Diversity

When I graduated from high school my mom gave me the coolest book of advice and notes from a huge list friends and family. One of the contributors who I respect and deeply admire wrote, "Seek out diversity and what you can learn from it." At the time I thought it just reinforced my already-planned approach: I would go down to Provo but not get caught up with all the BYU zoobies. Instead I would find the more interesting types. But inherent in my interpretation was actually a focus on finding similarity (those like me) and not on seeking out diversity (those very unlike me).

Recently I've had several encounters which finally caused the real meaning of that advice to click. Two of these were particularly memorable:

Blond Bow with Dog (BBWD)
BBWD was a passenger on my flight to Chicago who I first noticed while we were waiting for our flight to start boarding. She was blonde, very nicely dressed, in her late 30's or early 40's, had a red bow in her hair, and a small dog in one of those little carriers that can go under the seat of an airplane. My initial reaction to seeing her included a degree of scorn (due to the red bow on a middle-aged woman) and a degree of dread that I would end up sitting next to the poor dog being stuffed under the seat. Obviously not an "embrace diversity" reaction.

Our flight was delayed for about 3 hours and when we finally started to board, the flight attendants were rushing us all into our seats so we wouldn't miss our departure window. They were clearly feeling stressed and having to deal with a lot of unhappy passengers.  When I was settled in my seat, I saw BBWD stop the flight attendant walking by her row and present her with a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. She apologized that the doughnuts weren't warm anymore, she had picked up a fresh box on her way to the airport that morning as a gift for the flight crew but in the three-hour delay they had gotten cold.

I was shocked! Not only had this woman thought to bring doughnuts for the crew of an airplane, she kept the doughnuts with her for three hours (in addition to her dog and other carry-on bags), AND she was perfectly pleasant despite the frustrating delay. My scorn and dread of course became shame and admiration. Agreeableness in the face of stress or irritation, and thoughtfulness, especially directed at strangers, are not common character traits. This woman impressed me. While I can't say that her behavior had a pay-it-forward-type ripple effect, I certainly tried to be more pleasant and helpful to others that day, and I've been more conscious of my own agreeableness and thoughtfulness since. Now when I think of her - the bow and the dog are secondary. I remember her more as Thoughtful Agreeable Doughnut Giver.

Danny Bardeaux

I met Danny in the waiting room of a car audio shop. I expected to be there for about an hour and a half, and I had list of things I planned to get done while I waited. However, when I walked in, Danny was the only other person there, and he was watching a History Channel show called Pawn Stars. We each said hello, I started to work on my list, and he started making comments about the show. It seemed rude to just ignore him, so I laughed or nodded occasionally and somehow we got into a lengthy, unrelated conversation.

While we talked I learned that he is my age and from Cincinnati, though not quite the same
Cincinnati as my Montgomery-residing cousins. He was very clean-looking with casual but high-quality, down-to-earth clothes, which made an impression on me because it seemed like a stark contrast from his dirty blue-collar fingernails as well as his bloodshot eyes, semi-yellow teeth, and constant cursing. We talked about his background and career - he was a drug addict, now seven years clean and sober and working as a contract industrial pipe-fitter/technician (or some job that sounds like that). This means he travels all over, only staying in one place for a few weeks or months at the most. His aspirations include working this job until he accumulates enough money to buy some real estate; specifically, he wants a few rental properties or ideally a storage unit facility, which he said would allow him to have at least one steady income source that doesn't require his being present. In reference to owning the storage unit facility he thought it would be like, "Owning a money tree." He also aspires to settle down somewhere without winter cold but also without scorpions (the only things in life that terrify him). When he shook his head after I asked him whether he'd considered southern Utah, his one-word response to my questioning look was, "Mormons." (Side note: He apologized by saying, "No offense if you were one." Not sure what to think of his use of 'were' vs. 'are'...)

So that's Danny. Those facts paint a certain picture of a person who, despite my admiration for the way he has dealt with hard things, I would seek out or choose to befriend.

But he also told me about his uncles - a surgeon, an attorney, and a Bank of America executive in New York. He explained that he knew he had the intellectual capacity to be very successful (and I absolutely agreed by the end of our conversation) but had made poor life choices that he had to deal with. He told me that he'd grown up in a really traditional home, even going to church every Sunday, but in the last few years his parents declared bankruptcy, his Mom came out, and her girlfriend from the UK is coming to live with her. But she and his dad are still living together because he has three younger siblings (youngest age 9) and the parents are trying to make things as stable and easy as possible for them. He was leaving for Cincinnati the next day because he hadn't been home in a year and felt like his siblings needed a big brother around.

He explained his comment about Mormons by saying he couldn't understand a religion that wasn't even as old as the country where it started - a very surprising and interesting response. He told me about the epiphany that caused him to get his life in gear: When he was working with disabled adults he came across a 45 year-old woman who had disabilities but was very aware of them and wished she was capable of having a more "normal" life - specifically just one child, a job she earned and provided opportunities for progression, and a place of her own. After meeting her he realized, "It was EXPLETIVE selfish for me to waste my God-given abilities."


He talked a lot about other people and made insightful observations about how people think and interact. When we were discussing his career thoughts I told him he seemed to be pretty knowledgeable about psychology, and seemed to really enjoy his time working with the disabled, afterwhich he laughed and said, "I've spent a lot of time with therapists." As someone who has also spent a fair amount of time with therapists, I gave him my spiel about how great I think therapy is, how it's like having a personal trainer for your mental/emotional self, and how everyone ought to go in for a tune-up every once in awhile. He responded by saying, for him, the real value of therapy was increased self-awareness, which he thinks is so crucial and important. Suddenly I had one of those moments that occasionally occur in conversations (mostly with good friends) where the other person puts words to a nugget of thought/feeling I share, and just gets in a way no one else has.

Unfortunately, that last comment was where the mechanic came in and told me my car was ready. We shook hands, introduced ourselves by name, and I left. Not only was I surprised by Danny, and I certainly learned from and admired him, but I connected with him on something that I hadn't necessarily connected on with anyone else.

For me - and I think this is what the advice I received was getting at - similarity is safe, but it isn't stretching or stimulating. Diversity of experience, thought, age, character, etc. offers me opportunities for meaningful learning, self-improvement, entertainment, enrichment, empathy - all things that are worth "seeking out".

My Aunts

I have heard the phrase, "Friends are the family you choose" a lot - and as I understand it, this means something like: Thank goodness I can choose my own friends so I'm not stuck with these weirdos I happen to be related to. I thought that a lot more than I care to admit, until I grew out of my teenage years and became the fully enlightened, mature, and humbled adult I am today. Friends are great, but if hadn't been "stuck" with the family I have, I probably never would have chosen most of the best people I know. Specifically I'm talking about a few of my aunts.*

 Anna:

• When I was 8 years old Anna and my aunt Sarah (my mom's sister who is the same age) took me on my first sleepover adventure. They took me to Hires for a hamburger, so even if the evening had stopped right there, I would have felt like I'd died and gone to Heaven. But we also went bowling, where we all had fun bowling names (I think mine was something like Bacon Bowling Babe?), and then we went toilet-papering with all their friends. We were caught, but one of their boyfriends helped me hide in the grass so we didn't have to help clean up. That was the greatest night of my life to that point, and still the best sleepover I ever had. 
• Anna taught me to play Nerts well enough to beat mere mortals, even so I sometimes think I'm pretty good. But I'm not good enough to beat Anna, the aunt we lovingly refer to as the "Nerts Nazi." Despite the fact that she's really talented at Nerts, and almost everything else, she never feels the need to make other people feel bad. After a particularly painful loss in a family tournament she didn't feel the need to rub it in, but immediately acknowledged how close the game was and how well everyone did. 
• When I was in Elementary School people often told me that I looked like Anna, and I was always so proud to be associated with her. She probably one of the straightest-arrows I know, in the best way possible. She does the right things for the right reasons without making anyone else feel bad for doing things a different (usually less-right) way. 

Emmy:

• I visited her in Washington D.C. at age 9 and I still remember the roast beef dinner she made. 
• If you were in a room with Mother Theresa and Emmy, Emmy would be the first to express love and admiration. She has nothing but kind things to say and is always thrilled to see me. In fact, sometimes she seems so happy about the prospect of seeing me that I'm sure I can't live up to the hype. But she always makes me feel like I'm worth being excited about, regardless of how interesting and exciting I may actually be. Sometimes people who are really nice and positive can seem a little fake, but Emmy is always completely authentic. She's not just wearing rose-colored glasses or saying what people want to hear. She just focuses on the positive and doesn't seem to care about people's flaws, no matter how glaring they may be. 
• Emmy listens really well. She doesn't feel the need to jump into a conversation to get in her two-cents or share her own experiences. She listens intently to everyone, whether it's my six year-old cousin or my 91 year-old grandpa and engages with them in a way that makes them feel important. 

Katie:

• I've been to stay with Katie in Cincinnati two times and in both cases I have very vivid memories of the food she served. It wasn't that it was gourmet or fancy, but it was fresh and delicious and the way everyone gathered around to eat and enjoy made mealtimes so fun. 
• Katie is a consistently great conversationalist.  I remember going to a family gathering at my grandma's house one Sunday when I was in Elementary School and pulling up a chair to the grown-up table rather than going outside to play with my cousins, all so I could listen to the conversation because Katie was in town.  Since then I've enjoyed being part of so many conversations with Katie that lasted for hours, without having a clue of how much time is passing. In the long row of beach chairs at our annual family Newport trip, a spot to next to Katie is a coveted one because she doesn't just spew interesting conversation herself. She pulls interesting-ness out of everyone around her. Even the less-talkative ones in the group feel at ease and are drawn into conversation when Katie is around. 
• It's really common for conversations that revolve around people, and the most interesting conversations usually do, to turn into judgmental gossip sessions. However, Katie manages to talk about people's differences and difficulties in a way that is interesting but not judgmental. She is quick to compliment people on their strengths and clearly wants the best for everyone. 

Ruth:

• When I was young and my parents would go out of town periodically I always felt stressed and upset after a few days of being at home with a babysitter. My parents called Ruth several times to come rescue me for a few hours. She had her own kids at home and plenty of other responsibilities but she never made me feel like a burden and I was always completely thrilled just to be spending time with her and her family. During one of my parents' trips she even attended my 5th grade spelling bee. When I was eliminated on the word "sovereign" (still can't spell it without spellcheck), simply said, "Sovereign...what a stupid word," and turned what could have been an embarrassing incident into a really fond memory. 
• When I was 14 and in a terribly emotional argument with my dad about attending our Stake Youth Conference, I begged him to call Ruth because I just KNEW she would be on my side and understand why I shouldn't have to go. (I should note that my dad was pretty understanding of the fact that I was new to the Ward and hadn't been camping before and was really worried about having to live in the woods for three days with strangers.) My dad reached out to Ruth and she told both of us that she thought it was a good idea for me to go - and I felt totally betrayed. I sent her a dramatic email about how I was probably just going to run away and live in a park, since that couldn't be any worse than camping with strangers. Rather than rolling her eyes at my typical teenage behavior she apologized to me and sympathized with me and explained why she thought that doing hard things was important. I went to Youth Conference, and it was actually pretty awful, but I still appreciated the way Ruth treated me.
• Ruth and I go to dinner about once a month. I so look forward to those dinners because I know I can share anything with her and still come away feeling supported and loved. 

Due to the age differences and geographical spread, and the fact that I am generally just not on their level, I probably wouldn't have had a chance to make them my "chosen" family (friends), so I'm really grateful to be stuck with them. 

These women are the standard to which I aspire. Even at times where I lack self-respect or feel ashamed and unworthy of their gene pool, they have never even once made me feel less than loved and a part of their "in" crowd. They're fun and interesting, and I'm always better for having spent time with them. 


*If this post seems a little braggy and makes you jealous, that's because it is and if you don't have aunts like this you should be jealous.

David

Well...I miss David. Part of the issue could be that I've been bedridden all day with what I'm sure is the Black Plague, or at the very least severe and  deadly pneumonia. Being sickly and in bed could add to the depression I'm experiencing from last night's traumatic farewell, but David is the kind of guy who really leaves a hole when he's gone. 

David is, of course, not perfect in every way, but he's perfect in just about every way that matters. He's nice, and just plain caring. He always looks out for the underdog. 

He's smart, though in our family he maybe doesn't get as much credit for that as he deserves. He's fully, 100% committed to the gospel, not because he's supposed to be but because he truly believes at his core. Peer pressure doesn't affect him because he's confident in what he believes and who he is. He's sweet, and even though he is capable of losing his temper (only West child to ever be suspended from school), the guilt he feels afterwards makes it impossible to be upset with him. He's the best sibling in our family and has a positive, personal relationship with all five of the rest of us, and my parents. 

On that note, a more personal note, David has always made a real effort with me. I am single and live alone - I like my independence but sometimes I need help and David has always been there. He brought me a drill at 11:00pm when I was having serious issues replacing the lock on my front door. He came back the next night (20 minute drive one way) to help me lift a heavy package into my house. He accompanied me various places when I couldn't make myself go alone. Don't get me wrong, I bought him a lot of dinners to thank him. 

Something I can never really thank him for is how he always made me feel welcome within our family. My family is great, across the board, but sometimes I haven't been the most liked member, largely due to my own grumpiness or impatience. David never lets me get in the way of being part of the family, no matter how much I might resist. 

I could go on, believe it or not, but the bottom line is that David is just a guy you just want to have around. That's why not having him around for two years is really, really hard. For now I'll share him with the people he'll meet over the next two years because other people probably deserve to get to know him too. 

Last Valentine's Day

It's been approximately one year since my mom told me she had cancer. It was Valentine's Day and my mom had asked if I could meet her for lunch. Work was busy that day, so I couldn't. She then asked if I could go to dinner instead. I knew something was up then, my mom wouldn't be asking to go to dinner on a school night for four of my siblings when my dad was out of town.

Needless to say, finding a place for dinner last minute on valentine's day was not easy. The pickings were slim. We ended up just going to a place called the Gecko, I think. We walked in and found the clientele to be similar to Chuck-o-Rama before 5:30....lots of sweatpants and denchers.

I have no idea how the food was that night, it would take a lot for food to be memorable when you hear your mom say "I've got cancer, and oh by the way there's this brain tumor and spine issue".

A year later, I'm not sure my mom would consider the whole experience a blessing, and I probably wouldn't go that far either. But looking back, it was probably appropriate that I found out on Valentine's Day because the experience, for me, was a giant lesson in love. I am not a person who cries, except in cases of injury or rivalry game losses, but I was moved to tears several times because of the unbelievable outpouring of love we received from everyone imaginable. It was nothing short of incredible.

My Dad

As of yesterday, my dad is officially not the CEO for Control4 anymore. And while he's just moving to new role with the company, this was a bit of a milestone. I usually find him an easy target for criticism or jokes, everything from his lack of hair down to his Tevas-with-socks fashion choices, but this feels like a good opportunity to reflect on why I'm proud of my dad.

Until I was probably sixteen I didn't realize that most people considered 'work' a 9-to-5 deal. I always saw how hard he worked - he was working when I left for school in the morning, he was at work when I got home, sometimes we'd see him for dinner, and then he'd be working when I went to bed. And that's when he wasn't traveling. What I didn't really get to see, until I started working at the company three years ago, was what all that work produced. I am so proud of what he's been able to accomplish in his career, especially at Control4. The late nights, early mornings, and hours of travel aren't easy but I think the results speak for themselves.

In a busy work environment, it can be easy to lose sight of the human element. I've seen and heard plenty of examples...using an employee's lack of performance, an elevated title, or potential financial gain as an excuse to mistreat or disrespect people.  One of the things about my Dad that I am the most proud of is that he simply doesn't think that way. He has been successful without ignoring or forgetting the well-being of people around him. He is a successful businessman, but he is an honest, caring and good person first.

His commitment to his work has at some points caused him to miss out on family time, something that I used to remind him of constantly. Being the manipulative teenager I was, I would often remind him that he had missed something like six of my birthdays, especially when I thought I could get a laugh or use guilt to help me get something from him (never actually worked). But, when I was a Freshman in college, my dad was invited to speak to the Entrepeneurship club at my school.
I went to watch and to my surprise, he spent quite a bit of time talking about the impact his work had had on his family time. In fact, he even got choked up as he told everyone how he had missed six of my birthdays. Needless to say, I haven't brought up the birthday issue since. Despite the amount of time he's spent working over the years, none of my siblings, or my mom, or I have any doubt as to how important we are to him.


 I love my dad. He's passionate about Control4 and making it successful, he's put a lot of blood, sweat and tears into getting it to where it is and I'm so proud of him for that. He's a great example, a great human being, and a great dad.

Perspective

Last week I was talking to my sister, well actually attempting to ask her to pickup her toys. She was not responding well and I made the comment that she needed to go to bed earlier because she was being grumpy. Her reply completely caught me off guard. She glared at me for a second and stomped up the stairs as she said: "It's not because of when I go to sleep, it's because I don't have a good life!"

At first it just made me laugh and I couldn't believe I was related to such a drama queen. Then I realized just how off her perspective was. Now, I am wondering about mine.

She demeaned her entire existence all because she was required to pickup a few toys. I like to think of myself as pretty undramatic, completely above such overstatements. However I have started to wonder about the little things that upset me or get me off-track, and how silly they'll seem in twenty years. I have to believe that my hundred-page reading assignment will be no more significant than picking up a few toys.

While I may not usually be as blunt as Lucy and go so far as to say that I don't have a good life, I think my behavior and thought process may communicate a similar message. I like to think that this is a problem that lessens with age, so that my perspective is at least a little more accurate than Lucy's. But I have a feeling that my twenty-one year-old issues are no less ridiculous than her five year-old issues.

April 9th, 2005 - A Defining Moment

An event doesn’t become a defining moment as a result of its gravity or scale, but rather through the change in direction it elicits. The approach of my younger sister's 5th birthday made me reflect on one of those defining moments....

During dinner one night in the Fall of my sophomore year, my parents gave me the most horrific news I had ever received. My mother was pregnant. Again. I am not typically an emotional person, but after a few minutes, I couldn’t restrain myself. A sort of shocked disbelieving laughter quickly turned into quiet sobbing, and then bawling so uncontrollable I had to leave the table and sprint up to my room. I already had four younger brothers, and I didn’t need or want any more siblings. Two years earlier my mom had had a baby, and with the emotional highs and lows that come with pregnancy coupled with the stress of taking care of four other kids, I just tried to stay out of my mom’s way for a year. I wasn’t really prepared for another year of exile in my room.
 
Once I finished venting about how the baby was “ruining my life before it was even born,” I was able to calm down and the dark cloud of doom seemed to pass from over my head, although doom clouds typically don’t stray far from teenagers. Then came the ultrasound; that highly anticipated image which appears to be a big blob of black and gray shadows but somehow reveals whether the child will be donning rosy pink or baby blue upon its arrival. It turned out pink was the color that would be invading our house for the next few years.

Having had four brothers and not one sister, this news was supposed to thrill me. However, the doom cloud came roaring back and I lost control. I went on a rampage with a green highlighter and left my mark everywhere. The florescent green words “Stupid Baby” appeared all over everything on our refrigerator, including and especially the ultrasound pictures.  I was swiftly and heavily reprimanded but my feelings remained unchanged. I had always been the only girl, the favorite daughter and sister, carving out my own place among a frenzy of brothers. Now there would be a new girl, sure to be everyone’s favorite if for no other reason than her age. She could be everything I was not. She could be the perfect girly girl and love getting her hair done. She could be the loving “huggy” type and be a star in some athletic endeavor, or even worse, she could be into dancing. My new "sister", I could barely choke out the word, could be my replacement.

The pregnancy months dragged on and finally in April, the “blessed” day arrived. The morning I was set to take the ACT, I got a phone call at 6:45am from my dad saying I had a healthy baby sister. All through the test I kept thinking, “Baby messing up my life phase two… post-pregnancy.” I finally got up to the hospital around two o’clock and was able to hold the baby that had been the object of all my resentment. Something I discovered at that moment: it’s absolutely impossible to be upset at a newborn baby. By no means did I have an epiphany moment where all my feelings of anger left me, but I slowly began to change my tune about the new addition to the family.

Having a sister sixteen years my junior has not been a cakewalk. Whenever I used to fill out forms that asked what language was spoken most in my home I looked for the box that said “Baby Talk”, but for some reason it was never an option. Whenever I tell people about my family and I mention George and Lucy (my youngest brother and sister) at the end, I always get questions like, “Oh, do your grandparents live with you?” and after I reply no but before I can explain they ask, “Oh do you have dogs or something?” Once again I must reply “no” and proceed to explain. I’ve changed enough diapers to fill an entire dumpster. My world has been flooded with more shades of pink than I knew existed.

Despite these and other drawbacks however, it has been nice to arrive home from school and have little person run up to meet me. It has been nice to have an ever-present source of entertainment to turn to between the long hours of school, work, and schoolwork. I learned first-hand the benefits of laughing rather than crying over spilled milk.

Nothing ever turns out the way you think it will; life’s full of surprises and change is inevitable. All the old adages are true. I just wish I would have realized it earlier. I learned a valuable lesson in the importance of rolling with the punches. Sometimes what appear to be punches turn out to be simple pushes in the right direction.   

A Little Italiano...

So normally this blog is all about me. That's what I know, that's what I like, and that's the way it is. However, recent amusing occurrences in the life of my brother, and his surprisingly decent written communication skills, made me decide to include an update of his life here. Some of you know William, Anziano West as he is currently known, some of you may not but I think you will all find this updated entertaining.

To catch you up, William is an LDS missionary in Italy. He spent three months in the Provo Missionary Training Center and has now been in Italy for almost four months. This first snippet is from his stay in the MTC and highlights some of the difficulties in trying to learn a new language in three months:

Over the course of the week we've also had a few other funny mistakes. In practicing food vocab i tried asking for a "head of lettice" which is Testa di Lattuga in Italian. However, i said "tetta di lattuga" which, it turns out means a nipple of lettice. Can you imagine the look on my teachers face? It was a good 5 minutes before we could continue. it was very funny. We also found out that we had been teaching all week in our practice lessons that Jesus Christ was "deep fried" for our sins. The word for suffered is Sofferto. We used Sofritto. I'm just glad that i didn't make that mistake in sacrament meeting in Milan. Oh man...

This next bit is from a church experience he had in early December:

I failed to plink out the first few notes on the piano for the opening hymn, then president announced that one of the sisters would be giving a talk (having completely forgotten to inform her earlier). She then gave a quick testimony on how she had seen that the downtown Ancona Nativity scene was missing the baby Jesus, and how she had born testimony to a beggar right there about how we don't need to steal Jesus to have him in our lives, but how we can have him in our lives through following the word of wisdom. My companion was translating for her (she is nigerian and speaks english) and he was dying - trying not to laugh and figure out how to translate "stealing Jesus" at the same time. Very funny.

For those of you who get William's emails, you wouldn't have heard this next one. He wrote this one in a letter to me, and asked that I not tell our mother so if any of you talk to her, DON'T tell her this story:

So we were doing house to house tracting in some student housing. We got in at one apartment with two Albanian students (one named Blendi, he told us he was named after the English word 'blend', the other was pretty much all consonants, Zlithr or something that will never be pronounced right by an English speaker). So these two guys seemed super tired - moving slowly, talking slowly - they just seemed exhausted. We just assumed it was because they'd had a long week at school. So we started teaching the lesson, and pretty soon we started getting tired too. I couldn't pay attention to what my companion was saying, and from the way he kept pausing and looking around the apartment, neither could he. At first I assumed it was because we had also had a long week, or because the TV was on. Then I noticed a jar on the table full of what looked like sugar. There were also lighters and a spoon that had clearly been used to melt the 'sugar'. We had walked in on these guys doing drugs! Needless to say we got out of there as soon as we could. We definitel got a piece of whatever that was - our brains were way fuzzy and we just had to give up halfway through the next lesson and leave because we couldn't think. Who would have thought the word of wisdom would be so hard to live as a missionary.

And the last story, maybe the best, comes from his letter this last week:

Monday morning, we had gotten up early to catch the 6:30 train to get to interviews. We had just gotten on the train and i had just opened the Book of Mormon to start off the 3 hour journey when the man across the isle started gasping for air. He was at lest mid 70's, and minutes before had seemed fine - complaining a bit because of the cold train car. But now he was fighting to breathe and his wife (also in her 70?s) was starting to panick. We came over to see if there was anything we could do, and i'm not going to lie, i was freaked out. I knew that somewhere in my mind was all sorts of stuff about what to do in all sorts of different situations like this. However i was well aware that it had been 6 years since i had really been trained as a lifeguard, and 3 since i had practiced CPR. I didn't remember a thing! But the guy was getting worse. His breathing slowed and then stopped and he started turning a really nasty green. And nobody was doing anything. So i had people help me lift him onto the floor (my italian completely failed me, and with a mix of hand motions and my companion's translations we got him situated on the floor). I was still in denial at this point. I couldn't give CPR. I was not qualified. I didn't remember anything at all. I would probably just cause more problems. with all that going through my head i grabbed his wrist and tried to find a pulse. There was nothing there. Suddenly this was all very real. This man was dead if i didn't do something right now. So the next thing i knew... i was giving CPR. Its fascinating how when in doubt you just flip back to the super basics. all i remembered was the stuff i learned from the first time i learned it - 1 breath, 15 compressions... i realized that i was doing it that way, i didn't plan to do it that way, it just happened. Then after a few repititions, a girl on the other side told me to just to 5 compressions - i, being freaked out and well aware that my skills were quite rusty, just assumed that she knew better and told her to do the compressions while i did breaths (nope, she didn't know what to do, but it hey, cpr was happening so i just kept breathing). So between the two of us we gave CPR until someone else took over after a few minutes. It was terrifying. After the other guy took over (he certainly was no pro, but still cpr was happening which was about as much as we could ask for) i just tried to comfort the poor wife, who had been standing behind us the whole time watching (can you imagine?) I just tried to calm her down, had her sit, tried to comfort her (i didn't do much. the language part of my brain had long since shut off.) So the results: During the ameteur CPR the man started breathing twice, but since his heart didn't start back up it didn't last long. The train stopped at the next stop (miraculously this station was right by the huge regional hospital) and the ambulence arrived and we were told to wait outside the train. For about 15-20 really freaky minutes we sat and waited and prayed that everything would work out. It didn't look good. we saw a defibrilator (the classic electric shock heart starter) go in, we watched the paramedics jog back and forth from the ambulence. I felt terrible for my sorry excuse for CPR, thinking how i could have acted faster and bolder, etc... Finally they carried him out of the train, and in a wonderful moment we watched them pumping the breather bag (that means he isn't dead), and then watched him moving around. And in that final rush of emotion and adrenaline, finally knowing that this guy was alive, my companioned turned to me and said, "ok, now i'm going to say it. That is the only lip service you are going to get for the next two years!" What would i do without such a great companion? In that moment i could finally relax, laugh, and stop worrying about my performance. 5 minutes later we were back on the train (we got to ride first class because the paramedics left all sorts of stuff in the other train car) and the day just wen't on as if nothing had happened. We even got to talk to a few peolpe about the gospel because of it. And who knows, maybe they will remember the terrified missionary on the train the next time the missionaries knock at the door.

So there you go, some experiences from my Italian missionary brother. I know everyone says missions are really hard but it sounds like he's living the life! All of his letters are entertaining, he gets fed a TON of amazing Italian food (he's already gained 11 pounds), and he's living in Italy! What more could you want?

Giving Thanks at Thanksgiving

As the most thankful of Thursdays approaches, I need to write the obligatory ‘What-I’m-Grateful-For’ post. I, like most people, have many things to be grateful for. I am hesitant to list them for fear of appearing unthankful for all the things I forget. I could say I am grateful on this day for Utah football, and believe me I am. I could say I am grateful for the opportunity to go to Cancun with my family (more on this in the coming days), and I am. I could say I am grateful for my family and friends, and I am. But today I am going to talk about how grateful I am for my roommates.

I am sitting on a plane on my way to Cancun and I keep thinking of everything I'm missing in Provo, and am kind of bummed I won’t see Ainsley, Becky, Brandi, Sally, or Whitney for a week. Lest you think I am a pathetic zoobie who’d rather be in Provo than Cancun, let me explain a little bit about each of them and maybe you’ll understand.

Ainsley is the mother of the apartment. She cooks for us regularly, and at least in my case, is always making sure homework gets done. Every Monday and Wednesday I come home to an empty apartment as everyone else is either in class or at work, but without fail the silence is broken by the sound of the dishwasher going. Why? Because Ainsley is the first one to get back from class and she ALWAYS does the dishes before heading off to work. She is tentatively majoring in Accounting but she does not have the hideously boring personality that typically accompanies Accountants. She’s just good with numbers, she has a gift and might as well take advantage of it before she pursues her real dream of going to Culinary School. She is Mary Poppins-like in that she is practically perfect in every way. It's a little annoying sometimes, having a perfect friend, but it's who she is and we've accepted it. I go to Ainsley when I need someone to roll their eyes at me and tell me to get back to work.

Becky is the decorator of our apartment. I have to admit that I was not that excited about going to live in Provo until I walked into our place for the first time. Becky made it feel like a home and I actually couldn’t wait to move in. One of the most endearing things about Becky is her laugh. It’s sort of difficult to describe, she laughs with her whole body, almost uncontrollably, and it’s almost impossible not to laugh once Becky gets going. I also enjoy the fact that she will laugh at almost anything and so she makes me feel like a top-of-the-line comedian…it’s good for my ego. Becky also provides us with a surprise in our living room on occasion, his name is Hunter. It’s happened several times that we’ve come out to find the two of them asleep on the couch, exactly where they were the night before. He’s a nice guy though, so we don’t mind too much. Besides, it’s kind of exciting waking up not knowing who may be sleeping on your couch…like living in some sort of youth hostile. I go to Becky when I want to rant and rave about Grey’s Anatomy. We share a passion for all things Grey’s.

Brandi is the athlete of the apartment. She is on the BYU lacrosse team and loves almost all athletic activities. She was very patient and taught me how to throw and catch with a lacrosse stick, she played with me for almost three hours. By the end I could actually catch and throw, but she had to put up with a lot of waiting around while I chased the ball and I think I even gave her a bruise due to my inability to aim. Brandi has boys galore but she doesn’t get carried away by the whole thing. She sees no conflict in having different boys for different geographic regions, in fact I think she prefers it that way. It’s less complicated. Brandi goes to bed early, by eleven every night, a fact which amazes us all. She is very insistent on getting her sleep, and for some reason doesn’t think sleeping until noon on the days she doesn’t have class is the right way to go. This I do not understand. I go to Brandi when I want some down-to-earth and practical perspective. She is always cool-headed and doesn’t get carried away with the ups and downs of every day life.

Sally is the one roommate we didn’t go to high school with, and we were a little worried about who we’d get stuck with. However, we all feel like we lucked out. She’s hard to describe, she’s got a lot of uh, spunk and is not afraid to say what she thinks. This is also good for my ego I think, although in a less pleasant and more humbling way. She is up until the early morning hours doing one of two things…studying or partying, hard. Sally is a Nutrition major and thus is in lots of science-type classes that would make me want to kill myself. She has a friend, Kristina who comes around fairly frequently, another one who may be sleeping on our couch when we wake up. Sally likes to share, she shares my bed, my lamp, my food, my pens, whatever she needs. It’s a little unnerving when I walk into my room and find her already occupying it but I guess it’s good, she’s helping me learn to share. I go to Sally when I need to pick a fight. She always wins when we argue, that’s probably because she’s louder than I am and all the other roommates think it’s funny to jump in on her side. I also go to Sally when I need a good laugh, she’s always good for a witty comment or at the very least a well-placed swear word.

Whitney is the social coordinator of the apartment. I don’t think there is one new person I’ve met that hasn’t been a result of her bringing them to the apartment. I guess that makes me kind of a recluse who won’t go out and proactively meet people, which makes me even more grateful for Whitney. She is also very studious, but has a bit of hard time choosing studying over sociality. She’s been given the nickname ‘Distracted’ due to her inability to concentrate on homework when people are having fun somewhere. I cannot count the number of times we’ve been sitting in the living room just talking when we’ll hear the disembodied voice of Whitney jumping into the conversation from down the hall where she is supposedly studying. She always manages to get her work done though, in fact she is one of the hardest workers I know. I’m pretty sure she never slept over the summer as she was insanely busy working two jobs and picking up overtime shifts in the middle of the night. I go to Whitney when I need a break from studying or sleeping and just need someone to talk to about whatever because she is a good listener and easy to distract from whatever she happens to be working on.

These are the people that I go home to, and I am thankful that I have the privilege of living with every one of them.

Pink Princess Mania!

Yesterday was Lucy's (my three year-old sister) third birthday celebration. Her actual birthday was Wednesday but due to family scheduling conflicts, and the fact that she has no idea when her birthday is, we postponed the celebration until Saturday.

Whether it's all the practice she's gotten from watching the rest of her siblings' birthdays or just an inherent proclivity for being in the spotlight, she was a master of present opening efficiency and graciousness. She'd receive a present with an appropriate wide-eyed grin, exercise enough restraint to pause and pose for a photo, then proceed to tear the wrapping paper in an methodical yet eager manner. She reserved a special exclamation of glee for any item that was branded with Cinderella's face. If you're ever walking through Walmart or Target past the little girls section, and if you are at all like me and think 'Who on earth buys those neon-pink sparkly items? Who would ever turn their child into a walking Disney advertisement?' The answer? Well my sister now only owns half of those items and I don't know who takes care of the rest. She has pink princess sheets, a pink princess towel, two princess barbies complete with a spinning musical horse-drawn carriage, a pink princess lunchbox, two new room additions for her pink dollhouse (a laundry room and a bathroom....up till now the poor dolls have been roughing it and using the great outdoors when nature calls), the Sleeping Beauty DVD, a pink Leapster (a game boy of sorts for little kids with all sorts of learning-oriented games...hers are the princess variety), a pink backpack, and, last but not least, four princess figurines from her princess cake.

After present-opening was complete she did not complain or moan about wanting more but rather climbed up on her chair resolutely and ate dinner with all seven of us. In keeping with the birthday tradition Lucy got to select her favorite breakfast and dinner...she requested princess cake for both. After several difficult conversations about the subject she finally selected Macaroni and Cheese, but not just any Mac and Cheese, the kind from the box! So my mom cooked up four or five boxes and we all ate it together. Lucy seemed to enjoy it but when the cake was brought over she lost all interest in dinner. After my mom had placed the candles, Lucy's emotions got the best of her and she yelled, "Now put some fire on it!" After blowing out the 'fire' on the candles she requested the piece with Cinderella figure on top. Much to my dismay, my five year-old brother George requested the piece with Sleeping Beauty on it. In addition, he wanted the big rose next to where the Sleeping Beauty figurine stood! Thinking he was just excited about having a toy on his cake I didn't worry to much about it.

Later, after my parents had left and George and Lucy had watched Lucy's new movie, they wanted to play with the new Barbies and the carriage. Twenty-five minutes later I had finally loosed all the pieces from their wire and cardboard containers. In the process one of the Barbies lost a chunk of hair and I sustained three paper cuts and one scissor-puncture wound. There were several incidents where Lucy was on the verge of tears because one of the the Barbie slippers had gone missing. Thankfully all were recovered in a timely fashion. George took one of the Barbies but explained to Lucy and I that it was ok for boys to play with girl toys. I agreed with him...until I heard the awful sounds that were coming out of his mouth. He had thrown his voice up at least two octaves and Lucy, following his lead, had done the same. I watched for a minute as they paraded the Barbies around their carriage but I couldn't take the shrieking. I asked George why he was changing his voice and he said, "That's how girls talk!" I couldn't argue with the fact that girls have higher voices than boys but the thought of him thinking he needed to change his voice because of it's masculinity was a bit much...the kid sounds like Elmo. He started getting pretty into his Barbie and I was getting a little worried but didn't know what to do. On the one hand I didn't want to promote unfair gender roles but I also didn't want him to be such a....girl!

Luckily bed-time saved me from having to interfere. We went upstairs to their room where I was instructed to put Lucy's new princess sheets on her bed. As I was struggling to do this around the gates on either side of her bed (they keep her from falling off at night), I heard her yell my name in distress and I turned to see her squatting by her closet making a large wet spot on the carpet. I grabbed her and ran her into the bathroom but by then the toilet was of no use and I just had to stick her in the tub to clean her off. In the midst of running between cleaning up the spot in her room and checking on her in the bath, George needed my help getting his shirt off and over his abnormally large head. Finally I got both kids tucked safely in bed. However Lucy's omnipresent and most-cherished color pink had spread to my face - whether from pink-princess exposure or exhaustion I don't know.