less than a stage, full of props and scenes beautifully unfolding before my very eyes.

He wore a hat. A black flat cap and a white and black striped scarf. His legs were brittle and his body seemed to bend forward as if pushed down to the ground by gravity. Down, down, down he trudged to his grave which was seemingly a nearby destination. His fingers unwrapped a wad of dollars from his pocket and he gently paid the bus driver the required dollar bill. As he started to journey to a seat which happened to be located in front of me, the bus commenced to drive and his hand clutched for a seat for stability. Slowly he stepped towards the empty seat, as if walking on the moon. One foot after the other slowly battling its way through the thick menacing air. I was fascinated.

As he finally sat down his phone started to ring. “Bueno?” he answered in a crisp and deep voice that was far warmer than I had anticipated. “No, amor I am on the bus going to get mi pasaporte renewed”. His voice lulled me into its arms. He then started to tell the other person a beautiful confession in a Spanglish so florid and expressive not even Cisneros could have penned such words.  ”I always loved her. La verdad es que asi fue siempre. I never told her….Pues, it wasn’t ever the moment. The true moment you always imagine will be right. Pues asi pasa, we get old and realize that the chances only come once amiga.” He listened intently to an answer I would have died to hear and then chuckled knowlingly. “Asi es morrita. Asi es. Pero dentro del dolor hay gozo, in the wishing there is happiness and hope…and I need that. Every part of my pinche body and corazon needs that.” He laughed again and sighed loudly. His hand reached out and rested on the window. He explained how life had separated them. How his son was in prison. “Si, es de esas cosas that you don’t wish on anybody. Pero, what else can we do?” He listened intently. I held my breathe. “Pues mandame el contaco, ayuda es ayuda….a ver que mas podemos hacer. But I think he deserves some punishment, just not so severo, verdad?” He fantazied how one day he tell her everything. “Aunque creo que nuestro amor se realizara en el cielo nomas…Pero you know chata? She must know. How could she not?” He did not sound in any way false, in any way as if he was adding far too much cream to his tale. His voice was sincere and terribly sad, yet, there was a flash of hope in all he said.

I imagined him confessing his love to whoever he indeed did love one day, as he hobbled off the bus and into a large white building which looked menacingly federal in front of his crippled body.

Was he renewing his passport to go confess his love? I will never know. Notice the stories around us all, they are simple reminders of the beauty that lies in all of life, with all it’s pinche parts too. All we can do is enjoy the process, verdad? Enjoy the process.

The Perks of Being A Tad Mad

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The other day I went for a jog on the beach and when I reached the point of panting like a dog, took a break and sat on the beach pondering the magnificent ocean before me. As I sat cross-legged in the sand, I started to rehearse my lines for various scenes I have to do in the next coming weeks. I must have looked as though I was talking to myself quite intently, which in effect I was. In truth, I must have looked pretty bonkers. But it is Venice and most people are pretty artistic and theatrical by nature here, so I assumed I would fit right in. A few metres behind me were a couple who were talking, giggling and very much in love with one another. I assumed they wouldn’t notice me. Suddenly I re-focused my eyes and saw that the fellow had walked past me to the sea and was searching for something in the water. He found it and walked towards me. I thought he would pass me, but just as he approached he leant over and placed a shell, very carefully, in the sand next to me. He looked at me fairly solemnly and then smiled. I was quite shocked by this act of kindness and think I sat there gaping in awe – which probably made me look even more mad. I believe the words thank you escaped my mind in a weak exhale. The lovely chap then returned to his girlfriend and that was that.

How utterly lovely this man was! He gave me a shell in what I presume was an act of kindness, as if to say, hello, I see you, all is well.

Perhaps we should all do these little actions of love and kindness towards others. Not just because they look crazy, as I probably did, but to reach out selflessly to a stranger with a random act of kindness.

Have any of you received anything like this so randomly? Have you ever carried out such a random act? The last one I remember was when I gave a young girl who was sobbing at the emergency room a bag of tissues. She didn’t want to talk but I gave her all the body language and looks indicating that I was there to lend an ear. That seemed to calm her down and I believe I saw a faint smile, but then she continued to cry quietly. It was terribly heart wrenching. What was her story? I will never know,

I intend to pay the kind gesture the “shell man” (as I shall refer to him from now on) forward very soon and shall tell you all about it when I do.

Have a glorious weekend!