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23.2.13

Nostalgitis: A Fun Sickness to Have

I've been feeling quite nostalgic this Reading Week.  Maybe it's because I got to see an old friend last night before he took off to hang out with my little sisters.  Or maybe it's because I pulled out all of my old journals and have been looking through them.  Either way, it's been fun.

What is neat about this little bout of nostalgia is that it is completely side-effect free.  In the past, whenever I would get all sentimental about the way things were it was usually accompanied with a severe and acute unhappiness and an overwhelming desire to go back.

But not this time.  I'm happy.  I love where life has taken me.  And it is enjoyable to read and reminisce about the way things were and how far I've come.

I can't help but share a piece of the nostalgic journey I've been on during the past few days.  Enjoy.

Entry 1:

Age: unknown (there is no date)

Comments:  I can still remember this.  This was real devastating stuff.  I thought the world was over.

Probably written around the time I was dressing like Sailor Moon.


Entry 2:

Age: 13

Comments:  I believe I was trying to be a "Jedi" when this happened. 

I thought I was pretty B.A.


Entry 3:

Age: 16

Comments:  Another huge deal.  I didn't get to see the freaking boy I had a crush on because of this!!!

Beginning to ... "blossom"


Entry 4:

Age: 17

Comments:  I legit LOL'ed when I found this in my journal.  Thank goodness I write things down.

Okay, psyche.  Maybe I'm not starting to ... "blossom"


Entry 5:

Age: 18

Comments: By this time I was living in Edmonton.  And talking to strangers scared the living day lights out of me.
In case you do not know (because I obviously didn't when I wrote this) the "Reimans Center" is actually the "REMAND CENTER," which is a jail in Edmonton.  This means I gave the Book of Mormon to an ex-convict and had no idea.  I laughed pretty good at this one too.

Such a young and innocent thing.


Entry 6:

Age: 19

Comments:  After finishing the first year of post-secondary, us town kids brought some new found city friends down to see our home.  We thought it would be fun to walk through half constructed houses in the middle of the night.  I'm pretty sure they haven't been the same since.
Back from the city for the summer!  We are super cool.


Entry 7:

Age: Still 19

Comments:  I went to Peru!  This is probably one of my most favourite memories.  Eliud was a young man who our travel guide for a few days.  He was in the process of studying to become a priest for his church.
Pickles!  I don't have a picture of Eliud.  But this is the van we all rode in with him!


Entry 8:

Age: 20

Comments:  Opa is german for Grandpa.  That's what I call my Grandpa Wendorff.  I love him so much.
Taken around the time he passed away, my Opa loved studying war and history.


Entry 9:

Age: Still 20.

Comments:  Haha, talk about confidence.  I don't remember ever feeling as empowered as I must have felt when I wrote this!  But the funny thing is, I think it's totally true and more girls need to think this way.
Taken around the time I was "empowered."  It's nice to have a roommate who's a photographer.


Entry 10:

Age: 21

Comments:  This one broke my heart a little.  Remembering this about my younger self made me just want to go back in time and give her a hug.  Or really just any girl who feels this way.


Oh what this girl would have given back then to be "skinny" and "beautiful."


Entry 11:

Age:  Still 21

Comments: After reading this one, I think I was actually the weird one.


Yup.  I was definitely the weird one.  Poor guy.

After looking through all these fun journals all day, I feel exactly the same way I did last night when my really good old friend from my younger days pranced off with my sisters.  Content.  I have no regrets about my single younger days, and by no means do I regret leaving them behind to start an adventure with Jon.  I'm so glad I kept these journals so I can look back on each of these memories.  I hope you enjoyed them as much as I did.

The Definition of Hard Work

If there is one thing I can say about my childhood, it's that my parents taught me how to work.

I'll always remember the time I sneakily swept all the dirt on the bathroom floor behind the door because I knew my mom would never look there.  Unfortunately, she looked there.  And then I had to sweep the floor all over again anyways.  I don't know how she did it, but my mom could always find what I skipped or missed in my cleaning and would make me go back and fix it.

Then there were the evenings and afternoons spent helping my dad set up the irrigation pipes for our small pasture by hand.  And mornings and evenings spent feeding my 4H calf.  And don't forget the weekends spent cramming to get that dang calf halter broken for the show and sale.

There was also the garden to weed, trees to water, fences to paint, and garages to sweep.  I guess what I'm trying to say is that I was no stranger to work.  In fact, I enjoyed hard work.  I revelled in it.  I was raised to be good friends with it.

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But then I got married.  And suddenly I felt as incompetent as someone who has never worked a day in their life.

While growing up, I heard the phrase, "Marriage is hard work," probably a million times.  However, this only made me feel more qualified for the job.  I knew what hard work was!  In fact, I had mastered it!  I had spent entire days weed whipping at the Raymond Golf Course until both my arms were completely numb!  I had watered over 100 trees by hand, carrying a five gallon bucket to each of them from the pump!  Marriage was obviously going to be a cake walk for me.

Unfortunately, the work I knew and loved was easy and immediately rewarding.  Sure, I sweat a little and my hands maybe got dirty and sometimes I felt completely worn out afterwards.  I knew what needed to be done and the work ended when that was completed.  As for marriage, "hard work" was an understatement.  My kind of hard work and the hard work required in marriage was like comparing tadpoles to whales.  Let me explain why.

I'm convinced that getting married is the best way for a person to discover what their very own weaknesses and shortcomings are.  Because whether you want it to or not, marriage will bring both of these to your attention and the hard work begins with how you choose to handle it.  In my case, physical labour, cleaning, organizing, and the types of chores I associated with work were all easy.  You could even call them fun.  On the other hand, things that might be easy for some people were incredibly hard for me.  For example, thoroughly communicating with Jon about what was troubling me was nearly impossible, let alone hard work.  And having to live in the city during the summer instead of retreating to my home in the country was devastating, to say hard work is an understatement.  Who the heck would have thought that simply talking about my problems and living in a city could be some of the hardest work I've ever faced in my entire life?!

Perhaps everyone already knows this and I was the only person left in the dark about what is actually meant when marriage is called "hard work."  I don't know.  Either way, the best way to determine the kind of work you're going to face when you tie the knot is to figure out what you struggle with personally.  If you struggle with patience, marriage is going to push you in ways you never even knew were possible.  If you have a hard time budgeting money, marriage is going to be a major wake-up call.  The "hard work" faced in marriage is not a universal norm that everyone encounters.  It is as unique as yourself and as original as your marriage.


Although all of this was a painful realization, I can now honestly say that the hard work I've encountered in marriage has been by far the most beneficial.  Sure, the physical labour and cleaning I did while growing up helped me cultivate traits of self-discipline and a love for cleanliness, but those benefits don't even come close to the joy I've felt from overcoming the obstacles marriage has presented.  I've been able to learn more about my weaknesses and have also consequently been able to push through them and stretch myself as an individual.

Marriage truly is better than hard work.
18.2.13

A Little In"sight"

I've had some nifty encounters over the past two days and it feels as if I'm supposed to blog about it.  I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to say, or what I'm supposed to learn from these experiences, but I know something needs to be written down at the very least.


The first encounter happened on Thursday.  I'm in a class called "Intro to Writing Fiction."  The entire semester is to be spent writing a short piece of fiction which is then workshopped and critiqued by the rest of the class a couple of times.  On Thursday we critiqued a piece written by a girl named Mackenzie.  Her story was about a girl reminiscing while going through an old photo album.  As the story went on, it became clear that the girl was actually reading braille titles of each of the pictures and then remembering the scene and experience with her mind's eye.  She had been able to see while these past experiences occurred, but had gradually lost her sight until going completely blind.  

When it was my turn to critique the piece, I told Mackenzie that the main character needed to be a little more believable.  I couldn't imagine someone going gradually blind without having at least a moment or so of being mad or unhappy.  I suggested adding a picture with an experience the main character could look back on and remember how sad she was.  She nodded her head while looking at me and then jotted some notes quickly into her scribbler.

After the entire class and the prof had shared their suggestions, the prof couldn't help but ask why she chose to write about that.  Her reply stunned the class.

"This is actually going to be me in a few years."

She then went on to describe how at age 12 she was diagnosed with a degenerative eye disease by her optometrist.  He had told her that by age 20 she would be completely blind.  She said it didn't really phase her and remembers being annoyed with how emotional her mom acted during the weeks following this diagnosis.  

As we all sat there in stunned silence she continued by saying it wasn't until her 18th birthday that she realized that her impending blindness was a reality.  She reassured the class that she could see us, however, she literally had photo album at home where she had already placed braille titles since she could no longer see the pictures.

After hearing how calmly she shared this devastating story with the class, I was overwhelmed with her positivity and strength.  I felt so sheepish for the critique I just gave her on a story that was actually literally coming to pass.  I had just told her that the main character wasn't believable while there the actual main character was sitting with the same positivity and strength I couldn't believe!  I couldn't help but wonder if I would be able to handle the trial of a degenerative eye disease with the same grace and good attitude as this stranger in my class.


The next encounter happened the day after, on the Friday.  I picked up a co-workers shift and was lifeguarding a university kayaking class.  I had heard my co-workers talk about a certain girl named Megan in this class a few times before and now I actually had the chance to meet her.  Megan was the last person in her class to shuffle out of the change rooms when someone pointed her out and asked me to lead her to her kayak.  I knew Megan was blind, but after the experience the day before, I didn't want to jump to conclusions, as she could very well have some vision still left like Mackenzie.  It was neat to see her dexterity and independence while getting into her kayak and then completing her practical exam.  She had to have had some sight still left.

Before going home after work, I decided to take a few minutes to mess around on my phone.  As I was doing this, I heard the sweeping and shuffling noise of a cane and looked up to see Megan walking past me.  As she walked towards the exit, I couldn't help but watch.  After about a minute of being a creep, Megan bumped into a pillar that her cane failed to point out, so I decided it was time I spoke up to see if I could help her.

"Hey, it's Megan right?"

After getting her attention I introduced myself to her as one of the lifeguards that just worked during her class.  She shuffled towards me and sat down on the same bench as myself.  And we had the most amazing conversation.

I found out Megan was enrolled in the Ecotourism program, which meant she was required to take a huge variety of courses, such as rock climbing, canoeing, and a weekend wilderness survival class.  As we continued to talk, I found out she loved camping and hiking and had done some competitive downhill skiing.

Finally, I couldn't help but ask, "How much sight do you have?"

None.  With the same happy and laid back attitude, Megan told me how she had been born without eyes and the eyes she had now were literally plastic prosthetics.  I couldn't believe it.  This girl has not seen a day of her life, yet she has hands down lived a more active and adventurous life than me!  She blew my mind!

I couldn't help but tell her how much I admired her and how brave I thought she was.  We continued to talk until finally I needed to leave.  So I grabbed her hand and shook it and she responded with a big smile and one of the firmest handshakes I've ever had.


I can't stop thinking about these two girls and the wonderful experiences I had in meeting them.  It feels like I learned a thousand things from them, yet don't even know how to put one of them into words.  I guess it feels like both Mackenzie and Megan taught me how trials are supposed to be handled.

Mackenzie taught me how to gracefully accept the gradual onset of a trial.  Sometimes we know beforehand that things aren't going to turn out the way we've planned or expected them to.  No one plans to lose their sight.  And in my case, no one plans to have a miscarriage either.  Trials are not planned for.  However, trials can be accepted for what they are and we can adapt with the same positive attitude and strength that Mackenzie has.  We literally have that choice.

Megan taught me how to boldly accept a trial and refuse to let it stand in the way of anything.  Although Megan never planned to be born blind, she hasn't let that stop her from living a life that most people who can see don't even live.  Life never goes according to plan, but we each have the ability to choose whether or not these trials will stop us from being happy.

I'm so glad I met these girls.  And I wish I could do more justice in telling their stories and the lessons they taught me.


14.2.13

A Collection of Authentic Poetry

The Haiku

I married a stud
His biceps are freaking huge
But sometimes he farts


An Acrostic

Jock in all the cool sports
Once in awhile he reads
Nearly a professional gamer
Nicest boy I've ever met
Yes, he's my husband


Cinquain

Jon
Caring, loving
Awesome at cards
Playful, makes me laugh
Husband


Limerick

I met a young man with a 'stache
It was awful and made me gasp
Then one day
He shaved it away
Now we're married and having a blast.


Couplet

My husband Jonathan really is the best
Good thing he's not my brother or that would be incest


Triplet

Jon really takes my breath away
There's not much more that I can say
Other than he is not gay


Quatrain

Since today is Valentine's
I want to know if you'll be mine
I love you Jon with all my heart
And from you, I'll never part


I love your guts Jonathan Ruiz.  Happy Valentine's Day!!
10.2.13

Ambiguous and Awkward.

Sometimes I wonder where my blog fits in.  It's like it's some sort of wild card.

I don't blog about fashion.  Because I seriously have no sense of style whatsoever.  If I did, a post would go something like this:

Every girl needs a little bit of leather.


The best way to look good for any occasion is to wear leather.  Or to wear a dress that has a sleeve-cape.


Sleeve-capes are going to be the next big thing.  Trust me.

And I don't really blog about cooking because I don't have the patience to take pictures of every step when I'm making something.  And, to be perfectly honest, I don't really cook awesome stuff that much.  But there was that one time I made myself some French Toast and it had a skull on it.  So a Kristen cooking blog would go something like this:

Today in Kristen's kitchen, we're learning how to read the egg markings on a piece of French Toast.


This doesn't look so good.  Let's take a closer look.


Yup.  That's a bad omen for sure.  I'd say I've got about seven days...

I can't really blog about home decor.  Probably because I'm not that crafty and I'm a poor student who can barely afford the home, let alone the decor.  But, to be a good sport, a Kristen home decor blog would be as follows:

I'm really excited to show you what I've done with the place.  I decided to take the whole hipster/vintage trend and really go with it.  I call this style neo-hipsterism.  


Essentially you just let everything rot.  To speed the process up I let a herd of cattle in with all the doors and windows open during the winter.


The kitchen is a real work of art.

And since I'm not a mom, I can't blog about a cute little baby.  But, when the time comes, this could potentially be what you have to look forward to:

I had a baby.  Get over it.


I'm holding a baby.  So what.


I know I said I hate babies.  But people can change.  So there.

Haha, just kidding, but seriously.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that my blog feels like a kid in high school that doesn't really fit in to any specific clique.  It's the awkward kid.  You know, the one that is painfully honest to the point of being too much information.  The one that thinks too much, over-analyzing and over-analogizing everything in life.  And the one that doesn't keep the awkwardly eccentric side of them hidden where it properly belongs.  

So, until my eccentric blog can figure things out, I'm just gunna keep being ambiguous and awkward.  To prove it to you, allow me to share a gift I made for Jon yesterday while I was waiting for him to get home from work.


I think I might have potential in a music career.  

Have a good week.
6.2.13

Closure.

The book of my life has concluded yet another chapter.  I actually feel quite speechless now.  Yet at the same time, I feel as if I need to write some sort of proper conclusion before I move on.  But how do you conclude an experience that has taken a little piece of your heart with it?

I'll admit I've struggled to turn that last page and look forward to the premature beginning of a new chapter I never expected.  

This isn't supposed to be how the story goes!  The next chapter was supposed to begin in July with the introduction of a new character!

But this is how the story goes.  And the next chapter starts now.

x

How do you conclude a chapter like this?  And how do you begin an unexpected new one?

I could talk about how it hurt and how I felt selfish for hurting.  I could try to describe the rollercoaster of emotions.  I could mourn, and I could even begin the next chapter still mourning.

I could speak of the unbelievable kindness that enveloped me by my family, my friends, acquaintances, and even perfect strangers.  I could praise their charity and depict the service they extended to Jon and I.

I could be blunt and scientific.  I could summarize the biology of what went wrong and explain each and every step of the way.  

I could extend an arm of comfort to those who have yet to face this trial.  I could speak of the wonderful women who did exactly that to me and how it helps to know you're not alone.

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Yet none of those really sound like my story.  And none of them seem quite right for the conclusion of this chapter.  Such a complex chapter begs for a simple conclusion.  And the most simple and profound conclusion I can muster is this:

Have faith.

While studying "Confessions" by St. Augustine last semester I was drawn to the summation our teacher gave regarding Augustine's perception of his own life.  If you are unfamiliar with St. Augustine, for lack of a better word, he was a 'rebel' for the majority of his life, tossed to and fro by his desires and search for the truth.  It wasn't until his mid-life that he converted to the Roman Catholic Church and served as the Bishop of Hippo.  While a Bishop, he wrote "Confessions," an autobiography rich in testimony and praise of God.  While looking back on his life in order to write this story, Augustine was able to connect the dots and realize how each chapter played an important role in leading him to exactly where he was then as the Bishop of Hippo.  In retrospect, Augustine was able to acknowledge and note how each poor decision, each trial and each seemingly unimportant twist of fate lead him to his destination as Bishop.  Which leads me back to my story.

In retrospect, this dot will connect.  When I look back, it will all make sense.  Until then, I just need to have faith.  I need to choose to accept what is thrown at me.  I can do this with a grin on my face or a complaint on my lips.  The dots will all connect.  This small and painful moment in my life will make complete sense.  Until then, all I need is faith.  

All I need is faith.

The dots will connect.

This will all make sense.

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