Waiting

I got a new job. Hooray! I got a part-time, short-term job translating Apple rebates in Korean. I think it'll be fun. At the moment I'm just waiting, though. Technically my shift starts at 5 PM which is why I'm here now. Unfortunately they've decided that the training should start at 6:30 instead. So I'm here an hour and a half early and they were kind enough to let me use the computer to entertain myself. The catch to this kind gesture is that the computer runs the original Windows XP. Yes, that old operating system that I used to run on my computer in MIDDLE SCHOOL! As a result, this computer cannot possibly compute fast enough for the average modern computer addict's vices. Facebook loads so slowly that we may start training before it actually loads the login page. This rightfully eliminates the possibility of using any game sites and even, yes, Homestar Runner. For shame! So, my next best bet is blogging.

Hmm, since my last blog:
I got married.

That is all.

But wait, there's more:
I suppose the best story is part of the wedding story. After an absolutely perfect wedding day that was delightful in every sense of the word Scott and I took off for a wonderful but brief vacation in the mountains of Colorado. I've never had so much fun on a road trip before. I just like existing with him. We visited some of the most secluded corners of the Colorado mountains for a stay in a cabin and then we woke up too soon to realize that it was already the day of our second reception in Utah. Wishing we had planned everything differently (and made time for a month-long honeymoon) we took off down the west side of the mountain passes.

Our first sign of trouble crossed our paths when we decided to go through the DQ Drive Thru in Grand Junction. Whilst in the line at the drive thru, the temp light came on. I decided that we'd get our food and drive to the nearest gas station to remedy the problem. As time went on the car just didn't feel happy. I didn't want to turn it off for fear it wouldn't start again. When there were traces of smoke coming from the hood I gave up and turned the key off. Finally the window opened: two hamburgers and two blizzards. Turn the key and...nothing. Again. Nothing. One last time. Nothing. I turned and looked at Scott with that "You know your husband duty!" look and he got out and pushed me the rest of the way through the drive through.

We ate inside, then came out an hour later, assumning the car had cooled enough to at least start it and get it to a gas station. No luck. So we begin to check the cooling system. The reserve tank (overflow tank?) was full and all of the tubes were attached properly. THere was, to our eyes, no reason the cooling system should fail. Then Scott opened the radiator and...well, it was a geyser of green. Thank goodness he wasn't hurt. At this point we know that the radiator HAD plenty of fluid, but no longer. Luckily my Dad likes to over prepare for trips and he had deposited fluid and water in the trunk. We refilled it, and obviously being filled with completely new fluid the temperature had dropped and the car started fine. We stopped by and bought more fluid, topped it off, and took off again on the wing of a prayer down the highway.

Things went great for a good long while. But the light came on again. So we pulled over and this time when we got out to check it the fluid was boiling. Yes, coolant, boiling. Ethylene Glycol. Boiling. Not good.

We call Dad, but it's obvious that nothing can be done to get us to our reception in Provo on time. So, with "Just Married" painted on our rear window I grabbed my weddding dress, he grabbed his tux and with whatever cash we had we stick out our thumbs. I even made a sign on the only piece of paper we had, the printed receipt of the cabin from the night before, that said "PROVO FOR OUR WEDDING RECEPTION," which was, of course, too small to read from the highway.

Finally, someone pulls over. Not what you'd expect though. Not a mini-van with lots of extra seats. Not a sedan with a few college students. No, a semi-truck pulls over. We are astonished to find that the man who had pulled over to help us was an Iranian man who had left his homeland because he had been chased out on account of his conversion to the Baha'i religion. We had a very fascinating chat about the marvels of America and the harmfulness of irrational hate. He took us as far as Green River where he continued west to Las Vegas and we had to turn north towards Provo.

There we were, stranded at a gas station, so close, yet so far from our reception. "Please, sir, our car broke down on the highway and we just want to Provo for our wedding reception..." "Ma'am, you wouldn't be headed north would you?" It was worse than proselyting at a Buddhist temple. I would know. I asked one man for help and he said defiantly "No, call the police!" and I, not expecting that response said "Are you sure? We just want to get to Provo!" with pleading in my voice. He responded "Sounds like you need a divorce." Yeah, never did figure that one out.

Finally, after talking with everyone and looking discouragingly at the clock, I hear a voice behind me, "Can I help you?" I turn to see a relatively tall man with sandy blonde hair and quite the suntan standing there. I began to explain and he cut me off "I heard you before. We left, but I felt prompted to turn around. We don't have any seats in our van because we've been camping, and we have a dog, but we're headed north if you want to come with us." Relieved to find anything we hop in a mini-van which is packed to the ceiling except a little 3'x3' space by the sliding door where a gorgeous yellow lab is sleeping--seeking respite from the heat of the sun. Sitting on the floor of the van we had no idea how fast we were going, or even if the driver was taking the right road.

We got well-acquainted with this couple abnormally fast. Chris and Mikel really struck a chord with us. We learned a lot from them and I can only hope that they learned a lot from us. The drive from Green River to Provo has never been shorter. This may or may not have something to do with the speed that Chris drove to get us to our reception as soon as possible.

Worn for wear, sweaty from the desert sun and greasy from fixing cars all afternoon, Scott and I meandered into our own wedding reception a bit over an hour late. The applause was better than I could have imagined and I was shocked by the number of people who waited for us. OUr families had constructed a shrine of sorts under the arch that consisted of our pictures and a candle. It looked suspiciously like a memorial at a funeral. It was fantastic. Chris (Scott's brother, not our angel on the road) had recorded each person's well-wishes on video camera (which I have yet to see). It was glorious.

Well, my job should be starting soon. Have a great day!

~RR~

PS The blog title is Railroad Itinerary because my initials are now RR. Like a railroad. Didn't I say I'd tell you when you are older?

Bra Shopping, And Youth Slips

Bra shopping is a form of cruel and unusual torture. As if it wasn't enough that no store actually carries bras that would fit me, when they DO fit, they are always in outlandish colors like pink leopard print or avocado fru fru. As if that's not enough, if you want to find a good bra, you have to dig through piles and piles of pictures of naked women, who certainly don't wear the size bra that you're trying on or they wouldn't have gotten that job in the first place. Someone missed the memo that women don't like looking at naked women. Tactful bra sellers of the world, where are you?

On a completely different subject, when AI was 12 years old I went ot my first youth activity at Church. The activity that night was to cut up strips of colored paper with many different journal prompts on them and put them in a canning jar for further use. Well, I still have them. i guess I was waiting for them to use full maturation or something, but I finally decided it's about time I break them open. This is mostly due to the fact that I think most of the questions in there have silly things like "What do you want your future husband to do about the toilet seat?" and seeing as soon he won't be my "future" husband, I had better get on the ball. So here go a few:

What are things I love and admire about my mother?

Well, I think the first thing is that my mom isn't afraid to befriend anyone. People who no one else wants to associate with love and trust my mom because she's willing ot love them in a Christlike way. As kid I hated this because there were always "weirdos" at my house and I was embarrassed, but now I realize that it's the weirdos who need the most love. Yep, I just said that if you are my mom's friend you are a weirdo. Get over it :)

What is my home life like? How could I improve or strengthen it?

Growing up I didn't realize just how great I had it, to be honest. I realize now that any unhappiness I had at home was from my own failure to exercise self-control and love people despite them being imperfect. As for now, I think the best way to improve my home life would be to get married. Sappy, I know.

What can I do to strengthen my testimony?
There really is no replacement for the basics: pray, read scriptures, go to Church, Temple attendance. Mostly I feel as though putting forth a conscious effort to become more Christlike through prayer is what will help me to gai na stronger testimony.

That's all for now, folks!

~R~

Dust

I've decided to come out of cyber hibernation for the summer and dust off my keyboard. This has become quite the feat given my activities of late. I truly feel as though I am made of "the dust of the earth". Or at least the dust of the paint shop in any case.

They hired me as a painter because I can paint fake rock, do woodgraining and refinish furniture. I guess I'm a rare breed. Yet in the four days I've been working most of what I've done has just been sanding. As a result, if I'm not careful I leave little heart-shaped cheek marks on any surface I sit on. For the first time since I was released as a missionary (and the first tiem I've done it of my own free will and choice ever) I actually shower every day. My nasal passages demand it.

I've learned a lot since I last posted. I've learned a lot about the world and I've learned a lot about myself. Mostly I've rediscovered my passion for creation. The medium isn't important, I just like to make something from nothing. I love the take the raw materials nad shape them, mold them and put them together to be something.

My new major is perfect for this. Technology and Engineering Education brings everything I loved about theatre and engineering all together and makes it comprehensive. I've found much more of a passion in woodworking than I even thought possible and it just makes me happy. I've learned so much a bout graphic design and the principles behind it simply from being aware--paying attention to the world around me. It's been amazing.

There is one problem with TEE, though. I'm a genetic pack rat. As I continue learning new crafts and mastering them, I find it difficult to part with them. "Why yes, I know this is ugly, but it's the first time I ever used an oxy-acetylene torch...I can't possibly throw it away!" I'm much to attached to the things I have left over and I can't seem to part with them. Scott and I's new apartment just can't handle it all. I think all packrats should each have their own personal museum they can put their life's bounty in just to get it squared away and then they can rest easy at night knowing that all of their little treasures are tucked away, out of sight, safely gathering dust. Though I suppose this would be some irresponsible form of ennabling, so...there goes that idea.

I need a bookshelf. Or two. I have an absurd amount of books for a person my age, and Scott has roughly just as many. I told him we should throw them away, but he said that books make people think we're smart. Perhaps it's a worldly justification, but the packrat was relieved to have any reason at all.

That's all the thought vomit for now.

~R~

Life goes on...

...whether you blog about it or not.

It's been 2 months, which completely boggles my mind. Time flies so fast. It's amazing.

Lately I have just been showered with so much gratitude for the love of my family. My dear Grandmother passed away recently, and bringing my own heart full of memories to the surface has been both very painful as well as very cathartic. I think I take my family forgranted. My family has always been supportive of my hopes and dreams over the years, even as those dreams have shifted, changed and sometimes even flat-out mutated in a seemingly illogical way. Grandma always just smiled and told me how glad she was that I had the chance to make those dreams come true at college. She labored a true labor of love for her family. One could fill books and pages of short little stories that display Grandma's spirit of love. Stories of raspberries and peaches, stories of books and school and sewing. But they all point the same direction. She was willing to give up herself for the love of others--her whole life long. What an amazing example I have to live up to.

I had a really spiritual epiphany at the funeral. The viewing had been closed to all except the family and we were all saying our last goodbyes. I wasn't going to go up because I was holding Kayla, and I've always been a little leery of the practice of viewings anyway, but Scott, my dear and wonderful Scott, took Kayla out of my arms and gestured that I go up. I went and gazed at Grandma laying there, and thought of all of the things she experienced in over nine decades of life. It was a very powerful and humbling emotion to imagine the things she'd learned in her years. In that moment my heart opened up. I returned to stand next to Scott, and with the image of Grandma's face lined with the wrinkles from years of experience still in my mind, I turned to see Kayla's smooth face and sweet smile with her bright eyes, full of the light of God and ready to take the things that life would send her way. It was in that moment that I understood the meaning of life in a completely new way. I turned and looked back at Grandma, lifeless, yet somehow pleasant, then back to Kayla with all of the vigor and hope that only children can muster, and I realized that life's process of learning is one that is not replicable. This is God's plan. From the womb to the grave our learning is hands on, and we only learn what we let ourselves learn. It was so beautiful. Grandmother to great-granddaughter, we are all just the small children of God, ready to learn. From what experiences we know not, nor can we control, but we are divinely appointed to it. God's way and God's plan are beautiful.

It feels good to be able to breathe again. I'm finally caught up on homework from the last few weeks and I feel peace again. Still much to do, but it is managable.

Just takin' life one day at a time with a smile.

~R~