anya learns how to write

Being grateful is a big deal for my family during Thanksgiving. We always write lists about gratitude and share them right before dinner on Thanksgiving day, while waiting for the turkey to finally finish cooking so nobody gets salmonella. I don't think my gratitude lists have changed that much over the year -- I'm grateful for my siblings, my parents, my friends, education, housing, financial stability, clean water, health, intellectual freedom, and democracy. Thanksgiving is a time to reflect on the giant things that make life excellent, to think about the underlying themes that you wouldn't otherwise consider. But what my family doesn't share before Thanksgiving are the smaller things that bring us joy on a daily basis. I think it's important to be able to see patterns of priviledge in your life, while also noticing individual occurences that inspire gratitude. So here's a list of little things that I'm grateful for, in no particular order and with no...

The Colorado Trail runs 485 miles continuously from Denver to Durango, traversing six National Forests and multiple mountain ranges. People can backpack, bike, or ride horses on the high-altitude trail in late summer once all the snow has melted. I’ve already hiked small portions of the CT, both from Waterton Canyon in the Denver suburbs and closer to Silverton by Molas Lakes, but I’ve always wanted to take a longer trip on this iconic trail. Last summer, I decided that backpacking part of the CT would be an amazing challenge to celebrate the end of high school with my friends and experience a longer trip before moving to college. Preparing for this trip will require lots of planning and coordination, but I’m determined to make the trip a reality. After poring over the National Geographic’s topographical maps, I decided on a two-week portion of the trail starting between Saguache and Gunnison in Central Colorado and ending in Durango, where my extended family lives. The starting ...

I love eggs. Nothing makes me happier than cooking up a pan full of buttery, fluffy scrambled eggs. You can often find me hanging around the Uni kitchen, making eggs for me and my friends. This love for eggs comes from my family’s weekly Sunday brunch, where I am the designated egg-cooker. Sunday brunch is a long-standing family tradition that follows a clear routine. My dad always wakes up first on Sundays and brews a strong pot of coffee while waiting for the rest of the family, then I come downstairs and begin whisking eggs. By the time the first omelet hits the pan, my sister and stepmom will likely have shown up in the kitchen. My sister usually appears half-awake and draped in blankets, like she just rolled awake and took most of the bed with her. The Sunday brunch menu has varied over the years, but the staples remain the same. Eggs are the star of every brunch – whether they’re scrambled, cheesy, over easy, or sunny. My personal favorite egg method is the omelet because o...

Cross county practice is always the best part of any day, especially when we have a long run. My pack of girls cycles through about a dozen routes so that we don’t get bored of the same places. One of my favorite running destinations is the Stick Place, which lies behind the Arboretum. The Stick Place is a small forest of tall, thin trees planted in straight rows, interspersed with twiggy bushes and the ruins of past cross country building projects. Thick woody vines hang between some trees, providing excellent ropes for swinging. Light filters peacefully through the tall branches, contributing to the serene atmosphere. Sometimes we’ll spot a deer picking its way through the undergrowth or hear birds calling to each other from above. The Stick Place is a wonderful destination if you’re looking for some peace and quiet, but the girls cross country team runs there to smash sticks. We whack fallen branches on trees to shatter them with a satisfying thwack! Stick shards fly as we rel...

I was always jealous of my friends with simple last names. Their clean and easy names made me wish I wasn’t attached to the fourteen-letter-plus-hyphen monstrosity agreed upon by my parents before I had a say in the matter. The Kaplan from my mom’s side seemed so different from my dad’s Hartnett that I felt like a walking contradiction – how could I be one person from such vastly different families? First of all, the two names have contrasting histories. My mom’s great-grandfather, Rabbi Josef Kapschitz, was a Russian Jewish immigrant who brought his family to Pittsburgh in 1908. The family decided to change their name to Kaplan, like so many other Jewish immigrants who wanted more American-sounding names. My mom’s side of the family is very proud of their history as Jewish Americans living in the Western diaspora, and Kaplan represents their pride in carrying on the family heritage. Meanwhile, the name Hartnett represents the simple American identity of my dad’s family. I think ...