Family

     I love my family- they are the best of times and the worst of times. Through thick and thin, they are the glue that holds everything together and I don't want to live a day without them. I have been taking inordinate amounts of videos of my nieces and nephew since I've been back from my mission to Japan. Luckily this blog has plenty of space for random videos.

     The first is just a casual stroll on a walking path- nothing really special or funny. It just makes me smile to realize how alike my niece and I can be sometimes with being a little shy sometimes.

     The second is Kayli's gymnastic antics before I left on my mission... Timidity marks her every step, but every gymnast has to start somewhere. I'm glad she fell in love with an activity that helps her come out of her little shell.

     She's a silly girl and loves primary, especially the songs. Occasionally the words are about as jumbled as a Boggle board, but her favorite hymn when she was younger was "I Stand All Amazed."


     Having cute little pets has always been another favorite part of growing up.  From Dusty and Shadow
to Cocoa, Pepper, and now Bell. It's fun to see
what those little puppies have been able to learn!

   
   

This I Believe

     I believe that the colors brown and black clash terribly. It makes me cringe when my dad wears sandals with socks, and it makes me wince when boys brag about being able to fit into their sister’s pants. However, I believe even more in the idea that no matter what you choose to wear, that the most important thing is that you feel comfortable in those clothes. I believe that the greatest lesson for anyone to learn is how to be unashamed to be themselves whoever that self may be.

     I believe in the cognitive theory. I believe that the most important thing in a human’s life is the ability to think. There truly is nothing save thinking makes it so. Our thoughts influence how we interpret the world. What we think majorly influences how we face our personal challenges and goals in life. Whether these thoughts are positive or negative can impact everyone for good or ill. One person’s thoughts (or lack of) can change a world.

     I believe that there is no such thing as a perfect family. I believe that the family is a lot like playdough. Playdough is loved by everyone; it makes life a lot more bearable because it provides both fun and comfort to us. It comes in all forms, shapes, colors, and consistencies. If it isn’t loved and cared for, it will become hard and crusty, and if the playdough isn’t doing its best to stick together, it falls apart. Playdough can be formed into any assortment of figures; none of them are perfect; they are all different and artistic in its own sense.

     I believe more than anything that the world is a good place. I believe that hardships and tragedies can drive good people to do bad things or force them into unfortunate circumstances, and it is really sad. But I believe that it is important to try not to judge anyone no matter what they do or what they look like. Life is hard; all you can do is be good to everybody and try to imagine how their shoes feel.

     I believe that no matter how rough a situation is that people can transcend their circumstances and rise above the deck of cards they’ve been dealt. I don’t believe in chance; I believe that life is a masterfully crafted challenge that we can allow to make or brake us. I believe that we have an unlimited capacity to overcome obstacles and to succeed in life no matter what happens.

Repel On!

I didn't really call myself brave when I did it. Then again, it's not really one of my habits to brag about myself unless I'm joking.

On Black Friday, me, a few of my cousins, my two uncles, my dad, and my grandpa went repelling and rock climbing. It was really fun! My family thought that I was brave for volunteering to repel down a hundred foot high cliff first, I didn't really think twice about it. It was freezing cold up there in the mountains, and both of my uncles commented on how they could see my goosebumps from ten feet away. Surprisingly, it was a lot less cool when I started going up and down the cliffs with ropes attached to me.

The pictures look really amazing, and you could probably see all of them on facebook; I'm going to post some of them anyway because they are so scenic and cool.

Where I'm From

I am from old fashioned picture frames,
from fading pink paint with many names.
I’m from blooming buds and wilting roses
to lanky limbed trees grown in unique poses.

I am from happy green playing fields
Fraught with kids riding bikes without yields.
I am from “love yous” and “don’t hurries”
From “stay safes” and “Don’t you worries.”

I’m from a joking military dad,
and Mom who’s a computer software grad.
I’m from family paparazzi grandma
With old, silly, sweet-toothed grandpa.

I’m from drinking hot chocolate all year round,
From eating Grandma’s “cooking” without a sound.
I’m from Mom’s Mexican, Italian, and more,
From eating so much it makes me sore.

And in this world that can be so bleak,
It’ll be those memories that I keep.
Locked deep, safe and sound in my own heart
I love them all, every single part.

Visiting Great Grandma Walker

So the last nine days have been completely scheduled to the rim with activities! Of course, I was on vacation. Our family went on a trip to Oregon, which concluded in a visit to San Francisco, and the long, rainy drive home.

The first part of the trip was dedicated to Grandma Walker... She is quite the character! She's like the energizer bunny, trapped in a ninety year old person's body!
Strangely I've come to find that the two of us have a lot in common. We both love life and are excited about pretty much anything good. We're both really short, (I'm shorter,) and we both really love animals.
Despite our similiarities, there is a minor difference between me and Grandma. For the most part, I prefer speaking my mind, but I try to filter what goes in and out of my mouth at all times; Grandma doesn't. She has no problem cursing, and has loads of famous quotes. The way she talks is a little bit childlike, she is blunt, and doesn't care if she insults other people with her honesty. The good thing to this is that you always know what's on her mind, and what she thinks of you.

When we walked into her old, whitewashed house in her old folks area in Oregon, the memory of our last visit was fresh on our minds. We stood nervously before her big black door as my dad knocked. A strange anticipation hung in the air, along with a foreboding sense of dread. For some reason, it took a really long time for her to reach the door of her small rambler. We found out after the door was swung slowly open that Grandma Walker had finally acquired a walker for herself, her ankle had never properly healed after she'd broken it last year... Her ankle was totally deformed, and I clenched my fists in anger as she told us how the doctor's had treated her. Technically they hadn't treated her at all, acting like she was too old to be helped and not doing anything.

She kept talking to us for a few minutes, her voice was a bit rattly, and she laughed often in her low alto voice. My dad acted clownish, just to see her reactions.
After talking so seriously, it wasn't long before we couldn't surpress laughs. Grandma finally took the time to observe the family that she hadn't seen in a few years, and she commented on her grandson's appearance.
Without sympathy, she looked my dad up and down. After her eyes were done scrutinizing my dad, she loudly exclaimed, "Why Grant, you've gotten so fat! You're just so fat, you must really like to eat!!" I felt a twinge of pity for my dad, but I just couldn't help but laugh at her unchanted, unrelenting bluntness. I was relieved that she didn't think I was fat.

     Our Grandma Walker has was born in 1919, so she's lived through a lot. She's lived through the Great Depression and both world wars. Because of her age, she has lots of traditions and formalities that haven't really changed much since her younger ages.

     The worst part of going to Grandma's is her hospitality. When she was our age, it was always necessary to offer to feed your guests. Grandma took it upon herself to make sure that we, "her guests," were well fed. This eventually led to her trying to force us into eating her old food,"Just shut up and eat some potato salad!!"

     I really love my Grandma, but there is one thing that our family can't deny. Her food would easily qualify for Fear Factor. After trying to stall the inevitable, we finally knew that there was no way to avoid eating what she offered. That night's course was potato salad.

     She'd been eager to have us eat the potato salad she made from the day she made it about a week before...

     My grandma sat in her rocker in the next room, watching us in the kitchen to make sure that we were well fed. Fortunately, her sight isn't all that great, she didn't see our noses crinkling in blatant dismay.
As if on cue, everyone looked to me, desperation emanating from their eyes. My mom silently questioned, "How much do you love your grandma?" I gulped and shook my head. I felt like I was volunteering for the guillotine. With a little hesitation, I muttered,
"Alright, I'll eat some in front of her, that way she gets the impression that we've eaten." As if reading my mind, mom whispered in relief,
"Are you sure? Okay, we'll stay over here, just come dump the rest in the garbage after you're done." I trudged into the front room with a paper plate, armed with only a fork against the potato salad.
Grandma looked at me expectantly, I dipped the fork into an odd colored potato and shoved it into my mouth before I could cower out. My heaved in protest to the disgusting salad, the second that I put the food in my mouth, I involuntarily gagged, chewing just enough to swallow it down, and then quickly forced three more bites before my stomach settled again.

    After I was sure that my grandma had seen me eat her salad, I slinked back into the antique filled kitchen and found the garbage can. That wasn't the worst food I had at Grandma's last week, but that really was taking one for the team.

     My whole family stayed in a fairly nice hotel while we visited Grandma Walker, her house was much too small for everyone. Even though we had a hotel room, my dad insisted that I spend the next three nights alone with Grandma to prove how much I love him... I really must love my dad, because there are things much worse than potato salad lurking in Grandma's fridge.

     As much as I tried to sleep in that morning to avoid breakfast, I just couldn't. Grandma's house was really cold, and it didn't help that I'm an early bird. At six thirty, I walked into the kitchen, only to find Grandma waiting for me. The very first thing out of her smiling mouth was,
"Let's get you some breakfast!!" I groaned inside, wondering if I could possibly come out of this trip alive.

     For breakfast, I had shredded wheat, with sour milk poured on it. That was pretty gross, but not the worst part. After only being able to eat half of it, Grandma insistently tried to make me eat everything else in her fridge. She handed me a black banana. I peeled the skin off, to reveal that the banana itself was covered in brown spots. Grandma handed me a butter knife, so that I could cut off the larger spots.
When I was done cutting, there wasn't really much banana left. She looked at me encouragingly as I bit into the hard banana. Even though that also was too gross to finish, I couldn't force myself to eat anymore after the tropical canned fruit. That fruit must've been opened and left in the fridge for a decade, it tasted like tuna...

Aside from the Fear Factor food, it was fun to visit my grandma again. We spent the whole first day in Oregon by doing things that she couldn't normally do for herself.
She scowled at my dad when he told her that we were going to go pick the weeds outside her house. She loves her potted garden, and didn't want us to think that she'd somehow not taken care of it,
"I don't think you'll find any weeds out there!! I don't think you can tell the difference between the plants and the weeds!" She was scared that we'd ruin her beautiful English Roses, and turned out to be really surprised that we actually managed to find so many weeds.
The last day in Oregon was sad, but it was the best day at Grandma's. We went on an eight mile hike called "Canyon Trail," which had ten gorgeous waterfalls.

     When we came back to Grandma's house after the hike, we got to hear lots of her stories and lectures. My favorite part of the whole conversation was a reference to her little old cat "Kissy Kissy." My grandma looked intensely at my dad as she asked,
"Now Grant, do you believe in aliens?" To which he instantly replied,
"No Grandma, there's no such thing. Don't worry about them." To which my grandma passionately exclaimed,
"Then what happened to my cat?!?"
I know that it's sad and crazy, but my Grandma believes that she has proof that her cat was abducted by aliens. The worst part about her cat stories is that Kissy Kissy was actually her neighbor's cat. (For some reason my grandma thought that their cat was hers.) One day, after grandma let him outside, Kissy Kissy "ran away," and she never saw her beloved cat again...
We're pretty sure that the neighbors just reclaimed their cat.

A "Not Your Everyday" Hero Story

     Heroes come in all shapes and forms... Superman, Spiderman, Batman; you know the rest. My favorite out of those three was always spiderman, he was different! He was the underdog, everybody hated him, yet he was so good to them! Not to mention the fact that I can't really relate to a playboy millionaire! Some people might argue that I'm closer to an alien then a nerd, but that's another story...

     I'm not going to talk to you about a Marvel Comic character that's nonexistent. Instead, I'm going to talk to you about a not so average father of two young girls who ended up saving the life of four young boys. Who is this man? Well, my dad of course! My dad did an amazing deed that stumps me to this day, it was so incredible and almost almost inhuman! The boys he saved couldn't believe that they had survived to see the light of another day, and in gratitude to my dad, gave him the nickname of "Superman," which was a very fitting title.

     When I was about two, my family was living in Hawaii, (me, my mom, Josie, and dad; Mike wasn't born yet.) My dad was the assitant leader of eleven year old scouts in our church, along with another man who was the leader; together they took care of the boys. One day they went on an outing along the "Sacred Falls Trail," and that's where everything went wrong.

     There are many small creeks coming from the pool surrounding the Sacred Falls waterfall. Many of these little "creeks" crossed the Sacred Falls trail, the creeks were small; no cause for alarm, and hikers crossed them daily. But not on this day, this was the day when a small creek became a roaring river that almost took many lives in one fell swoop. It had begun to rain as they hiked as a scouting group, the rain falling harder and harder as they walked. When they finally made their first water crossing and one of the boys slipped into the water that was quickly rising. My dad dove in and saved the boy, but they had to keep going. When the group reached the second creek, the leaders assessed that it didn't look too bad. Teaching the boys teamwork and trying to keep them as safe as possible, my dad and the scout leader decided to form a human chain for having a sturdy grip while crossing the river.

     Together the leaders went first, to guide the boys safely to the other side of the crossing... The seven scouts proceeded carefully, but in these weather conditions, carefully was not enough to keep them safe. In the middle of the small river, a boy fell over and broke out of the chain, once again my dad dove into the water and grabbed the boy before he drifted off to far, the little river was beginning to become more rapid. As my dad pulled out the wet boy, events turned to the worst. A huge surge of debri filled water broke the chain of boys and in the blink of an eye, the small creek became a full on flash-flood river. The two leaders suddenly were swimming for their lives in a river going what seemed like ninety miles an hour, trying to grab every boy and flinging them to the side so that they could go on and try to save all of them. My dad swam for not his life, but for the lives of all the boys that might have just had their final scout outing. Just like Superman, he and the other leader managed to pull every single last boy out of the roaring river. Although one of the boys acquired a small injury, that didn't really matter; my dad had just saved the life of every boy there.

     And still, to this day, my dad is too humble to admit his heroism, he protests, "That's what anybody would've done!" Despite his disagreement, I don't really belive that. In my eyes, my dad is truly a hero, whether he admits it or not.

~"Real heroes are rarely in the spotlight; they're often leading strong but silent lives. Real heroes at first look may not seem so; overcoming daily struggles, are the real heroes."

Traditional Christmas Stories

     All these stories were on my blog last year, but I thought that I'd repost them in time for Christmas. Enjoy!

     I thought that this would be a funny story since it's nearly Christmas time. I lived in Hawaii for the first four year of my life, and I had some nice warm Christmases there. Lots of little kids were scared of Santa when they were little; personally I was never like that. One day my family went to the beach and low and behold there was a rather plump old guy lying on the beach, I thought that he was Santa. Suddenly I was an extremely excited toddler. I tugged on my parents swimming trunks and exclaimed, "Look, there's Santa!"
"Can I please go talk to him, mommy?" I started pleading. The real Santa Clause was the man standing right next to me trying to think of what he could say to discourage his two year old from embarrassing the poor man.
"Honey, Santa is on vacation right now. If you don't disturb him maybe you will get better presents this year!" My big blue eyes scanned the man who looked like Santa for a final time, and then dimmed a little.
"Okay." I said in disappointment.

     When I think of that story I always laugh. My dad had to be rather quick witted to come up with a story to persuade me not to talk to Santa. Personally I would have had no idea what to say in a situation like that! The next one is a really cute story that involves my little brother, Mitch.


One day my little brother decided that he wanted to buy Christmas presents for all five people in our family. It was a very nice act, but seven year olds don't make that much money. Even so he was very determined to feel the happiness of giving. So Michael saved up money the whole year so that he could by us Christmas presents. When it finally reached December, my dad took Mitch to Sam's Club to buy the gifts. In the process of finding Christmas presents the eleven dollars that my brother had saved fell out of his pocket. A few minutes later my brother reached into his pocket to feel the money that he earned, but there was a problem, it wasn't there! As you can imagine it broke my brother’s heart. All of his money that he had earned all year was gone! Tearfully he told my dad what had happened. My dad was also heart broken to see his own little boy so sad. He took Mitch up to the lost and found and told the workers about the money that Mike had lost. After hearing my dad's case, the employee spoke on the loud speaker.
"A little boy has lost eleven dollars that he has saved to buy Christmas presents. If anyone finds it, please bring it to the lost and found, thank you." I'm sure that there were plenty of dishonest people that went looking for the money after that revealing announcement; many probably just so that they could put it into their own wallets. But who knows what really happened to the money that Mitch dropped? Most likely it was found by one of those people who wanted it for themselves, but that's not important. Just after the employee finished his sentence over the intercom, the Sam's Club Santa Clause came jogging towards us. He was probably just an old man trying to earn a little money for the holidays by dressing up and holding little kids, but he gave up his own earnings to help an adorable little boy that he had never met.
"Here you go little guy," said Santa, bending down on one knee so that he could be level with my brother,
"I found your money!" He then proceeded to hand my brother eleven dollars. We could all see that my dad felt a lump in his throat as he whispered,
"Thank you."

     I don't know if you believe in karma, but I do. That same December we went to Universal Studios for Christmas break. As we were walking towards the entrance, my dad spotted a little bundle of dollar bills wrapped up in a little ribbon. As he looked at that money he had a flash back of when Mitch lost his money. That money could belong to a poor little kid like Mitch! My dad took the money, and immediately after we entered the park we went to lost and found. Dad told the stunned employee that he had found that roll of money on the street, and thought that it might belong to a little kid. The employee looked at my dad in amazement; his eyes became as round as quarters.
"Sir, I have never seen anyone as honest as you! I must reward you for something as kind hearted as this!" He reached into the shiny cashier box and handed my dad five front of the line passes, one for everyone in my family, valid for the whole day! Kindness is never unrewarded; I love the spirit that Christmas brings!

Happy Holidays!

Yeah, it is pretty late at night so sorry if there are any errors in this. But I've just been thinking about the things I'm grateful for for the past few weeks. I came up with quite a list. As of today we officially finished marching band with a big party, which was quite fun. I was able to see all the people who worked hard receive awards for all the time and effort that they put into marching band, I was truly proud of my classmates. I'm really grateful that I was able to be a part of the massive band that had over two hundred kids, (even though we lost every competition to American Fork.)

I'm really grateful for my friends who can always make me laugh, even when I feel like I'm never going to laugh again. I'm thankful for the great friends that I have that are willing to lift me up when I fall, and be my crutches when I limp. They make life a lot easier to live, and give my life something worth living for.



    I'm grateful for my family who are willing to put up with all my faults and flaws; trust me, I have many. I'm grateful that they are willing to do anything, and the fact that they are willing to do what they think is best for me (no matter how much I protest.) I appreciate that they are completely honest with me, and help me improve so that I can grow up and be a self reliant, "grown up."





     I'm thankful for the opportunity to go to school. School is basically my life, and I don't know what I'd do without it! I actually enjoy waking up to every school day (even though I was happy for the break this week.) It gives me a good reason to wake up every day, and it gives me a good reason for working hard.


    I'm grateful for the armed forces. Even though I love speaking my new developing language (Chinese), I will still remain patriotic to America. I'm especially glad that America isn't communist like so many other countries. We are blessed with so much freedom, and there are young men and women all over the world, fighting so that we can continue living as we do now; in a safe environment with roofs over our heads.


     I'm grateful that I have religion in my life. Without it, I don't know who or where I'd be. Just going to church and being there encourages me to be better and to do better than I'm already doing, even when life is being really tough on me. Church teaches me to have more compassion, to be more giving, and encourages me to be a good example to others.


     Now that I've told you a few things that I'm grateful for (and trust me, I could write a list that contains hundreds of things.)Now stop and think about what I've said. What are you grateful for? Keep those thoughts, the first thoughts that popped into your head when you thought of what you are grateful for. Those thoughts will give you strength when you are having a hard time, so keep them in your heart for as long as you can; and at least every day until Thanksgiving is over. Happy Holidays!

Locks of Love (Good Karma)

When I turned seven years old, a crazy idea popped into my head. What if I could somehow help people who had cancer? My Grandma had uterine cancer earlier in the year, and seeing what she had to go through made me want to help other people who had cancer. Sometimes I would sit and brainstorm, my tiny little seven year old cogs spinning in my brain. Finally after a few weeks of deep thought, I came up with an idea. Lots of people who had cancer ended up with no hair, they were hurting internally, and their pride was hurt on top of everything else. What if people with cancer got wigs? That might help their self esteem! I told my mom about my brilliant idea, what if people with long hair (like myself) cut it, and donated it? Then a manufacturing company could turn it into wigs, and finally they could give it to the needy patients with cancer, free of charge. My mom just laughed, "Beth, they already have that program. It's called "Locks of Love." I was a little down cast from having my brilliant idea already be taken, but I was excited that people were already giving up something they loved for people they loved. After finding out that a program was already in progress I told my mom that I wanted to donate my hair. She was rather surprised, as if she didn't expect her little seven year old to be so grown up already. My mom reminded me that to donate my hair, I would have to give away at least ten inches. That didn't really sink into my brain, I wanted to donate my hair. For two years I grew my hair out, to the point where I would not be offended if people started calling me Rapunzel. When I was nine years old, felt like I was ready. Secretly my mom was worried that I would be cutting off more than twelve inches of my hair. Stubbornly I had refused to get my hair cut those two years, how could I be so selfish to cut my hair when people needed it? Little did I understand that I had four inches of split ends would not be sufficient for people who needed hair. I was driven to an old man's house, clear in Ogden. The ten minute drive seemed much too long. When my mom walked me up to the house and read the sign that said, "walk-ins" I knew that this was serious business. We walked in to a small parlor, everything around seemed to be made of wood. There were vertical wood panels running along the walls. On the walls, there were pictures with all sorts of old fashion criminals on them. "Wanted, Jesse James: Reward 2,000 dollars." "Wanted Billy the Kid: Reward $500" It was a little surprising to see all the faded yellow wanted posters on the wall, it was quite a collection. There was a tall old man standing in front of me, he must've been at least 6"5. He told me to sit in his huge black chair, which he had to lower all the way to the floor. Quietly he talked to my mom so that I could not hear him. He told her that my hair was extremely damaged, and that if I had any chance of being able to donate my hair that day, I would have to have a bob. My mom worriedly told me that my hair would be up around my ears. Knowing how short that was, I was a little disappointed, but I never faltered. I had waited two years for this, and I didn't need my hair as some poor soul with cancer. There was no way in the world that I was going to back out now, I was doing this. So yes, all through fourth grade I had a bob. My hair was nearly as short as a boy's! Nowadays it would be considered the same length as a boys. Still, I hated my hair cut, but I loved the feeling that I felt from giving up my hair to the needy.

My mom was so impressed with me, that she decided to grow out her hair. Somehow in my family, it takes a really long time to grow out our hair. From the time I was nine, to just yesterday now that I'm fifteen, my mom grew out her hair. Yes, my mom cut her hair and donated it yesterday, and let me tell you, I was really proud. Her hair isn't quite a bob, but it was the thought that counted. The old man who had cut my hair earlier was the same one to cut my mom's hair. He questioned her about me and asked her questions like, "How old is she? What school is she going to?" My mom told him that I was currently fifteen years old, and that I would be going to DHS next year. He told my mom that I was just the right age for a job position he had opening. Being a business at home, he didn't have too much business. At least, he didn't have half as much as he would liked to have. He told her that he has hair models in all the major High Schools around D county. My mom listened intently as he told her that his hair model from DHS was graduating this year, and that he needed a new one. Darin asked my mom to bring me in so he could "interview" me for a new job. It turned out that he didn't really need to interview me. There were only a few questions, "Are you involved in school? Do you get good grades? Do you have time for this job?" I answered in the affirmative to all his questions. Darin clapped his hands and said, "Okay, we're set!" So because I started brainstorming at seven years old, I have a job at fifteen years old. What comes around goes around, so be good to those around you!