Little Things I Never Want to Forget

- He collected Pez dispensers

- He fell asleep during nearly every movie

- He detested tv but oddly loved Malcom in the Middle

- He had, at any given time, no less than five library cards

- He washed his car every Saturday, rain or shine

- He built his own device for measuring the depth of our lake and then mapped every inch of it, just because he could

- He loved to play poker, but only ever for pennies or pretzels

- He had the same cowlicks as me (crown of the head and middle of the forehead to the right)

- He could still read Spanish, but couldn’t speak it anymore

- He felt as strongly about the Oxford comma as I do

- He could not, not matter how hard he tried, ever master chopsticks

- He loved St. Pauli Girl beer 

- He staunchly refused to buy hockey skates and wore the same pair of figure skates (the only man on our lake to do so) made of soft black leather for my whole life. He taught me all of the skating tricks I know and carved intricate mazes in the snow for me to test my speed and dexterity. I never was able to master skating backwards, but he still kept trying to patiently teach me.

- He asked my kingergarten teacher to teach me algebra

- He read me to sleep every night until I was fifteen

- He held my hand for every street I crossed until he died when I was eighteen

- He firmly ignored crosswalk lights

- He bought jalepeno stuffed olives in bulk and ate them for breakfast

- He made his own bread and taught me how

- He chaperoned almost every field trip I ever went on
- He sang his own version of "We Three Kings" (off key, loudly) every Christmas Eve at church

It's Father's Day Again

I look awful in this photo, so I don’t share it a lot. I have it framed, but I don’t often show people. I really should start. It was maybe two degrees out that day and bitingly windy. I had just come off the ice from playing hockey and my eye makeup was running, but I was so happy. This is what my real smile looks like, and it’s not very pretty but it’s honest. I was 18, and Daddy had just turned 56. He would be dead about six months later.

There aren’t as many pictures of Daddy and I together as I would like, mostly because he was usually the one behind the camera. I have lots of pictures of me, and lots of pictures of him that I took, and a good number of full family shots, but just a small collection of images of the two of us over the years.

Every day when I look in the mirror I’m reminded that I inherited his face, and hair, and skin, and weird knobby knees. I took on his propensity for computer programming, forests, kayaking, reading, socialism, damaged people, and introversion as well. But I desperately wish that I could have somehow picked up just an ounce of his seemingly boundless optimism in the short amount of time I got to share with him, and I feel like I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be even a quarter as good as he was.

Every day I wish I could see his smile one more time, every day I wish I could show him my computer projects, or ask him what airplane is flying over head, or go walk in the woods with him. Every day I wish I could sing for him. Every day I wish I could tell him I love him, or tell him what I learned, or talk about politics with him.

Eighteen years wasn’t enough. It could never be enough. I don’t know how I’m going to live the rest of my life without him and have to deal with seeing his face in the mirror every single morning for the rest of my life and know that he will never be here again no matter how badly I want it.

If you still talk to you dad, please, for me, hug them and tell you them you love them and talk to them and ask them about their lives because I can’t anymore.

I Never Thought

I never thought I would be getting divorced after six months of marriage.

But then, I never thought I would ever actually get married in the first place. I never thought I'd be good enough for someone to want to marry me, or smart enough, or pretty enough. I never thought that I could be a worthwhile, or even enjoyable companion for someone else.

Somewhere along the way I was taught that I am a burden, and I know that's not true. I'm not claiming to be a sparkling conversationalist or an arbiter of good taste (there's too much weird Japanese hair metal on my iPod for that),  but neither am I the monster I've built myself up to be in my own head.

In a talk General Conference talk, Elder Russel M. Nelson said,

Feelings of worth come when a woman follows the example of the Master. Her sense of infinite worth comes from her own Christlike yearning to reach out with love, as He does.

One of the only things that has helped preserve my sense of self and the idea that I'm worth more and deserve better than I was getting in my short marriage is my faith in my Savior's plan for me. I've promised that I will go where He leads me, step by step, until one day I can appreciate my own worth. All I can do is try to reach out to others with love and kindness, and hopefully one day I will be able to reflect that kindness to myself.

If you ever doubt your own worth, or are in a situation where others are telling you that you are worth less for any reason, please know that you are loved. You are worthy. You have an eternal destiny. But you need to be able to see it and recognize it, even just a little bit, before you can move on to something better and brighter.

Resilience

One month ago today I snuck out of my marriage with only my license, car keys, debit cards hidden in my bra, and a water bottle, careful not to wake up my abusive husband as he slept. I chose my own personal safety and self respect over an “easy” life of pretending things were okay and letting him convince me that abuse was love.

This has been an immensely hard month. Some days I forget and I’m so, so happy, but other days I feel like there’s not any point in trying anymore.

But if the past 30 days haven’t killed me, then I think I’ll be okay for at least the next thirty days, and the thirty days after that, until one day none of this will hurt anymore.

Gratitude

You may have noticed I've rearranged my blog a bit- some posts that I've written in the past are no longer available. Don't worry, they're still there, but they're hidden at the moment because they're just too painful to read right now.

I've had a big upheaval in my life recently. I don't want to write about the details tonight; I'm not sure I'll even want to write about the details a month, or six months, or a year from now. Frankly, I'm tired of telling my story to law enforcement, therapists, lawyers, and what seems to be, at this point, at least 87% of the population of southeastern Idaho. What I really want is for this all to pass as quickly as possible, inflicting the least amount of damage on my heart and soul, and to move on.

Realistically however, I know that this is a trial and that it is necessary (though in no way pleasant) for me to go through it. And I am trying to spend as little of my time as as I can being angry, or despondent, or scared, or just plain numb, and trying to focus instead on what I'm grateful for. That has been one of the best coping strategies I could have possibly discovered (I've unfortunately done this massive-life-change/grief thing before and didn't cope as healthily last time around), and I'm going to stick with it.

So, without further ado:

Things I Am Grateful For:

• Getting out safely
• Getting out now, and not five years from now
• Knowing I have amazing friends who support and love me, and reaffirm that I wasn't weak for choosing a husband who did that to me- that I was strong for saying no and leaving
• Family that has been on call, despite the distance and time difference, whenever I needed them
• My closest friends who dropped everything to move me out, with only a few minutes notice
• The friends who have given me a safe place to stay while I sort things out
• My job, which I love. It's amazing how calming it can be to make copies, or do some bookkeeping, when the rest of your life is so chaotic.
• The university, who have bent over backwards to help me in any possible way
• My ecclesiastical leaders, who have comforted me so much
• Driving with the windows down in my car on the way home from work, when it's just cold enough out to make me shiver. This makes me so happy and lets me forget everything for a little while.
• My unshakeable faith in Jesus Christ. These events have challenged a lot of my assumptions about how my life would be, and whenever I start to feel uncertain about my purpose in life or my future I know I can read my scriptures or pray and get the answers I long for.

I still have to remind myself that things will get better with time, and that it is not my duty to judge or punish others for their deeds. It takes a lot to learn how to let things go, but I'm willing to try.

Dr. Ramen

Okay, so this isn't a recipe in the strictest sense, but I'm writing this down because I think I've found my new favorite way to doctor ramen noodles for when I'm too lazy to cook an actual dinner.

Ingredients:

- 1 package of the ramen of your choice (I used Maruchan, chicken flavor)

- 1 cup of frozen spinach

- 1 large egg

- 1 tsp of red pepper flakes

- 1 tsp of garlic powder

- 1 dash of fish sauce to taste (You can find this in the "Asian" section of your local supermarket- be warned, it's pretty potent! I normally use it for stir fry marinades)

- 2 cups of water

Procedure:

1. Heat the water in a small sauce pan. Once it has started to boil, add the noodles.

2. Once the noodles have softened halfway, add the frozen spinach. Continue cooking until the noodles are fully soft.

3. Pour out half of the water, being careful not to let any spinach or noodles drain with it, and add the bouillon packet that comes with the ramen to the sauce pan.

4. Sprinkle your red pepper flakes and garlic powder into the ramen.

5. Pour in your fish sauce into the ramen. I ended up using about a tablespoon, but you can use less or more depending on how you like it.

6. Crack open your large egg into your sauce pan, or into a small bowl which you then add to the ramen, and whisk into your ramen with a fork until it has taken on the appearance of egg drop soup.

7. Enjoy!

This is a fast way to make ramen just the slightest bit more healthy, and you can add other vegetables to this if you wish (I think mushrooms or carrots would be a great addition). Plus it's a fast meal that's spicy, savory, and warm, which are my three favorite things for fall/winter dinners.

HelloGoodbye

Goodbye Mitten, you are indeed a pleasant peninsula.

Goodbye little town with the funny name. ("Wait, you're from where?")

Goodbye lake.

Goodbye woods, goodbye trails I've memorized over the past 22 years and can now hike intuitively when I need to escape.

Goodbye brick house where I grew up, goodbye blue bedroom where I dreamed.

Goodbye extra large black cat and extra small orange cat (temporarily). We'll see you very soon, we promise.

Hello mountains.

Hello dry air.

Hello little apartment, hello my new permanent roommate.

Hello marriage. I think I'm going to like you a lot.

What Sarah Said

what sarah said // death cab for cutie

It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds

But I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all

But I’m thinking of what Sarah said 

that “Love is watching someone die”

According to Dr. Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, there are five stages of grief:

• Denial
• Anger
• Bargaining
• Depression
• Acceptance

I think, seven years after my dad's death, that I’ve reached the acceptance stage. And that terrifies me. What if I forget his voice, even though I have the last voicemails he ever left recorded safely on my hard drive? What if I forget how he smelled, even though I’ve selfishly hoarded his clothing and refused to wash it so that it still smells like iron and salt and lake water? What if I forget his face, or his hair, or his hands, even though I wear each of them as my own, every day? Every pockmark, every curl, every blunt tipped finger a perfect copy of his just made softer, smaller, more feminine.

In a few years when Naveen and I are ready to start a family, how will I ever be able to explain to my children what they have lost? How can I make them understand  this brilliant person they will never get to meet? Stories and pictures aren’t enough.

I accept it, I do, because I don’t have a choice in the matter. But seven years on my heart is still broken.

Adventures in Cat Ownership: Snakeface Edition

THIS FAT JERK. I love her, but…THIS FAT JERK.

So, back when Darcy was a kitten, she wasn’t actually mine for the first month after she was adopted (at 8 weeks old, for $5 on Craigslist, with another cat from her litter). A “friend” of mine had gotten her and then fallen off the sobriety bandwagon in a bad way, culminating in a bender where she locked Darcy, who was then three months old, in her very small bathroom for several days with no water, no litter box, and a tiny amount of food. Darcy almost died, and I had to break into her apartment to save her. If the sink/shower hadn’t had leaky taps I don’t think she would survived.

Seriously, she was tiny

Anyway, this "friend" was absolutely insane and on a LOT of drugs and initially named Darcy something else (I renamed her Darcy once I rescued her). Her first name was, and I swear I am not making this up, Peanut Butter Spider Cat.

Peanut Butter Spider Cat. Did I mention that this person was doing a LOT of drugs?

One of the reasons she got this name was because, as a tiny kitten who could fit in the palm of my hand, she would climb up the screen door of their porch, like Spider Man. My “friend” had to put her in a miniature kitten-sized harness so she could easily pluck Darcy off the screen whenever she scuttled up. She also treated Darcy terribly and locked her up a lot of the time, because even when she weighed about two lbs she damaged the screen a lot by doing this.

Fast forward 5 years, and Darcy is now 14 lbs of muscle-y, cuddly, spoiled, and happy indoor cat. Today I was in a lot of pain and took some medicine and passed out, but woke up briefly to hear my mom yelling at something. A few hours later, I woke up and came downstairs to discover this furry jerkface had attempted to climb the screen door to our deck. It doesn’t have holes in it, but it does look, well, assaulted.

Truly a majestic beast

Cat, you are 14 lbs of pure sass and tiny meows and laziness and snakeface, I love you, but you are simply too big for that to work. Please just stick to burrowing under my blankets or lazing around in your chair, okay?

I might have a slight Photoshop problem

Hallelujah

This is probably going to sound hyperbolic, but I really do think I had the best dad ever. I know everyone says that; every June there's an entire sector of retail dependent on the idea that people will buy their dad a mug, or a shirt, or a tablet cover, or whatever with "#1 Dad!" on it, but I really mean it. I had the best father in the world. My daddy was a quiet man, but when he did speak the things he said were hilarious, and intelligent, and so incredibly kind. He quietly and consistently did charity work not because he wanted the attention any of it brought- really only a handful of people even knew he was doing it most of the time- but because it made him happy to be able to give to others. He fostered in my sisters and myself a love of reading, knowledge, and politics that has served all of us well as adults. Daddy sparked my interest in Sherlock Holmes, the Hobbit, and pretty much anything science fiction when I was a small child, and he gave me my first computer when I was three. He brought me my first Harry Potter book and drove me to comic book and art supply stores on the weekends, and drove me to no less than three libraries a week to get my book fix. He recorded every aria I sang for the first 18 years of my life, and attended every performance I ever gave, putting each mp3 on his clunky first generation iPod. Daddy told me elaborate stories about all the birds on the lake (his favorite was the Great Blue Heron), taught me all the hiking trails in the Potowatami trail system, reeled in a Smallmouth Bass for me when my 9-year-old arm muscles were too weak, and took me back to his home in upstate New York to go kayaking in the summer. Daddy knew that I had a lot of health problems, and he didn't always understand them, but he would still let me curl up next to him when I was too sad to face the world and listen to reruns Car Talk on the radio. Every week he sat in the pews at church, beaming at mom as she sang in the choir loft (and then falling asleep during the sermon, snoring loudly). He spent a lot of time alone or with the dogs, boating or hiking, taking pictures of the woods or the lake, and he wrote a quarterly newspaper for our small Michigan town that heavily featured the wacky hijinks our pair of chocolate labs would get up to.

My dad on the day of my parent's wedding, age 22, 1973

Daddy and I, Amsterdam, 2004

Many of you reading this unfortunately never got to meet my dad, and for that I'm truly sorry. He was a rare soul. He lived an extraordinary, though far too short, life. I wish I could say that I wasn't bitter that everyone else got so much longer with him than me- I only got 18 years. I'm not sure how I'm going to get married in two and half months without him there to walk me down the aisle, and I'm not sure how I'll have children one day without him there to hold them. I know I'll figure it out, but in the mean time it hurts a lot. Tomorrow when I get ready for church I will put on the gold tennis bracelet he bought me when I was 16, pin the button with his picture that I made in college (before he died, actually) to the front of my dress, and pray that I can make it through Sacrament Meeting, Sunday School, and Relief Society without turing into a sobbing mess.

Daddy on the pontoon boat

Rest in peace, Larryboy.