Autobiographies 3, 4, & 5: Croatia and my father

I have never had an ideal relationship with my father. I’m not certain anyone who has so many kids can really have a magnificent relationship with all thirteen of his children, but to add to this, my father works a lot and I only ever got to see him on weekends growing up or after my parents divorced I would see him during the summer. I suppose the fact that he is very analytically minded and has never been able to relate to my terribly emotional self doesn’t help. Even after all of this, I think I could have found myself easily loving and idolizing him because of his intellect and stalwart spirit, except for the fact that ever since I was very young my mother and he did not get along and she had always led me to believe that he did not really love me, he was only fighting for custody because he disliked her so much.

Children believe a lot of things and with nothing to contradict her (like I said, he was never really home and he never reached out to me when we were together) I continued hating my father for a very long time. About the time that I was 16 I moved to Utah and I began to really forgive my father. I still am not entirely certain if he did the things my mother claimed that he did or if he even knew how much I hated him, however, I finally was able to forgive him inside of me. Forgiveness is funny in the way that once you fully forgive you realize that you were the one being hurt and not necessarily because of the actions of the other person, but because you were holding onto bitterness inside.

It wasn’t easy, it took a lot of praying and crying. I never said “I forgive you” to my father, he may not have known what he even needed forgiveness for, but I forgave him anyway. I forgave him for the years I felt inadequate and the years I thought he was calling me fat. I forgave him for the years of my childhood when I felt like I was running away from him. I forgave him for all the pain I felt at him not loving me.

I began to call my dad. Now that we were hundreds of miles away, I only saw him occasionally on holidays and rare visits so I took it upon me to call him a few times a week. My dad isn’t the best at keeping tabs on his children, so I am convinced that had I not called him I probably would not have heard from him at all. However, through these bi-weekly phone calls I began to learn about my dad. My dad doesn’t talk very much about his feelings. He doesn’t really talk about himself at all. Asking him how he has been doing is like pulling teeth, he would rather talk about everything and everyone else before he begins about himself or how he has been feeling. My dad has a lot of goals and he feels fully capable of fulfilling them even as he gets older in age including: visiting every country in the world, creating a dream house in the middle of Kentucky that is modeled after the European style houses with accompanying bed and breakfast with little cottages from various European countries, taking all of his children on an out of country trip, etc.

The most revealing two experiences for me though were once when I was 15, just about to move to Utah and then later when I was 20 and had agreed to go to Eastern Europe with him.

When I was 15 ½ my mother decided that she would take me and my two younger siblings and we would transplant ourselves from Possum Trot, Kentucky to Spanish Fork, Utah. She had received this location through prayer and Anna, Louis, and I were ecstatic about the decision as we had wanted to move since I was in the 3rd grade. My dad was against the decision and my mom fought for a while to finally get him to let us to leave. He finally agreed, but we had to stay with him in Kentucky until the end of the summer. One day he took Anna, Louis, and I up into the play room upstairs where he had a large list on the board. Labeled on both sides were pros and cons of being in Utah versus Kentucky. He sat us down and droned on about school systems, housing conditions, socioeconomic status, spiritual progression, family ties, and everything else that may change with our location.

Set on my decision to leave, I sat with arms folded, determined to prove that Utah was by far the superior in quality and that staying in Kentucky would be a detrimental damn to my progression in life. And then as we reached what I deduced to be the conclusion of the lecture, my dad turned around with tears in his eyes and said something to the effect of:

“And still, none of these things would really matter if it was where you needed to be. But the biggest thing I am worried about is that you will be away from me and I will not be able to see you. I’m your father, I love you.”

The tears. The sincerity. The way he exposed himself in that instant hit a chord in me so violently that I began to shake and then to cry. I could feel my heart ripping from my chest. How could I be so cruel and so judgmental? How could I possibly have be so callous as to think that this man didn’t love me. He was my father who had sacrificed so much of his life in order to earn enough money to support us. He was the man who spent countless hours in the summer building houses so that we could learn the meaning of hard work. He was the man who was intelligent enough to have done anything in his life and yet he decided he would rather have children than wealth.

At that moment I was more confused than I have ever been in my life, I had no idea what to do and I felt a wall breaking. The wall of hatred that I had built against my father had sprung a leak and from that moment, although I still moved away, I have tried to learn to love my father.

Another revealing moment was in Croatia, coincidentally enough. My father had offered to pay for my tickets to travel to Europe with him, my step-mother, Natasha, and my two half siblings Ilya and Maria who were 5 and 3 respectively. I jumped at the opportunity even though it meant spending $300 on plane tickets to Kentucky and missing 2 ½ weeks of school, which can be detrimental in college. Little did I know what I was really getting myself into.

After a very stressful 24 hour commute from Nashville to Budapest, I was on the verge of killing my father. I had been put in charge of chasing little children through the airport and staying up with them almost the entire time. My father, on the other hand, is not exceptionally good with small children (which is odd considering how many of them he has had). While Natasha and I were irritated and fed up with this so called vacation, my dad had slept almost the entire time for both of the international plane rides we had been on. I began to realize how hard it had been for my mother raising 9 children with a husband like my father. He has a hard time relating to the hardships you are feeling and although he feels very sorry for you when you explain about how difficult it is, he doesn’t step in and help out. He is also more likely to let a kid run into the street than to sit on his lap and he can’t stand crying.

Needless to say, I was not feeling particularly inclined to be with him, however, when we reached day 4 and 5 of our trip we stopped at a pleasant city called Dubrovnik in the south of Croatia. This was affectionately called the “Jewel of Croatia” and as soon as we entered it we knew why. It was a beautiful ancient city encased in a pre-medieval castle on the coast and speckled with fruit trees and sailboats. Natasha and I quickly realized that this was no place for children as they spent the majority of their time running into tourists as they chased pigeons. In an effort to restore sanity and keep the children happy and occupied, Natasha and I traded shifts and while one was with the kids at our apartment the other would be out with my dad.

During this one on one time with my dad I asked him “Dad, why did you become a member of the church?” My father had grown up in a Catholic family where everyone back to our ancestors in Ireland had been Catholic. The strength of his testimony which he then bore and the story of his life which ensued made me marvel.

He told me about his ambitions when he first came to college and how he had met a lady who had included him into her family and through her he had joined the church. He told me about his first love and their engagement and how they had spent time with each other every day during the school year, but as the year came to a close her parents came to pick her up and when he went to see her she came down with a box of everything he had given her, handed it to him, and declared it was over.

He told me that he took the box and cried. He was so disoriented and heartbroken that he just wondered the streets crying until he finally collapsed and just continued to sob. He was finally picked up by an ambulance because a police officer tried to talk to him and he didn’t respond and he assumed the tear stains on his pants were from him wetting himself so he thought something had gone terribly wrong. I knew the heartbreak he told me about. I knew what it felt like to have love ripped out from underneath of you and to have the one person you felt truly connected to turn you away.

When he told me about joining the Navy because he didn’t want to get drafted, it was a world I could hardly imagine. His friends would get drafted and every day was just another chance that you too may leave never to return again. One of his best friends left for Vietnam and when he returned he was just a remnant of the man he had once been, returning with both legs and all of his spirit gone. He joined the Navy because they promised that he would never actually see battle, he instead became a nuclear weapons instructor and married my mother.

To retell all the stories he told me would take another evening and another Dubrovnik to do it justice. But it was then that I realized that somewhere, in some part of me, he was a hero. Transitioning from a villain to a hero is not an easy thing to do, but he had done it and although I still do not always understand him, I will always love my dad.

Autobiography 2: Fears

Ichthyophobia:I have always had this odd fear of fish. I am not entirely certain why as I have never been attacked by a fish nor have I probably been within biting distance of a fish, however, their scales, their mouths, their lack of arms or feet, has always scared me. Give me a bug, give me a snake, give me a poopy baby and I will be fine, however, something about fish.

According to Wikipedia: "Ichthyophobia is a variety of a specific phobia which is an intense and persistent fear of fish, described in Psychology: An International Perspective as an "unusual" specific phobia. Both symptoms and remedies of ichthyophobia are common to most specific phobias."

Acrophobia: Although it sounds like being afraid of acrobatics, it is actually the fear of heights. Personally I have a devil-may-care attitude towards slightly risky behaviors (hanging out of windows, climbing random buildings, etc), however, I cannot stand to watch other people do things like this and I especially dislike seeing people get too near the edge of high objects. Once when we were in San Francisco, I went to the San Francisco Bay bridge with my friends Cami and Dave and my brother Josh and when Cami climbed on the rail I couldn't take it and started to feel sick. Of course this reaction only encouraged her and so I had to turn away and start running back towards the land where I couldn't see her. She didn't end up falling and I was definitely more effected than she was. I'm not sure what brings this on, however, my friend Kevin surmises it has something to do with my motherly instincts and the fact that when I see other people in potentially dangerous situations I feel like I have no control whereas when I am there I can control the situation.

Iatrophobia and Phonophobia –Although I don’t really have a fear of doctors or telephones, these two were the closest to the fear I feel towards calling doctor’s offices. I think this reverts back to my issues with control, but I will do pretty much anything to avoid having to call a doctor’s office (or any office) to set up an appointment. I once had my co-worker call to set up an appointment, just because I was so afraid. Doctors themselves are quite intriguing and once I’m in the office I really like looking at the various vaccination and disease posters. I think a lot of this has to do with the fact that I never went to the doctor growing up, my mom always gave us homeopathetics and a slew of vitamins whenever we would get sick. Although I was always dubious of this method of treatment, I always faithfully swallowed my 6 vitamin C, Echinacea, garlic, and mysterious green sugar covered Chinese pills. Once I started attending BYU though I decided that I would eat plenty of fruits and vegetables and get exercise and when I got sick I would rest and let my body take care of itself. This worked great until I wanted to go on a mission and I needed to call a doctor’s office to set up an appointment and for some reason, maybe because I had never done it before or for whatever reason

Porphyrophobia- This is the fear of the color purple. I actually do not have a fear of the color purple, I do, however, have a great dislike of artificially flavored purple items. I think part of this reason is that they try to imitate “grape” taste and I like grapes too much to think that this pathetic excuse for an imitation is actually good. This carries over mostly into otter pops and all candy. Although when it comes to candy I am usually very particular: i.e. I only eat skittles and M&Ms in matching pairs (red & green, blue & orange, etc), I only eat pink and red starbursts, I don’t eat most American chocolate because I am a chocolate snob and I like hazelnuts too much, etc. It’s not something that I have to do, it’s just the way I do things.

Autobiography 1: My hero, my brother, Jon

In my family history class we are to write at least 5 autobiographical stories of 500 words and when I was trying to limit myself to 5 significant instances in my life, I can't help but think of the time with my brother Jon. I suppose I could talk about the numerous moves from state to state, the divorce, the flee, the heartbreaks, or any number of things, however, those things that have effected me most are the small instances where life really reveals itself.

As 7th child in a family of nine, I was often left to myself and in order to get attention I really had to try to either do things right or do things wrong. One week during our family home evening, I remember being very offended because my parents were honoring those who had done their chores that week and although I had laboriously fulfilled ever task given me, I was not mentioned. Expecting someone to notice my disappointment, I stormed out of the room in a huff and slinked into the kitchen.

In my 6 year old brain, I assumed that everyone around me could feel the injustice and would come running to me to console me. I was prepared to deny them all and I sat with arms crossed under the kitchen table waiting for them to beg my forgiveness. As time passed, I realized that once again I had gone unnoticed and that no one was coming for me. Reality that no one had probably even noticed that I had left or that I was upset began to seep in on me and I began to cry. I sunk my head and began to sob quietly to myself, becoming so absorbed in my feelings of depression and disappointment that I was oblivious to my brother Jon who had snuck into the kitchen carrying a CD player.

Jon is two years my senior and had always been my idol. He could do things that only boys can do and every time we wrestled he seems to out maneuver me and win. Jon could climb trees and had friends everywhere, but always seemed to consider me as more of a pest than a sister. So as he plugged in the CD player and began playing church music it was a bit of a shock. Not enough of a shock to make me look at him directly, but just enough to cause me to notice him. Next he went to the fridge and pulled out a packet of sliced meat.

If you have never lived in a large family with a small budget, you have never learned to really appreciate food. In our house commodities like fruit, vegetables, and pre-sliced meat were usually devoured within minutes of their arrival from the grocery store and if you had any hope of salvaging an apple you would have to hide it under your pillow and hope no one found your secret stash. So, as you can understand, it was surprising that he had found this jewel and without a word he opened it up, sat it between us, and then just sat there next to me. If he had tried to talk me out of my sadness or tried to surround me with his arms, I probably would have brushed him off and given myself more justification for my feelings. However, this simple act of love, showing that he was there and that he cared, caused my to feel infitestimaly better. Soon my sobs turned into sniffles and my tears stopped flowing.

But the most touching part of it all is that when I was done I looked over at him and he was crying. This act of unselfish love, of knowing exactly what I needed, and somehow being able to take my tears upon himself, that has stuck with me. Whenever I think of Christ as a brother, I think of Jon in that moment. Christ's willingness to sacrifice himself for our happiness and his ability to love us was more real to me in that moment than it ever had been before and will always stay with me.

I want babies

Lately I have been baby hungry, thanks to lovely little children like this.

I look at their little eyes and hands and feet and I just can't help but love them instantly. It's funny how children can have that effect on us, isn't it? Something about their small features, their helplessness and their ability to cling to anything or anyone. Maybe it is just the joy they find in life and in the simple things, new discoveries await them at every turn.

I probably just need to babysit and it will get it all out of my system for a little bit, but until then, I WANT A BABY!
Speaking of families, I have been working on mine and putting together my family line using new.familysearch.org, it is an amazing tool and it helps you link everyone together, which is really neat. The more family history I do, the more I want to do. I think I will be gathering my sister Sara's information from her soon and then hopefully verifying all this information that comes from who knows where.

Wedding Flowers

For Cami's wedding I got to work with all the flowers to make corsages, boutonnieres, bouquets, and centerpieces. I already posted what the wedding bouquet looks like and then it was just a basic rose/petal bout. The centerpieces were fun, they were Cami's brain child, but ended up being very simple, elegant, and beautiful. It was just a few roses in a vase with some river stones. These vases were then placed on top of a mirror, doily, and a piece of scrap booking paper. Voila, beautiful.

Wedding Cakes

With all my work with fondant, I have had a lot of fun making cakes like this one for Cami's wedding. Here we just have a basic double layer 9" circumference chocolate cake covered in my wonderfully simple marshmallow fondant recipe that I borrowed from my sister Susan. At the bottom you see the double ribbon which adds a hint of color and texture. Then, of course, there is the cake topper with the love birds and some beautiful roses and mint flavored decoration balls.


Here you see the cupcake tree, decorated by Cami's cousins and the cupcakes created the night before with the help of Carin, it takes a while to make the frosting and considering how much we put on each cupcake, it took a very long time, however, it worked out well and looked Be-a-u-tiful.

Marshmallow Fondant Recipe (by Manny Ramirez)

• 16 ounces white mini marshmallows (use a good quality brand)
• 2-5 tablespoons water
• 2 lbs icing sugar (please use C&H Cane Powdered Sugar for the best results)
• 1/2 cup Crisco shortening (you will be digging into it so place in a very easily accessed bowl)
  

1. Melt marshmallows and 2 tablespoons of water in a microwave or double boiler: Put the bowl in the microwave for 30 seconds, open microwave and stir, back in microwave for 30 seconds more, open microwave and stir again, and continue doing this until melted.

2. It usually takes about 2 ½ minutes total. Place 3/4 of the powdered sugar on the top of the melted marshmallow mix.

3. Now grease your hands GENEROUSLY - palms, backs and in between fingers, then heavily grease the counter you will be using and dump the bowl of marshmallow/sugar mixture in the middle.

4. Start kneading like you would bread dough. You will immediately see why you have greased your hands.

5. Keep kneading, this stuff is sticky at this stage! Add the rest of the powdered sugar and knead some more.

6. Re-grease your hands and counter when the fondant is sticking. If the mix is tearing easily, it is to dry, so add water (about ½ tablespoon at a time then knead it in). It usually takes me about 8 minutes to get a firm smooth elastic ball so that it will stretch without tearing when you apply it to the cake.

7. Its best if you can let it sit, double wrapped, overnight (but you can use it right away if there are no tiny bits of dry powdered sugar). If you do see them, you will need to knead and maybe add a few more drops of water.

The Wedding Planner

My friend Cami got married last week in the Draper temple and I helped with... pretty much everything. It was a lot of fun though to decorate cupcakes for the cupcake tree, put together the fondant cake and arrange plenty of flowers.

The happy couple looking hopefully into the future.

First kisses! Well, not exactly, but you have to have the veil photo.

The happy family. Notice the redhead on the far left, refused to smile. Oh well, what can you do?


Here you can see some of the preparations for the reception that Carin and I (along with a few others) participated in. 10 flower arrangements, 190 cupcakes, 200 cucumber sandwiches, corsages, boutonnieres, bouquets, etc.

It was wonderful and I am so happy for Cami. I love her and Dave and I know that they will live a long happy life together.

In the Morning Sun we Glisten

I have a love hate relationship with the box elder bugs. I hate when they fly past my ears. I hate when I find them crawling on my bed. I don't like to share my kitchen with them. I can't stand to find their dead bodies in my water cup and I hate the thought that they are always there, always watching.

But they remind me of this place. I can't think of the past year and a half without them. Loves come. Loves go. Best friends bond then marry. The grass grows, then dies (we never remember to water it). Even as the furniture, trees, and garden change, those bugs are constant. There isn't a day that I don't see one scurrying in one direction or another and although it irks me, it is that one constant in my life of the past year and a half that I can't ignore. It reminds me of the cycle of life.

Starting a new. Running. Falling.

Starting a new.

And when I can't take it any more, when all my memories crowd my mind and all my pasts threaten to become my present and my future, then I retreat to the basics. The shoes, the street, running. The bugs. They are always there.

You can always count on the box elders.

Alstroemeria

I love flowers. When I was young I thought it was silly to grow flowers, why would you spend so much time, effort, and garden space on things that you can't eat. Why not plant just vegetables, berries, and delicious fruit? That all changed when I started to take my floral design class and I realized the powerful effect of flowers. One of my new favorite flowers is the Alstroemeria. Alstroemeria, also known as the Peruvian lily or Lily of the Inca's, has a vase life of about two weeks and makes it equitable in vase life to that of a carnation. And yet it is just so much more unique than a carnation (and just as cheap). It is like they are always looking at your with their exotic faces, enticing you to visit the lures of South America.

It also reminds me of Juan, because it is Peruvian. Even though Wikipedia states that these gorgeous flowers are grown in Chile and Brazil almost exclusively, we all know that Peru once covered almost half of South America and so the name is still appropriate.

Speaking of, Kevin knew that it was one of my favorites and bought me an entire bouquet which I was able to use to make this gorgeous arrangement.


And while I was practicing using the floral tape and wire for Cami's wedding, I made a neat little boutonniere with one of the flowers. I thought the orange, black, and green made a stark contrast that was absolutely irresistible. What do you think?

Garden Fresh

Anna and I went to take sister pictures after I threw together a practice boutineer for Cami to look at. I was feeling particularly cute looking and I couldn't keep it to myself, so here are some of the results.

Here you see a beautiful girl smelling a beautiful flower.

Anna is a cutie pie with a flower hat.

We are dating.

We hold hands.

Stick it to the man--- but not really

I had a great idea while in the loo today. As I sat down I saw a newspaper, on the ground, and I read it. And I realized, there should be newspapers in every bathroom stall. The Daily Universe has a super low readership, but I think this would get people's attention. Except, asking the Daily Universe to install newspaper holders in every stall is ridiculous, I still think it is possible.

It's a grassroots movement. BYU students love doing things that seem somewhat "contraband" and we would just be leaving newspapers under the bathroom stalls and then passing it on. Now for a witty name...