Tłusty czwartek or Fat Thursday

Today is Fat Thursday in Poland. The Thursday before Lent begins. And they make donuts, delicious, fresh, tasty donuts all over the city. And I want is a warm pączek (pronounced pon-check) with raspberry filling. (Not a rose filled one, I feel like I'm eating perfume.) Or maybe a chocolate one. My last year in Poland we ran into the elders at the best donut place in town. You can tell we were really happy:

And that is the only photo documentation I have of Tłusty czwartek. Half open eyes, half my companion's face, chocolate covered lips but big smiles. It was a GOOD donut. That place was so good. So good in fact that I just had to get a picture out in front before I went home:

Gosh I look dorky... But what I wouldn't give for a hot pączek or hot drożdżowa from Drożdżowa Chata. Mmm!

Jerusalem

I miss Jerusalem. I don't know what it is about that city that makes me ache for it. I miss it in a totally different way than I miss Oregon. Different than I miss Poland. Different than I miss Utah. And I miss it today for some reason.

I want to be back. If I could only go to one country ever again, I might pick Israel/Palestine so I could be in Jerusalem.

One Year Down

Last year on this day August 3rd I flew across the country with my two suitcases and moved into my house. I was reading back through the posts from that first month. It seems so long ago. I still don't know what I want in life (other than the usual: be happy, have inner peace, be spiritual, have my own family, blah blah blah); and I don't know where I want my career to go (sometimes it sounds a lot more fun to work at Anthropologie and make books all day long--though not together). But I know I want to stay here and I know the move was the best decision.

And to be narcissistic, here are my favorite memories from the last year. (In no particular order.)

Thanksgiving
Amish Country
A Myriad of Transportation Mishaps
Living in DC and it's perks
Getting ready for the future
Embarrassing Moments
Trips to NYC: A, B, C
Family Visiting
SNOW!SNOW!SNOW!
Cute Roommates

And I'm hoping next year will be even better with new things on the horizon, hopefully things I don't even know about yet!

P-day

When I got onto the Metro this morning at L'Enfant Plaza I found a seat on the train. It was quickly vacated when I saw three sister missionaries and two elders get on. It was P-day and they were off to Arlington Cemetary to say good-bye to the "dying missionaries" (i.e. the missionaries who were going home).

And since today is sister Jess' P-day and I got a lovely email from her, I started thinking about my mission and P-days and all that jazz (because duh, we know I think about my mission).

Here is a quick note from her email:

I forgot to tell you last time about the deaf and mute guy that I contacted on the bus a couple weeks ago who's turned out to be awesome. I saw him with a huge smile when I got on the bus, which isn't that abnormal because a white girl with super curly light colored hair in the midst of a bus/city/country/region of the world completely filled with Asian people who range from super white skinned Chinese, to really dark Indians and East Indonesians, is always a sight for everyone to see... actually I'm knid of getting sick of it, especially at the bus terminal where everyone stares at us and sometimes make really inappropriate comments to us. The latest thing I've discovered is that all the men who work for the buses have a nickname for me: "rambut" which means, "hair" in Malay. Wow. Anyways, so this guy I sit next to him and he immediately turns away which is weird considering he was just smiling insanely, and then i start to talk to him, but he turns back and motions that he can't hear or speak, so I act out writing and he can, so we started writing back and forth and he wanted to meet again! So we met him at the church that week and had a lesson on the white board basically, watched the Joseph Smith video and he loved it so much. Lessons with him are awesome, becasue he takes notes and what we write on the board/half act out, and he tries really really hard to understand what we're teaching him, and you can literally SEE when he really gets something which is awesome.

And since I was thinking of my own P-days and wishing for one. Here are some lovely pictures from those lovely days.

(click to enlarge)

First row: Katowice-snow hike with branch; Krakow; Auschwitz
Second row: Warsaw-Majdanek; Lunch with sisters; bowling
Third row: Bydgoszcz-Baltic sea; Torun; Gdansk

I wish I could just take a P-day now! Oh wait, those don't happen in real life. Well, then, how about a sick day?

PS-I put the label nostalgia on this one, but I'm not really wishing to go back on my mission. I don't hardly think I wished to go back the minute I walked off that plane. Perhaps the nostalgia is for Poland and simpler times. Perhaps it's to go back and have the camaraderie of being on a mission. Perhaps it's missing all my mission friends, Americans and Poles. Who knows, but the nostalgia is not me wishing to go back and have grueling days of rejection.

Football

I like football. If you read my blog last year you would know I had an intramural team that I used to update you on. If you didn't, you can read about it HERE. Yesterday was our ward's "Turkey Bowl". We played football in the morning and had a Ward Thanksgiving Dinner that evening.

So, it was the first (and probably only) football game of the season that I played in, and I am having a hard time moving today. Perhaps I need to sprint more. Perhaps I shouldn't get roped into playing blocker against guys who are really pushy. (One got an entire handful of boob when he accidentally pushed off my chest. Whoops! He told me today at church that he has since repented. Ha!) But I'm sore. My legs are sore. My butt is sore. My back is sore. My abs are sore. My arm is sore. And for some reason I have a headache. (Ok that's unrelated, but it still hurts!) It hurts to sit. It hurts to sleep. It hurts to walk or stand. I shouldn't be this sore! I've been running! I've been working out at the gym! I need to use my sprinting muscles more I guess!

So for now I'm moving around like a little old granny, slow and calculated.

And, I'm making Butternut Squash and Apple soup. Yum!

And, playing football yesterday made me miss my intramural team and my sisters, and my adopted teammate sisters, and all our cheerleaders. Kind of makes me want to do it all over again...

Prom

Last night my sister went to Prom, so it made me think about my proms so I dug up some old pictures:

Junior Prom
Melanie was my date. This picture was so completely candid. We weren't ready for it and I just kind of threw my leg in the air and opened my mouth. But I love it and it makes me happy. My mom made my dress for me. And for the record, it wasn't dorky for us to be each other's dates.

Senior Prom
My date and I are in the middle. I made my dress this year. This picture was taken up at Hendrick's Park in Eugene.

But enough about me, here are some pictures of my sister and her friends. They were so cute, and went in a group of girls. Apparently one of them had a horrible date experience the year before and wanted to just go with her friends.

Prom 2009
My mom made Rachel's dress and worked on it literally up until the time Rach put it on. We bought her necklace, headband and shoes the day of the prom too. But it all worked out wonderfully and I think Rach is the cutest one (but then again, I'm a little biased).

After helping the girls get ready at our house I hung out with my parents. A kid I used to babysit, who is now 17, and his band were playing their first gig at the Wow Hall, a local music venue, so we went to support them. The kid told my mom they were playing between 7:30 and 8 (they were the first band) so we get there at 7:30 and my mom rushes in and asks the ticket office if the first band has already started (we could hear the music already). The guy tells her yes they've already started so my mom goes rushing into the music hall and opens the doors (which were closed and blocked by a trashcan), she comes out a couple minutes later wondering why no one is in there and why everyone is waiting in the foyer. Turns out the band was doing their soundcheck. All I can think is, great, we have a whole bunch of punk teenagers here for the "Rock Against Prom" show and I'm hanging out with my parents. I'm decked out in cute sandals, capri pants, and a frilly Anthropologie shirt and surrounded by 16-17 year olds in their skinny jeans, personalized converse sneakers, studded belts, and unique thrift store t-shirt finds. Not only are we clearly the oldest people there but we can't even attempt to blend in because of our conservative clothes. Turns out that the show doesn't start till 8. We take a walk around the block to relieve ourselves of the displacement and to find somewhere to eat after the show. Although the show was fun and I'm glad I was able to see the formerly shy, computer playing gawky kid on stage with teenage girls screaming for him as he walked over towards them with his guitar, and hearing "Victor's sexy!" yelled during breaks between songs, I'm so glad I never have to go to prom again (with it's accompanying drama) or go to anti-prom rock concerts surrounded by kids thinking they're so cool and cutting edge while they go against the norm.

That is a chapter in my life that, while it was enjoyed at the time, I'm so glad to never have to repeat.

Also, I found the cord to upload pictures, so check out this post so you can see my flag cake!

Skiing hazards

When I was eight I went skiing for the first time. We were living in Colorado and my dad loaded us oldest three kids up and took us skiing for the day. This was back in 1993 so I wore a sweet purple and hot pink one piece ski suit. We were put in ski school until about two o'clock before being let loose to ski on our own. Jess and I kept to the bunny hill and practiced our pizza wedge positions, but we really had no fear of falling or going too fast. All day my dad had been stopping to spray us with snow and around 3:45 or so that day, I came through some trees into a slow area. So I in my admiring eight-year-old head decided to stop fast like my dad to spray snow. It didn't work and I fell. Like I mentioned before, I didn't care about falling, but what I did care about was not being able to get up and that's exactly what happened. I couldn't move. I looked through the sparse tree line to see my dad skiing slowly down the hill with Cami tucked between his legs and thought, people have always told me I'm loud, I bet I can yell loud enough for my dad to see me. And by yelling as loud as I could I learned very quickly that snow absorbs sound. Not only did my worried yells not reach my dad, they didn't even make it to the trees. I looked up and realized I was directly below the ski lift. The problem was, I had just gone up for the last run of the day. The lift was no longer running. I don't remember if I started crying or if I said a sweet innocent prayer, but next thing I knew, a mother and her son happened upon me. The son went to find ski patrol while the mom waited with me until someone could help. My leg was in an awkward position but I knew my dad could make it better when I saw him. Ski patrol came up on a snowmobile to take me down the hill where my dad worriedly waited. I slept the entire way home in the car. When we got back my leg still hurt really bad. We decided to take me to the hospital where x-rays showed I had broken both my tibia and fibula, and a full leg cast was put on. (The cast was later changed to a half cast that I could walk on.)

Why is this story even relavant? Because today is the 16 year anniversary of that cast being removed for good.

Nostalgia

I'm feeling nostalgic today.
I had a mission reunion last night.

It made me think a lot about my mission.
I've been thinking a lot about just my life lately.
I am so happy with all the things I have been able to do.
I wouldn't exchange any of my experiences for something else.

Long ago California Summers

When I was little I loved going to visit Grandma and Grandpa. They lived in California and had lots of fruit trees in the back yard. Every morning we had fresh squeezed orange juice. I used to sit on their porch swing with a bowl and a bag of cherries. (The bowl was for the pits.) Grandpa used to play the boogie woogie and we would either dance or take turns sitting on his lap as he played the song and bounced his knees. In the mornings I went with Grandma and Grandpa's on their morning walks around the neighborhood. I remember there being lots of trees and it was shady but not cold. Some days we would go to the "Funny farm" (why we called it that I have no idea) but the "Funny farm" had cows and pigs and it smelled awful but I liked watching the animals. Their house was also fun because they had cable and we would watch the Disney channel (back in the days of the Mickey Mouse club) and Nickelodeon. There was also a small plastic kiddie pool in the back yard and we would run around in our bathing suits all day. There were usually lots of cousins around to play with. One of the best parts of staying with Grandma was climbing into bed with them in the mornings. And it was really cool because they had a water bed! Not just any old water bed, but one that was so high you had to climb stairs to get to it! I would snuggle in with them on Grandma's side as Grandpa tried to hide his messy "Harline hair". We would giggle and Grandma would try not to breath on me because she said she had bad breath.

This morning when I got up I got out of bed I stumbled into the bathroom looked in the mirror and was amazed at how relatively good I looked. I debated whether or not I should take a shower or attempt to just go like I was since I still had some of yesterday's make up on and my bangs were not greased down and I had some cute curls coming down out of my messy bun, and I only had work and one class and would be home relatively early. But then the thought of jumping in a warm shower overpowered my laziness and I started the water.

I jumped out of the shower shortly after a knock from my roommate indicating she wanted the bathroom, so I grabbed all the things I might possibly need out of the bathroom while she was in there. Blowdryer-check, hair cream-check, face lotion-check, round brush-check. In my room I plugged in my blowdryer and smelled something foul. I smelled my blowdryer, no, not that. I smelled the towel on my head, nope, just lovely shampoo-conditioner smell. I smelled a few more things but didn't smell it again so I went about my business. I was caught of guard when I smelled it again. It smelled vaguely familiar. I tried to pinpoint what the smell was coming from. And I couldn't quite figure out what it was that was so familiar. And then with a slightly exasperated exhale I smelled it again, and realized that that smell, that really bad smell, was my breath. I hoped I was wrong but breath tested it anyway. Running through my brain was a series of questions: Is that really coming from me? (Breath test again) Oh my gosh, it is! What, did I eat last night? (Grapenuts) Did I brush my teeth before I went to bed? (Debatable) I thought gosh, if I slept with my mouth open I bet my breath wouldn't smell so bad. The smell was slightly familiar, but distant. I tried to figure out what it was. What does this smell remind me of?

And then it hit me. I smelled like my Grandma. I have Grandma breath. I have adult breath. Where did breath like that originate? But as I extinguished the smell with my new peppermint flavored toothpaste, I thought of Grandma and the smell that will always remind me of summers spent as a little girl in California.

Picture this:

It’s Christmas, we’re all wearing our new pajamas (everyone in cute little onesies and me in my new nightie, I didn’t want a onesie, but now I think I want one because it looks so fun). We’re wearing our new Anthropologie aprons. Those who got new shoes, hats, jewelry etc have also put them on and are parading around the living room wearing it all because we’re hyped up on the Rittersport chocolates we all ate. We turn on Mama Mia which we got from Santa while I make Bigos and Pickle Soup (I promise, it’s good) for our annual White Elephant/Bingo/Soup party at our friend’s house. When Mama Mia finishes we watch the Sing-Along version and my dad excuses himself to the other room for some NBA/Lakers time.

Around 3:00 Jess calls from Singapore and we get to hear about how clean the subway is, that she’s going to be in Miri East Malaysia and will be traipsing around the jungle and riding bikes in heavy humidity not being able to talk to anyone who is Muslim. It sounds so different from my mission! Her trainer is from New Zealand and we are all excited about Jess perfecting her impression of her!

After getting off the phone, we’re all a little melancholy thinking of her, missing her. I’m consumed with thoughts of my mission, remembering being so nervous to go to my first area, sitting on the train with my trainer, completely trusting her and following her to wherever we go. I remember feeling so apprehensive about talking to people and a little anxious about what we’re going to do everyday. We rode the train down to my first area and I gave the first vision story to the other travelers in our compartment. I wonder what’s going to happen with Jess. I can’t get over how strange I felt going into my new apartment on the 16th floor of a huge old Soviet apartment building, hearing about our current investigators and the upcoming meetings we’ll have with them. I remember getting excited at the grocery store with the prospect of having Kinder Buenos and tasty juices and yogurts everyday. I remember being urged by my trainer those first days to contact people on the street and wondering if we were going to tract all day every day (we generally did). I remember being shocked that I didn’t get extra time to sleep so I could get over my jet lag and lamenting the fact that I was going to be tired my entire mission. I think I’m going to be reliving my mission a lot through Jess and comparing the huge differences.

Christmas day was wonderful. Jess was definitely the highlight, then maybe my Anthropologie apron, then soup at the Barnes.