Audrey Style 101

In my YA novel According to Audrey, the main character, Dove, is enamored with all things Audrey Hepburn. In large part, Dove is captivated by Audrey’s inner essence - Audrey’s confident air, her daring spirit… her carefree way with life. But one cannot admire Audrey Hepburn without also appreciating her iconic flair for outer style! Art, not fashion, is Dove’s main focus, but Dove is still enchanted - like many of us- with Audrey’s effortless sense of stylish beauty and timeless fashion.

Here are a few of Dove’s go-to Audrey fashion basics.

Black Ballet Flats

Audrey trained as a ballerina in her younger years and later loved pairing this ballet-inspired shoe with pants, capris, and dresses. Dove slips hers on with jeans all the time!

Pea Coat or Trenchcoat

The double-breasted buttons on these nautical-inspired coats give effortless structure and style to any outfit. Dove loves to hang out on the boat docks bundled in her navy pea coat.

Sleeveless Slip Dress

Simple necklines on these dresses make for an easy yet sophisticated Audrey look. This timeless classic is a chic addition to any wardrobe. Dove dons an emerald green, silky sleeveless dress for her high school graduation night.

Tiffany Blue Sweater

A simple crewneck sweater is the perfect Audrey-inspired top. Clean lines and understated elegance make this an easy, go-to piece. And Dove’s favorite sweater is Tiffany blue, of course!

Five Essentials to Experience in Newport Beach

As featured in my YA novel According to Audrey! Check out what Dove likes to do~

Newport Peninsula + Balboa Pier 

Jutting out along the coastline like a protective arm of sandy beach, the Balboa Peninsula separates the calm waters of Newport Bay from the Pacific Ocean. This small strip of land is less than a half-mile wide but jam-packed with restaurants, bars, bike rentals, and plenty of surfers and sunbathers. On one side, flat sandy beaches sprawl out for four miles, the ocean waves crashing along its shore. Here, the Balboa Pier stretches out into the ocean on its huge pylons, with Ruby's Diner perched at the end - a fun stop for burgers and shakes. On the opposite bay side, boats dock along the bay front water alongside the historic Balboa Pavilion building, and the Fun Zone has a Ferris wheel, arcade games, and classic beach eats.

The Crab Cooker

The Crab Cooker on the Peninsula is one of Newport's oldest and best-loved places to grab a bite. The bright red restaurant with its green striped awning has been a favorite for both locals and tourists since 1951. Fresh seafood is what's for lunch and dinner, and the nautical decor and no-frills recycled plastic utensils just add to its relaxed, beachy vibe.

The Balboa Ferry

The Balboa Ferry has been carrying people across the short 800 feet distance from Balboa Island to the Peninsula and back again since 1919. The double-ended wooden boats of today were introduced in the 1950s, and each one can comfortably transport three cars, along with pedestrians and bicyclists, for its brief but peaceful ride across the water. It's a perfect, easy way to enjoy a little saltwater breeze while taking in the sights of Newport Bay.

Balboa Bars + Frozen Bananas

Quite possibly two of the best desserts ever invented, chocolate-covered Balboa Bars and frozen bananas are the quintessential Newport Beach treats. The frozen refreshment - vanilla ice cream or frosty banana - is dipped in melted chocolate and then covered in nuts or candy sprinkles of your choice. It's like summer fun on a stick, all year round.

Crystal Cove State Beach

Tucked away off the beaten path along Pacific Coast Highway's route toward Laguna lies one of the best beaches in Orange County. If you're willing to park and make the short trek down the trail, under the eucalyptus trees, and through the sandy tunnel, you'll be rewarded with the charming sight of the Beachcomber Cafe nestled at the bottom of the coastal cliffs. Delightful little rental cottages line the shore, and sprawling tide pools cap both ends of this wide expanse of sandy beach. On the cliffs above, the wooden benches at the roadside Shake Shack are the perfect place to sip a chocolate malt while taking in the sunset.

Lucy in La La Land

At eleven years old I walked into the audition waiting room like I always did- with a thoughtful scan of everyone else in the room. Walk in, greet the receptionist, sign in, take the sides, sit down. Repeat. I have to say... what Emma Stone's character in La La Land experienced in the world of auditions was spot on. In that waiting room setting, every other person seemed way more competent- way more confident and pretty and talented than little ol' me.

Casting for the latest Peanuts special had called all these kids here, and it was Lucy I'd been called back for, though I had a hard time believing it. In my Charlie Brown opinion I sounded nothing like her! But when I was ushered into the studio again I perched myself on top of the stool in front of the big microphone and without knowing what the guys behind the recording glass wanted or how to possibly make myself sound like Lucy, I read those "Oh, Charlie Brown" lines as straightforward as I had before.

Later that day my agent called. "Well she's just about got it," she said to my mom. "They're deciding on Charlie Brown first. If they go with a younger Charlie Brown, it'll be a younger Lucy. If they go with an older Charlie Brown then they want her." I hadn't really known how but somehow the part of bossy Lucy was almost meant for me. Until it wasn't. They went with the younger Charlie Brown and that was that! 

Screen testing for the movie Annie was my first step on the almost-but-not-quite auditioning journey of mine!

And that kind of that happened to me a lot in my audition experiences, really. Fast forward a year or so. Little House on the Prairie: A New Beginning was casting for Jenny- the young niece to the now grown-up Laura Ingalls character. After two rounds of callbacks I found myself back at the MGM (now Sony) lot in yet another waiting room, sitting next to a girl named Shannen. Shannen was all of those things I talked about. Pretty, smart, outspoken, and absolutely bubbling over with confidence. She and I both knew it was down to just the two of us-- and Michael Landon would be the one to choose. He emerged from the doorway, and all I could think was how much taller he was in person! My reading went well, but he chose Shannen Doherty, and I honestly always thought she made an excellent Jenny. 

Later that year, Michael Landon Productions hired me as an orphan named Lucy for a part on Father Murphy. The lesser-known show was also a western drama, set in the same time period as Little House and starred Merlin Olsen.

Lucy was a fun part to play- a tomboy who inherits a fortune and gets kidnapped on a train. But she's saved just in time by Father Murphy, of course!!

I didn't do all my own stunts, darn it! My stunt double did fun stuff like climbing rocks and balancing across a river on a fallen tree trunk.

Running lines on location in Sonora, California. The old trains we rode were the best!

Coming close and getting callbacks over and again was really fun, honestly. It reassured me that I could act, could compete, could carry myself with confidence. I ended up doing a few other acting parts along with some singing and voiceovers, and for me the child acting experience ended up being entirely positive. Probably because I didn't have to deal with success and celebrity! I met loads of interesting people, filmed at far-away locations, and learned first-hand about the inner workings of the film business. And look at that-- in just one show I ended up with my own orphan experience, my own Lucy experience, and my own western drama experience. When it comes down to it, I'd say that my trip to La La Land was pretty cool... and for that I'm really grateful.

Casa Dorinda

In just one more year this house will be a hundred years old. I grew up hearing stories of its grand old staircase, its sprawling oak-covered grounds, and its wood-paneled library, which according to my mom, hides a secret passage. A concealed doorway she and her girlfriends tiptoed through the darkness to search for but were never quite able to find. 

Casa Dorinda, built in 1918.

From 1946 to 1956 the Casa Dorinda estate was home to Montecito School for Girls. My mom attended as a young teenager in the early 1950s, and though I have passed by its iron gates countless times, I have never been in to visit until now. 

Just a few days ago on my birthday, the baker man and I spent a few hours exploring Montecito. After some chicken salad at the corner cafe, a stroll though the San Ysidro citrus groves, and a quick browse through a few antique stores, we turned the car down Casa Dorinda's long driveway.

These days, it is a distinguished retirement community, the park-like grounds now filled with housing for independent and assisted living. Encircled by these outbuildings, like a jewel in a crown, sits the main house. Built in 1918 and designed by renowned architect Carleton Winslow, Casa Dorinda greets its visitors with a stately presence.

We knocked on the front door and were welcomed by the sight of an enormous Christmas tree in the center of the foyer. Workers cheerfully decorated as a few smiling residents looked on. The reception desk was tucked into the small alcove near the door, and though we weren't allowed past it, the friendly clerk rifled through her files and produced a pamphlet-like book on the history of the estate. 

I flipped through it, snapping a few pictures of the story and photos- one of which was taken at the school in 1954, just two years after my mom had left.

I did peek my head around the corner to grab a glimpse of the of the stairway my mom loved so much. And I took a quick shot of the same pretty arches in the background of the black and white photo.

We headed back through the wooden front door, bidding goodbye to its grimacing brass faces. If only they could talk, perhaps they might tell us all about who they've greeted and goodbye-d over the last hundred years!

It was a lovely introduction to a place I hope to see and know more of someday. In the meantime I will order my own little historical pamphlet from Amazon, and convince my mom to tell me a few more of her stories.

Dancing in the Kitchen

I'm a little late to the Parenthood party...not the real parenthood party -- I was right on time for that one and I've been having that wonderful roller coaster celebration for quite some time. I'm talking about Parenthood, the beautifully brilliant television series. I'm on season 3 and just now realizing that it's pretty impossible to make it through an episode without sniffing/crying/sobbing at least once and probably multiple times.

The Bravermans

The portrayal of well-written characters by a stellar cast members means watching the members of the Braverman family break down into tears quite often. Often enough, in fact, that apparently it's a thing -- as in a drinking game: i.e., drink every time they cry. The beauty of the show is the gritty realness. It doesn't shy away from any ups or downs...the disappointment, the pain, the elation, the love, the anger, the sadness, the joy, the frustration, the desperation, and ultimately the hope that all experience as participants in these complex and wonderful group of people we call families.

My favorite way to show captures the essence of family is when the Bravermans engage in once of their spontaneous dance parties. They blast a little music and laugh as they all boogie to the rhythm of the music in their own unique way.

This always brings a smile to my face because impromptu dancing in the kitchen/dining room/living room is something we have loved to do in our home since our baby was born. In the beginning it was an a cappella belting of a song from The Sound of Music followed by a parade around the dining table...and then it slowly morphed into music booming from iTunes while everyone got their groove on. It's nothing but fun!

My mom and Hadley showing off their mad dance skills.

Dance dance revolution!

Grace is just a toddler here. Now she is eight and still loves to dance in the kitchen.

If it comes so naturally to us and the Bravermans, then I suspect it must be a fun for a lot of families. What better way to enjoy the craziness and joy of life then to just let go and dance?

Gotta love Adam's moves, especially!

A Tale of Two Happys

I'm not sure how many times in my life I've had to repeat my name for people who just couldn't or wouldn't believe their ears the first time. Of course I can't really blame them--my name is pretty high up there on the scale of unique and unconventional! At this point, I'm so used to these reactions that I've come to enjoy observing the myriad of personalities in people's responses when they realize they've heard me correctly. 

There are the jubilant smilers: "Really?" they ask with big laugh. "That is the best name ever!" The shy ignorers act like my name is as common as the next while proceeding to write H-a-p-p-y on my Starbucks cup. Then there are the serene approvers, who look me straight in the eye and offer up something like, "Cool name." The inquirers always want to know if it's my real name. "Yes," I respond, smiling. And almost always this is followed with the probing question: "Is it on your birth certificate?" to which I again reply with a yes. Sometimes I'll chime in with more information to erase their puzzled looks. "I was named after my grandmother," I will say, which always brings a smile and more questions that I never mind answering.  

Because my Grandma Happy was someone I adored. Being her namesake is something I've always been proud of. Really, adoration isn't a big enough word to encompass how much I craved being in the company of her carefree spirit—her resilient attitude toward life—her robust sense of humor. My grandparents lived on a cattle ranch—and those memories stand out like golden moments of my childhood. 

On summer visits, Grandma Happy and I would collect rocks and wade in the stream on our walks with the dogs through the woods. We made grape jelly from the vines that hung from the wrap-around porch trellises of the ranch house. We caught toads in the pond and then set them free to keep on croaking. In the winter, I pulled back the curtain early one morning to the sound of the cuckoo clock and saw my first snowfall outside the window of the upstairs bedroom. With Grandpa's help, we cut down our own Christmas tree and hauled it home to decorate. We built snowmen and then warmed our hands inside by the potbelly stove.
 

Those times were few and far between, which made them all the more precious to me. But thankfully, Grandma was a letter writer. For those times we could't be together, Grandma would employ the use of her trusty typewriter with its flowery, cursive typestyle (I would give an arm to own that typewriter-who knows where it is now) and she'd fill in the long gaps of our time apart with her answers to my letters and fun details of her remote ranch life. Her writings were always upbeat-always-fun, and well...happy. Just like the name she had once earned. You see, Grandma Happy's given name was Muriel. My great-grandparents were cousins who'd fallen in love in England at the turn of the 20th century. The family did not approve, so they eloped to America and came to California. When Muriel was born, she soon became a sickly baby who couldn't hold her food and wouldn't gain weight. 

Her parents tied everything possible, but little Muriel would wail all day and night - she was a miserable baby who was failing to thrive. Then one miraculous day, a traveling salesman knocked on the door to their home. He was selling a new product - a baby formula that he recommended with enthusiasm. Of course my great-grandparents were willing to try anything at that point. Well, you guessed it - the food worked! And the shift in little Muriel's personality was huge. She went from a miserable baby to a happy one. And she was known as Happy for the rest of her life . 

I don't think my parents gave a second thought to naming me after her. My dad was so accustomed to hearing the name his whole life that he didn't think it odd at all. Often people will ask if my free-spirited name came from having hippies for parents-to which I reply, "Definitely not." Others say my parents must have been so happy when I was born. A nice idea, and true enough I'm sure - but no that's not the reason. The reason was simply that happy little baby who grew into a resilient woman with a vibrant, full life. I'm just honored to carry on her Happiness.