Just Like Riding a Bike...

My commute to work

So lately I've been torn. It's just not as easy as it used to be to make my life appear as exciting, and I really don't want to waste anyone's time or make them feel they need to read and comment on my blog. So I promise, if what you read doesn't entice you, my feelings won't be hurt. However, I do promise I'll try my best to write something worthwhile.

Whoever coined that analogy apparently didn't know me. I haven't ridden a bike since elementary school, and I definitely didn't pick it back up right away. Even long hours at spin class didn't prep me against balancing, turning, and braking [quickly]. But...I needed an economical commute to work, so a search on Craig's List and eighty dollars later, University Boulevard has the lovely sight of me peddling in Bath & Body Works regalia. Oh, and I got hit on a lot less in my spin class. So...I'm running (er...peddling) late to work the other day when a blonde in a collared uniform speeds up from behind me, only to whip his head around to look at me. "Hey!" he grins. "Do you remember me?" "No," I peddle harder. "No, really," he argues," "You were walking by my apartment when I was moving, and you stopped to help carry a box in!" Ok I'm seriously never going to do another act of kindness EVER again now. "Oh yeah hey," I keep peddling. "What are you up to?" "I'm late for work." "Where do you work at?" "Bath and Body Works, at Riverwoods." "Woah that's really far out there! I walked there one day and it took me all day!" That's why I'm peddling hard. "Well hey, this is me," he gestures to Burger King, and and he leads in to getting my number, "but do you want to hang out some time?" I notice the cartoon hamburger bun on his polo. "I'm sorry, I'm late for work." Why do guys never listen? His countenance drops, and I peddle on. I think I hurt his feelings, but I ended up being five minutes early to work because of it. Hey, there's no time to waste when anti-bac is $3. But, alas, at the end my shift I return to my new-found mode of transportation, only to find the back tire utterly deflated. And...ignorant me tries to hop on and ride home (you can drive on a flat car tire for a bit, after all!) only to find myself sitting completely stationary-but not for long, of course, since my bike balance hasn't exactly been honed yet. And then, the turning of the knife: I am graced by the presence of raindrops. Yes, I am four miles away from my apartment, and it is raining. Oh, and did I mention I haven't eaten in five and a half hours? So, once again, my brother Nick comes to my rescue. And even puts up with my hunger-induced crankiness.

Aside from burger boy (who really was quite polite, just had bad timing I suppose...) and the punctured inner tube, I really do enjoy riding my bike. The fresh ocea - er...mountain? - breeze blows gently through my hair to offset the heat of the sun. This makes for a comfortable tanning option. And, I must admit, I feel like a kid again.


Nicki and me

And my childhood nostalgia doesn't stop with the recent Huffy upgrade. How about a kind reminder of how much I hated waiting for something to come? Postal things like mail-order salt and pepper shakers from Snapple (it took me weeks to save up enough caps!) and adventures like Six Flags-bound vacations were the worst. So it's really not fair that a mission call is a little bit of both. But...the last word out was that Church Headquarters received my paperwork on Sunday, and my call is currently "in process." My friend and next-door neighbor, Nicki, is bound for Rosario, Argentina, in a little shy of two months, so we've been making plans for sister missionary shopping excursions to D.I. while exchanging guesses for where I'll be going.
And...any pointers for how to tell the rest of my family? I really care about my grandpa's opinion, probably the most out of all my family, and I want to explain it so he would understand. I thought I'd have my call by now so when I go home [this Friday] I could say, "Hey I'm doing [this] going to [here]." Uh...I feel like now I'll be like "Hey I'm going to...I don't know where yet. It could be pretty much anywhere...except Afghanistan....

Oh, and PS: My roommate Brittany's birthday cakes!

Rainbow Pop Rock Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting (and yes, the pop rocks were quite the sparkling experience for the mouth!)

Chocolate Candy Bar Cake

Phone Call

Celebrating [after]!

Palms sweating. Stomach dancing. Mind rehearsing the scripted conversation. It won't be any easier later. Might as well do it now.

I dial his number from my address book. And then hang up.

Ok, no I'm really ready now. That was a test, only a test.

My thumb presses the green call button on my Blackberry, instantly redialing the last number I called. It's ringing now. No turning back. I hear a "Hello?" on the other line. I summon the courage to reply with what would normally be a reflexive response.

"Hey Dad."

He sounds happy to hear from me. He tells me how excited he is for me to be home soon. As he starts to tell me how well the garden is doing, I remember one (out of many) piece of advice I received from my friends. "Don't shoot the breeze," the boys in UP 2 stressed. "It'd be like calling up a girl to ask her out, and then start to ask her how her day has been. You both know you don't really care."

Well, yeah I guess I can't really concentrate on what he's saying, because all that's on my mind is the lead-in to my...

"And the tomatoes should be in their second week while you're here, so you can look forward to eating some fresh home-grown to-"

Aah but I can't just interrupt him!

So we keep talking.

"And you should see how much Gizmo is shedding! Libby is constantly finding more hair to vacuum-"

Dad I have something important to tell you!

"-and it is just so hot. Ninety-eight degrees I think the weatherman said the other day. What's the weather like up there for you guys?"

"Uh...it's pretty cold, actually, Dad. It's been raining a lot and so the valley cools off pretty quickly. I have to wear a long sleeve shirt when I run in the mornings, before I warm up."

I think I'm about to puke.

"My goodness I can't believe that."

Or faint.

Silence.

Or die a premature death.

"Well, we really are looking forward to having you home for a bit." His voice has those end-of-the-conversation tones. I realize if I don't say something now, it would be pretty awkward to call back in five.

"Dad, can I talk to you about something?" Oh please don't have that worried tone in your voice when you say 'yes.'

"Sure," he replies nonchalantly. Ok...good start...

"So...Dad, you know how much joy learning about Christ has brought me," I read off my sincere but pre-written message on yellow card stock, "so I've decided to...serve a mission at the end of the summer." I look at the next item on my script - "[Dad yells here]" followed by answers to questions I anticipate him asking "[A. Student Loan Deferrment? B. Insurance Coverage? C.
Why are you taking a year and a half off of college? D....]"

Deep breath.

"Ok," he says.

"What?" escapes with my breath. "You aren't going to yell? Dad, I hadn't planned what to say right now, I thought you'd be yelling."

He laughed. K is Dad seriously laughing right now?

Is this the same Dad who, after I told him I was coming to BYU, told me I would have to pay for my own everything (minus insurance)? The Dad who afterwards called up my mom to yell at her, to tell her how stubborn "her daughter" was? Maybe he doesn't know it's for the same Church that funds my university. Maybe he thinks I converted to Buddhism while I was over in Japan.

But no, he knows. And the only proper way to describe him is, softened. We talk for another good fifteen minutes, and I am taken aback at how "cool" he is with it.

"Stefanie, we're all put on this earth to figure out what God wants us to do here. My path isn't
going to be the same as your path. I taught you to make your own decisions, and to be responsible for the consequences."

Yay!

"Now, I'm just concerned about you graduating from college and being able to support yourself."

Oh, no worries Dad. I think about that all the time...

So, my Dad knows a lot. Maybe he's seen that the decisions I've made really have turned out for good for me. Case in point is BYU - I don't think I've ever been happier. I love my university, the Spirit felt in my classes and in devotionals and in the air on campus. I love the mountains. I love my friends. I love how much closer I've grown to my family by being here, despite (or maybe because of) me being further away.

What my dad doesn't know, however, is of years petitioning the Lord to soften his heart. Especially leading up to this time of telling him about my decision to serve a full-time mission for the Lord. Friends would ask, "Stefanie that's so great you're serving a mission - what do your parents think?" Laughter would follow my "They don't know yet" reply. I was afraid. I was afraid of that scripted response of yelling, but mostly of disappointing my Dad. And while I'm not naive enough to think my dad is proud of my decision to serve, I know the Lord will answer my prayers in providing a way to bless my dad - and the rest of my splendid family - through my missionary service. He's already heard my pleas to soften his heart.

Elevation

"There is a serene and settled majesty to woodland scenery that enters into the soul and delights and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations."
~ Washington Irving

A group of kids in my ward go hiking each Saturday morning, and this past weekend I decided to raise my bum out of bed bright and early to join them. Despite that my sleep-deprived bum was sore the next couple days, it was absolutely beautiful, and I'm tagging along to tackle Mount Olympus this Saturday.

(slideshow below)

Satiation, Please

My optimism for the human race wanes as I peruse a second-hand clothing store. No pique polos. No chinos. I feel like the closet of an EFY attendee just threw up once-worn garments on me – oh wait, where am I? Ah yes, the Provo branch of Plato’s Closet so that’s exactly what this is! I am swimming in a cesspool of EFY regurgitation; if I find one more overly-lengthened, badly-patterned hippy dress/shirt thing to wear over leggings at the expensive of a cardigan I’m going to scream.

Scream.



There’s a reason Audrey and Jackie O are timeless fashion icons that grace magazine covers still today. They understood how they dressed influenced the way they would interact with associates, and so they opted to look polished and modest in appearance. And they never owned bad patterns.

Ah, what’s that sound I hear? It seems an amalgamation of a noticeably-consistent melody and a computer-edited voice has taken over the store owner’s blasting iPod. Oh, this must be the hit music all the cool kids are listening to. I believe this one is known as “Boom Boom Pow.” I’ll side with my grandpa (and yours, I would presume) and label it “noise.”

My goodness, cultural treats of music and lit are not stifling, and are anything but a bore. On the contrary, they enlighten and enliven, even edify and enrich life. They give an energy to our souls not found in the quick-surge Red Bulls of entertainment today. They speak of life’s higher qualities. They’re worth sacrificing an hour of online shopping and social networking. Like a Degas, that took time, effort, and moreover, inspiration to create, classic arts and activities are longstanding – as opposed to the roll on/roll over talents of today’s billboard-esqe entertainment.

And hey guys, here’s a head’s up for you. If I’m not wearing that patterned tunic-legging combo, I probably wouldn’t be interested in “The Hangover,” or any other motion picture whose title implies crude jokes that honestly, I probably wouldn’t even get. Don’t even ask. I’ll just say ‘no.’ Ah! Take a girl to a museum once in a while. A dance concert. An old movie. Heck, I’ll never turn down food, that’s always a safe bet there.

And please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not suggesting everyone become a J Crew cutout (although the world would be much tidier – colorful too, reminds me of a musical I saw once...), but at least leave the tacky and that of bad taste on the shelf. The hanger. The cotton field, at that. And I for one love my daily fix of John Mayer, I certainly do not intend to berate all that’s current, but obey the cultural Word of Wisdom and make something substantial your staff of life.
Make half your grains Hol[st] :)

…and P.S. this was SO already developing in my head before the June Ensign came out.