California

Well we’re finally back from California and I must say, it feels great to be home. The trip was fantastic and I’m now trying to find a way to write all about it and I think the most logical way is going to be to split it up by day. So here it goes:


Sunday

After attending church in Logan to hear my cousin speak before he leaves for his mission in Mongolia, we start the two car caravan to southern California. I was in my parents’ car with Krishelle and my two nieces Kamree and Kaylee. I was a little nervous about riding halfway across the country with the two girls but I thought they would probably just sleep most of the way. For the next 5 hours they sang every primary song they’ve ever heard at the top of their lungs. The fourth picture is JJ's car seat after about 4 hours in the car. We think that's mostly uneaten granola and cookies. Also, about every three and a half minutes the following conversation took place:

Kaylee: Are we almost going to be there?
Someone: Yup. Pretty soon.
Kaylee: K . . . How many minutes?
Someone: 20 minutes.
Kaylee: K . . . How many is 20?
Someone: It’s like a Sponge Bob.

We finally arrived to our hotel, just 30 minutes west of Las Vegas and got ready for bed. About this time Dad decided to get a really terrible pain in his stomach. We gave him a blessing and I offered my Lortab which I’ve faithfully carried around with me everywhere I've gone for the last 2 weeks. He didn’t take it and it would have been a waste of a pill anyway as five minutes later he violently threw up everything he’s eaten in the last 20 years including some Spam that he taste-tested at a grocery store in 1973 and that entire glass of Goats milk that grandpa made him drink in 1958 in order to “cure” him of is distaste for dairy. Meanwhile I was finding out on the phone that the nearest medical center was in Henderson, 33 miles away. Finally we got dad in the car and mom drove while I read the directions off of Jeff’s GPS system and dad sat in the back ironically taking on the role of Kaylee, asking if we were almost there about every three and a half minutes because the pain was unbearable and the paper bag he was using to throw up in was getting rather full. We finally arrived at the ER after I made a couple of frantic phone calls to the hospital for simple directions when the GPS system tragically led us astray. When we got there dad was barely conscious and looked worse than I’ve ever seen him. They got him in right away and mom went back with him at about midnight while I stayed out in the freezing cold waiting room until about six AM. After doing many frantic tests they discovered that the problem was his Gall Bladder (which dad knew from the very beginning). Needless to say, it was very scary and the three of us were very very tired the next day.

Monday

After loading up the cars, we leave for Anaheim around lunch time. Monday was pretty uneventful. We made it to California without too many problems. About halfway there I heard Kaylee say “Kamree, will you let me rest my head on your legs. It won’t hurt . . . well I’ll try not to hurt you.” At one point 3 year old Kamree did tell us “My mom said that I could pick my nose and wipe my buggers all over Disneyland and LEAVE ‘em there!” Krisanda denies this claim.


Tuesday

The first day of Disneyland was a complete success. After taking a good 45 minutes to walk the two blocks to get there (this family moves slowly when together and on foot) we decided it would be a good idea to take Kaylee and Kamree on the Matterhorn, forgetting that it is a rather quick, jerky, terrifying ride full of monsters that jump out and scream at you at every turn. Kamree sat with me, excited at the beginning as I had told her we were going up the mountain to see a snowman. By the end she was laying flat down with both arms and legs stretched out and the most traumatic look of horror I ever seen on anyone, whimpering over and over “I want mommy. I want mommy.” Kaylee did just about as well. A few minutes after that, Kamree pointed at the tea cups and said bluntly “that ride I like!” then pointing at the Matterhorn “That ride makes me scary.” By the way, she didn’t stop saying in the most whimper-driven voice I’ve ever heard “I scary of the mountain monsters” for the rest of the trip. Also, Micalyne and I quickly became obsessed with every ride that took pictures and we tried desperately to make the ugliest faces we could conjure on each one; the second picture is a result of that.

Wednesday

More Disneyland. Kamree and Kaylee had major anxiety attacks every time we were within sight of the Matterhorn throughout the day. I don’t know why they were more afraid of the Matterhorn than Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride which we experienced on


Thursday

and were quite surprised when Mr. Toad dies and goes to Hell (for reasons which are still a bit foggy to me) and we were driven into an uncomfortably hot room where boiling water was splashed on us as the ambiance of Satan gaped over us and hackled in our terrified faces. After Kamree pointed at the Matterhorn another 30 times and, with tears in eyes told us about the scary mountain monster that lives there (I feel like I should be taken in for child abuse) we left Disneyland on Thursday afternoon. Disneyland was a great experience and the kids absolutely loved the rides, the characters and the parades (although Kaylee did mention during the parade on the second day as though she had been cheated, “this is just the same one as yesterday!”). On Thursday afternoon we went out to Huntington beach for a couple of hours. I tried to just lay out and relax but JJ kept throwing handfuls of sand on my face so I finally went out into the ocean with Andy, Micalyne and Jeff until we were all sucked out halfway to Japan and almost killed in a tidal wave. We drove down to Brawley that evening and arrived at grandma’s house pretty late. Brawley is a small town in Southern California, very close to the border of Mexico. My mom grew up there and my grandparents still live there along with a few other family members.


Friday

We went and saw grandpa at his shop (it was about 108 degrees by that time and most of us were going through shock by lunch). The rest of the day we hung out with family and desperately tried not to die in the heat. Also, we found the third picture in the post at my grandma's house; that's Krisanda as a child and for reasons that I won't detail in this blog, this picture was quite the find. Right Krisanda?


Saturday

Salvation Mountain. This deserves its very own post (Krishelle says it deserves its very own blog). So its very own post it will get. Other than Salvation Mountain we spent the day visiting family and getting ready (which for some reason took 4 hours). Saturday night we had a small family barbeque at my uncle’s house which was also sort of a birthday party for Kaylee, my cousin and I who all shared a birthday the next day.


Sunday

We got up early and tried to clean up so as to not leave grandma’s house in too bad of condition (thanks grandma for letting us stay with you!!!). We hit the road early and only stopped about 64 times on the way home so Andy could eat at every Mo’s Burgers between Brawley and Salt Lake including one VERY questionable Denny’s out in Needles. They cracked two nasty looking raw eggs onto my plate and that was enough for me. I didn’t even need to wait until five minutes later when I discovered a jet black hair on my plate to convince me not to eat. And we all felt sick the rest of the way home. The kids accounted for about half of the stops on the way home saying they needed to go potty but most of those stops just ended up being a ploy for them to try to change cars.

And now we're home and recuperating from the mass exodus. It really was a great time and I'm glad I was able to spend some quality time with the fam.

Scary

Posticles and Pista

These kids are addicting. And so so funny. I knew their mother while they were growing up so I could have guessed they would be this way.

The other day I told Krisanda I would go over and watch the kids for a few hours. The following is our night:

4:30 Krisanda leaves after having just changed JJ's diaper (thank heavens) and I ask the kids if they're hungry. Kaylee wasn't home so I just had the two younger kids with me (Kamree 3, JJ 1). Kamree says that they're not hungry but then if a very sincere voice in a tone usually only reserved for breaking bad news, she says "But JJ wants a posticle." I told her that I would only get one for JJ then. She scrunched up her face like she was reconsidering it and then said "actually, I want a posticle too."

4:45 Instead of "posticles" I cook up a frozen pizza (real healthy) to feed the kids for dinner. I eat most of it (I was starving!). Partway through dinner, Kamree puts down her fork and says to JJ in a baby voice "Eat your pista JJ, huh Nueli?" She then plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

5:00 I ask the kids if they want to read books. Kamree and JJ run and get "The Prince and the Popper" and some Halloween costume book, respectively.

5:00-5:45 We read the books, making up for the gaps in the story forced by every 3rd page which had been scribbled on or torn clean out. In the Halloween book, Kamree says over and over in her most terrified voice "I scared Nueli!"

5:45-6:15 I try to figure out how on earth to use the DVD player (not the first time), while Kamree and JJ play some game that didn't seem to have any logical rules and involved a LOT of screaming.

6:15-8:00 We watch some animated film about superheros with both kids laying uncomfortably on top of me the whole time. Also, Kamree keeps telling me as I was nodding off, "Don't fall sleep K Nueli? I scared."

8:00-8:20 I tell Kamree to go potty (because of tragic flashbacks from last time. You can read about it under the post "funny kids"). I then realized that I have no idea how this kid usually goes potty, where, what she needs, how long it takes, etc. So I stand at the door while she sits on the toilet, holding on with both hands saying over and over "I not fall in k Nueli?" After about 15 minutes had gone by, I ask Kamree if she has gone potty yet. She responds, "I not need go potty in bed cause I wear a biaper k Nueli?" I wasn't sure that that answered my question at all but a few minutes later I heard tinkling which finally meant success. Last time I was there that kid had no problem letting it all out on the couch.

8:20-8:45 Kamree and JJ get their toy cars out and run them all over the house.

8:45 I notice that Kamree had pulled the vent out of the floor. I put it back and tell her not to ever touch that again.

8:46 Kaylee comes home and tells me she has just had such a long day. While Kamree and JJ make a bed for themselves on the floor (2nd picture).

8:47 I ask Kamree what happened to the cars they were playing with. Kamree responds "They in the hole Nueli."

8:48-8:55 I stick my hand down the vent as far as I can to retrieve the cars that Kamree had hidden down there.

8:55 Krishelle shows up to say hi and help me get the kids ready for bed.

8:55-9:00 The girls choose their own pjs and climb into bed only after I promise to read them a story. Kaylee makes me promise to read whatever book she gives me, front to back "without skipping pages." I oblige. Kaylee hands me a 200 page book of Christmas stories.

9:00-9:20 I tell the girls VERY condensed versions of the Christmas stories in this book.

9:20 Jeff comes home so I leave the room, turning the lamp off on my way out. Apparently that was a bad idea because Kamree has told everyone ever since in a very whimper-driven voice that "Nueli turned the light off."

Well Nueli is going to cut it off here. He's doped up on Lortab right now due to a fun problem with one of his molars. Love you all.

An Ugly Mess

Graduation went well and I hope to blog a little more about it later when I get some pictures. My camera conveniently stopped working as soon as I got there (batteries I think) so I had a friend take pictures with his camera and I haven't gotten them from him yet. FYI, I didn't do announcements for graduation so I hope nobody feels bad for not getting one. But it's so strange to be a college graduate. I like to start most of my sentences now with "Now that I have my degree . . ." I'm sure that will get old before too long. Speaking of getting old, I am. Yesterday my boss asked me if he could set me up with his daughter's 3rd grade teacher. The following is our conversation as well as I remember it:

Me: Oh, ha ha ha.
Boss: I'm serious
Me: Um. . . isn't she really old?
Boss: Actually she's about a year younger than you.
Me: What!!! I'm not old enough to be a school teacher!!! School teachers have grandchildren and record Matlock to watch after school.
Boss: Yeah . . . so what do you think?
Me: Well, apparently I'm not getting any younger. If you've got any contacts at the local community center or through the town Scrabble club, send them my way as well.

I guess I'm now to the age where people want to set me up with their children's 3rd grade teachers. Before you know it I'll start spending my evenings sitting on the front porch, yelling at children for stepping on my lawn until I turn it at 8:30.

But the real reason I'm writing today has to do with how I've spent my last couple of evenings. As you know, last weekend I moved in with my parents in South Jordan (the shining moment of my life) and with the move came quite the task. My old room at their house hasn't had anyone living in it since I was there six years ago and in addition to all my childhood treasures, it has become somewhat of a storage place for various things that have collected over the years. So we thought it was probably a good time to go in and do a massive de-junking especially now that I'm probably at a point where I can finally let go of some of the pointless junk-crafts from the various scout camps and the pile of meaningless two line notes dropped in my locker in the 7th grade. Krishelle was kind enough to come and help me both nights (after I whined and whined and whined about it).

What we found, and the sheer quantity of what we found, absolutely floored both of us. Pictures, mounds of "Boxcar Children" and "Hardy Boys" books, games from the 80's, souvenirs from various national parks located throughout Utah, family reunion memorabilia in massive quantities from some company that whichever great uncle who hosted the reunion worked for that year, certificates, participation trophies from sports that I'm pretty sure were made up as a ploy to give parents a break from their children back in '89, two of every church book ever written in the 60's and 70's, and clothes that aren't only out of style now but that should not have been worn by anyone ever. You get the idea.

Now, my parents house is not cluttered and I don't want anyone to get that idea. They are actually very organized people (amazing that I came from them); the condition of this old room is probably mostly my fault.

OK, the whole point I'm trying to get to is this: we came across a pile of old pictures (dance pictures from high school mostly) and I was one ugly teenager! I could not believe it. I don't remember looking like that! I know some of you right now are saying "oh, well we were all ugly when we were 14" but this goes beyond the awkward ugliness that comes with adolescence. And I was not making it any better for myself. My hair was perfectly parted down the middle and crusted solidly and tightly down to my head. And throw a bowl cut* into the picture which I really did have until I was about 15 and you've got yourself quite the hairdo. The braces didn't help nor did the fact that I weighed 125 pounds until I was about 16 and then not much more after that. Based on the evolution of the ugliness, it seems that I started to come out of it a little bit just into my senior year of high school and by graduation I had made great strides. But there was no taking back what I had been over the years.

After looking through the pictures and laughing hysterically with Krishelle, asking why on earth someone didn't say something to me and wondering how I ever had any friends at all, I quite seriously asked if she thought I could ever fully overcome something like that. Krishelle said that if you are ugly in high school, you become really attractive later on and vice-versa; that's the way it works in movies anyway. So now I'm hoping that sometime over the next couple of years I'll make the transition from "just overcame extreme ugly" (which is the phase I think I'm in now) to "charming and attractive."

I would drone on about how my ugliness from my teen years has made me very insecure today but the problem is that I'm pretty sure I didn't know I had a problem at the time. I think I thought I was pretty good looking, which is probably why I wasn't doing anything to fix it. Makes me wonder which perceptions of myself today are also tragically off. Maybe I should rethink my whole life.

Anyway, now that I have my degree, I better cut this off. Love you guys.

*Bowl cuts are ugly. And mine was somehow worse than others. It was like a really low bull cut down to the ears.

Borsch!!!

So guess what today is? Yup, college graduation.

Last night I went to a Ben Folds concert and then grabbed a chimichanga at Beto's with some friends after midnight (biggest mistake of the week). Is it just me or does anyone else feel like they're entering a third world country when they go into Beto's? Every time I go I feel like I might need my passport to get back out. Two summers ago my friend and I had a two week training for work in Salt Lake and we ate at the Beto's just across the street every day. We always loved it, and then regretted it later that night, ifyouknowwhatImean. Anyway, so after I woke up this morning and spent the next 30 minutes or so sorting through the Big Beto's Blunder of 2008 from just 8 hours before (nuff said about that!), I panicked and decided to make Borsch, wondering once again why I don't make it more often. I will get a bit braggy here; I make the world's best borsch, and I've decided to share my secrets today in this blog. BTW, today's borsch was my all time best!


















This makes way way way too much. But I'm always glad I did.

First get:
-About 5 red potatoes
-Two cans of pinto beans
-3-4 Medium-sized beets
-About 4 medium-sized carrots
-One large red onion
-Pork, chicken, or beef
-3-4 cartons of chicken stock (even if you're not cooking with chicken--just trust me)
-1/2 a head of green or purple cabbage
-1 can of tomato paste

The first thing you want to do is get the meat cooking. Put a little oil and stock in your pot, just enough to almost cover the meat, and let it start cooking on a low heat. I usually put in a couple of garlic cloves and some salt at this point, too. Then peel the potatoes (unless they are red skin) and chop them into small squares. Once the meat is mostly cooked, fill the pot about half-way with the stock and get it boiling. Throw the potatos in (I usually have to do two pots unless I have a really really big one). You want to get the potatoes boiling first because they need to be really soft by the end.

Then peel the carrots and beets and grate them separately with a cheese grater (I usually remember why I don't make this very often when I grate the beets because it is a pain!!!). Then chop up the onion and carmelize it. Once the onion is carmelized, add the carrot shreds to the onion and a little stock for moisture. Stir and let cook for about 5-10 minutes. The carrot shreds should become very limp.

At this point you'll want to chop up about 1/3 to 1/2 a head of cabbage in small skinny strips and throw that in with the potatoes which should be soft enough that they almost fall right off a fork. You can throw the beans in at this point, too.

Now the trick: then throw the beet shreds into a frying pan with a little oil and the tomato paste (sometimes I do this with out the tomato paste). After the beets cook for about 8 minutes, mix it with the carrots. It should be a deep red in the frying pan (and it smells SO good). Let them cook together for about another 5 minutes. I will often throw a couple of garlic cloves into this part as well. I know that sounds weird but I swear it makes a difference and I've been told by a culinary arts major who shall remain nameless that it makes sense. And Kalli knows what she's talking about; she's an amazing cook. Oops.

Now the magical part: Pour the carrots, onion and beet into the pot and stir it around and watch your borsch turn a beautiful deep deep red. If your borsch is more orange, you did not put enough beets in it. Let it simmer for at least 10 minutes while you add garlic, salt, and any other herbs and spices you like.

Borsch is served best with sour cream and bread and butter.

Now, some of you threw up in your mouths every time I typed the word "beets" but I'm here today to tell you that you need to give this a try. I have always HATED beets but it is totally different in borsch. Borsch is the most fabulous thing that has ever crossed my tongue, including cheesecake (don't tell cheesecake that I said that). I could eat it every day and I've yet to make it for someone who has not absolutely loved it. (If anyone has had it, you can please back me up in the comments of this post).

If anyone needs help or has any questions, please don't hesitate to ask.

~It Just Gets Stranger

The Little House on University Avenue

Today is going to be an interesting day. Just another step in all the dramatic changes that will be taking place for me over the next few weeks. It will probably be my last day in the ward I have been attending for the last 2 and a half years and because of that, I'll be getting released from my calling today. This is a calling that I've been serving in for the last year and I have to say that it feels really strange to get released now. I admit that I've always sort of thought that it would be a major relief when the day came, and it most definitely will bring some relief, but the strangeness of the whole situation is actually overpowering that for me right now. A large part of me will really miss the opportunities I've had to serve and the learning experiences that I've had serving in this ward. A large part of me won't miss the meetings and some of the challenges that left me feeling pretty inadequate at times. But overall my experience in this ward has been really great; I've grown a lot here and learned a lot here. When my friends and I moved into this house on University Avenue in December of 2005, I was 21 years old, pretty fresh off my mission with very little school done at all. We didn't plan on staying in the house for much longer than a semester just for the sake of moving but semester after semester we just couldn't get ourselves to leave. We fell in love with the house, the ward and the friendships we've made. Now looking back at these last couple of years seems so surreal to me. I just can't believe that that much time has gone by. Many friends have come and gone, as is the nature of being college students. Many classes have come and gone. My closest group of friends are all currently going their separate ways to graduate schools, work, internships and so on and life will really never be the same for any of us. But for all of us, we'll look back fondly on our undergrad years at the little house on University Avenue and all the funny experiences we had there (some that didn't really seem so funny at the time).

Change is really good. Sometimes I have a really hard time remembering that but it really is good. And it will be nice in some ways to move on. Moving in with my parents for the next month or two will probably mean the first good night's sleep in several years (I will die young). Also, I'm sure that wherever I end up and whatever I end up doing, I will make good memories out of it and will enjoy it as well.

Well I think I'll cut it off there.

An Anticlimatic Conclusion

Yesterday at approximately 3:07 I did something that I thought would never happen: I walked out of my last undergraduate class . . . ever. Whoo HOO!!!! I must say, however, that it was quite anticlimactic. I suppose I've always pictured walking out of my last class to be something a bit more dramatic--lights flashing, confetti falling from the tops of buildings, hats thrown into the sky in triumph and one of those 1970s Mary Tyler Moore freeze frames while I'm jumping in the air as "You're Gonna Make It After All!!" loudly plays through all the speakers across campus as a salute of majestic glory. But none of that happened. None of it at all actually. My last class was Financial Management which I could have assumed would probably not be a class to put the inspirational icing on my undergraduate cake. In fact, after the first day or two I probably could have pegged the class as what it would become over the next few months: one of the most miserably boring experiences of my life.

I think a lesson on attitude would have been a great thing for me to garner from said course but ironically, I think my attitude was too bad to gain too many lessons from the whole thing. My attitude was especially bad at the beginning which landed me a solid C- on the first test, and although C's do in fact get degrees, I'd rather not. So I made the effort to get more out of the class which paid off with an A on the second test. I can't say I ever fell in love with financial management but I did eventually come to terms with the situation, realizing that whether I liked it or not, I was going to get through it. I also came to terms with my professor who is one hundred and thirteen years old and is in the exact image and likeness of John McCain. Originally I was not impressed with his long drawn out stories of failed businesses he was involved in back in the 1850s or his experience with the Red Sox in 1948 (ok, the 1850s is an exaggeration but 1948 is the actual date he gave us in class yesterday, followed by this statement: "that was a good year. The last 60 years have not been good to us however" as if the last 60 years was not a very large amount of time). So although Professor John McCain probably could have retired back in the 70s and could be staying home to watch Matlock every day and eat prunes, he still teaches students with bad attitudes every day- and I respect him for that. In fact, I've really grown to like him despite the boring lectures, which I've decided have more to do with the subject matter than him.

So there I sat yesterday, waiting for the climax to all the blood, sweat, tears and bloody sweaty tears I've donated to the cause over the years. Forgetting that this was my last class ever, I almost got up and left about 25 minutes early but I stayed, not wanting to miss the hugs, cheers and brief moments of solemn yet dramatic reflection as class let out that day. The leaving early would not have been abnormal for me as I have not made it on time to this class in about 3 months because I somehow decided that the first 20 minutes or so would be part of my social hour out in the hall of the Tanner building with all my long lost friends, and leaving 20 or so minutes early was always justified for some reason or another. No, yesterday I was only 8 minutes late and I stayed until the bitter end.

There were no flashing lights. No music was played. No tears were shed. And there were no silent moments of dramatic reflection. John McCain talked about index funds until about 3:07 and then, throwing us off because class is scheduled until 3:20, he said in his gruff voice as casually as if he was making some comment on the weather for conversation's sake "well I don't really have anything else to say so you can leave." And by the time he got to the "L" sound on the word leave, the majority of the few people that showed up for class yesterday were already stepping over each other, shoving small children into traffic, and knocking the door down to get the heck out of there as some students rushed to the front to complain about their grades no doubt. I gathered my things, was carried by the quick-moving crowd and the next thing I knew, I was outside getting construction dust blown on my sun burnt face from the addition they are putting on the front of the Tanner building. And just like that, BYU fulfilled it's destiny. For years it has chewed me up, and now finally, spit me out.

But nothing can take away my joy. Not even John McCain.

Cluttered Life

Please tell me this picture makes you smile.

A lot has happened in the last week and I thought I would update everyone as orderly as possible. No, that's too much to ask.

This weekend was General Conference which is a world-wide meeting my church has every six months where all the church leaders speak to the members about how to live better lives, have faith, overcome obstacles . . . It was great as always but I have to agree with 4-year-old Kaylee who told us as if she was breaking some really bad news, "it was a long hard thing to watch." Although I'm sure she didn't see more than about 4 minutes of the five session ten hour conference, everyone can understand the restless feeling you can get in meetings no matter how uplifting they are. But conference really was fantastic and once again I learned so much. I look forward to reading and listening to the talks again over the next six months.

Now I'm keeping myself pretty busy trying to prepare for graduation and moving out. In order to make the move a bit smoother I spent a couple of hours the other night dejunking and cleaning my room after swearing a mighty oath to myself that I would ruthlessly chuck anything that I did not want to use or wear at that exact moment. Two hours later I had gotten rid of one pair of shorts, about three old t-shirts and a small stack of papers that no one could possibly need ever. Not the most successful. If I can talk Micalyne into it, I'll have her come help me. She has made me throw away a lot of things in the past that I have really dragged my feet with; and shockingly, she has never gotten me to throw anything away that I've later regretted. I'm sure that would be the case with the 30 or so over sized t-shirts that I have in my drawers that I've received from various road races over the years or the DI Barbie puzzle Jason gave me for Christmas a few months ago (I finally did put it together and no, it wasn't missing any pieces). But I just seem to have a hard time parting with things. I got pretty good for a while when my family became obsessed with cutting clutter out of our lives about 8 months ago because my mom showed us part of this special on TV about this lady that was an extreme hoarder and had cluttered her house with enough junk to fill several warehouses (if I remember right, it took a crew of 100 people 2 months to clean it all out). But as with most things, my obsession with dejunking started to wear off after a while. The same thing happened after I saw "Supersize Me" and I didn't eat for about 7 months.

Sometimes I feel like I just need to start a new paragraph if I want to have any hope of ending the rambling. So I am moving in with my parents at the end of this month. It's something that I usually mumble under my breath quickly and then move on to the next topic because everyone knows that moving back in with your parents is generally not a sign that things are going well. But things really are going well and I'm looking forward to getting a little break from Provo for a while to spend more time with my family. I will probably move back to Provo sometime in June, depending on how long it takes me to get sick enough of commuting to Lindon for work every day.

OK so I rambled and didn't really update you on much of anything but I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless.

Heavy Labor with Grandma

I called Great Grandma Whittle a little over a week ago to see if Micalyne and I could come by so Micalyne could interview her for a paper she needed to write but grandma told me that she had fallen onto a chair the day before and cracked a rib so we decided to postpone the appointment. Grandma told me over the phone that she just wanted to stay low key that day so she would hopefully be feeling better the next morning to get out and watch the kids do the Easter egg hunt.

I called grandma again today to see how she was feeling and asked if I could stop by to see her. She sounded thrilled and then asked as though this was a business deal, "do you want to some work?" I told her I would love to but I had a meeting so would only have about 45 minutes but would get done what I could.

When I got to grandma's, she walked me out to her backyard and showed me a patch of dirt that was filled with weeds and she asked me to clean it out so that another time we could dig out her five rose bushes and move them over to this spot. I thought grandma would just go inside and rest while I worked on this but she was back out there with me about two minutes after I got started with a coat, gloves and a light peach handkerchief over her head like she was ready for some heavy labor. I asked her several times if she just wanted to go inside to stay warm but she kept saying that the fresh air was good for her as she bent over to pick up twigs that were littering her driveway. I thought about stopping her and found myself wanting to get in her way and pick up anything she was bending down to get but then I realized that this woman has lived more than four times longer than I have and is perfectly aware of what she is capable of so I should stop treating her like she's a child.

We worked for a little while--the entire time I was a nervous wreck because as much as a perfectionist as I am, I know that I get it from my mom's side as it's diminished slightly with each generation; my great grandma, therefore, has three generations more intensely perfectionist characteristics than I do and I was terrified to have her evaluate my work. At one point I asked her if my work was up to her standards; she just laughed. She never did answer me though.

Finally grandma agreed that the work was good enough for the day and I went in to wash my hands quickly. When I came back out, grandma was hunched over sweeping a pile of twigs into an old dust pan. I tried to take it from her but she just laughed and said "for heaven sakes, you're going to be late for your meeting if you don't go now! I can take care of this." I watched her for a little bit before I finally left at her several demands. Her old wrinkly hands scooped the brush into the dust pan and it seemed so interesting to me that those hands have done so much for so long. For a century they've cared for people, they've worked, they've served and now, in 2008, they were scooping up brush into an old dust pan. I don't know why that seemed so strange to me or why it was that watching grandma do this when she knows very well that there are hundreds of people that would be happy to do this for her made me respect her so much more when I thought I really couldn't respect her any more than I already did. But she finally looked up at me, handkerchief still around her hair, and smiled at me really wide, told me she loved me and then sent me on my way.

A Letter

First of all, I want to update everyone on canker situation; as of tomorrow morning, I believe that my final canker will be entirely healed. So many of you came through for me during this very difficult time and I want you to know that I tried every one's advice (literally at the same time) and I credit the healing process to each of you. This was a group effort and I think we are all a lot stronger now because of it.

I was recently going through some old things and I came across a stack of letters I wrote to my mission president each week in Ukraine. We were strongly encouraged to write a letter once a week to our mission president and at the end of our missions, he gave us back all the letters we wrote--I guess for me it was so I could re-live how dramatic I could be at times. But it was fun to read through some of them again and bring back some of the interesting memories.

I came across one that I wrote on November 7th 2004. This was a particularly trying time for me. I was in a newer area full of challenges that seemed insurmountable to me at the time. On top of that, I had been assaulted in the street about a week previous to writing this letter and had become quite discouraged because of that. But despite the difficulties and the heaviness I was feeling, it was still a time of miracles, some of which I written about in this blog before.

This letter is interesting to read in light of some of the very different yet real challenges I face now, almost four years later. The story I wrote about is one I've thought about often since 2004 and each time I do, I take something new with me. The letter reads:

"I once ran a race in college where at some points the water went up to our knees and at all times the mud was at least deep enough to cover our feet. It was pouring rain and everyone was covered with mud. I had developed a stress-fracture on my left leg in the months leading to this race and was forced to take some time off but against the doctor's orders, I ran the race--you see--it was the most important race of the year and if I didn't run, it could have hurt my team's outcome. We ended up losing by only a few points. Sometimes life feels like that race--I mean--often we trudge through the more difficult times just sloshing through ice-cold water up to our knees only to get to the "better" times where the mud is still deep enough to cover our feet. And we rarely find ourselves running downhill on short-cut grass on a beautiful cool day. Trying to understand these things can be frustrating but then I remind myself that the training schedule of an Olympic athlete doesn't usually consist of taking a bubble-bath. They run up mountains. They swim across lakes. They do those things because they make them grow. They could sit around all day--it would sure be easier. But they can't afford to do anything other than that which would make them a good athlete and I think that's how Heavenly Father works with us. He could detour the route onto a beautiful golf course but he knows that we can't afford to do anything less than that which will really make us grow-- so he sends us uphill into a swamp. I'm grateful for a God who does things like that."