SOLD

It's SOLD!!!

Our house has sold, and we are moving out tomorrow. And since I keep getting raised eyebrows about selling the house, here are the reasons we feel we are not stupid for selling the house:

1. We want to relocate. Badly. Neither of us desires to stay in Rexburg any longer. We aren't Rexburg-haters, but Ben feels like he needs to be challenged by living in a different area and working in a different industry, and I can't stand the cold or lack of culture.

2. We are applying for jobs like crazy. Since we haven't had much luck, we've stopped publicizing the jobs Ben's applying for, but you can count him applying for at least 1-2 jobs a week. We sold the house so that once one of the million applications takes, we can move on command.

3. The housing crisis is just beginning to hit Rexburg, and we didn't want to be selling the house when it did. Although we could have waited to sell until we got a job, we felt like we should sell while we had the chance. From the sounds of it, we're one of very few who have sold a house in Rexburg within the last few months, so we are glad that the Lord answered our prayers by allowing us sell the house with ease.

4. Heating this place is ridiuclous in the winter. We'll save a few hundred in heating per month, and we're making quite a bit from the sale of the home.

Selling also gives us hope that we are closer to following Ben's dream. Our 5 year plan includes being butt poor working in the outdoor gear industry, having Ben work hard to climb the corporate ladder, and settling in Salt Lake City, the location of several headquarters for outdoor gear companies. We're working on our 5 year plan. And heck, we're in our early 20s, so let us live and learn on our own!

LOL can you tell I've been getting a lot of comments about how it isn't smart of us to sell? We really did think this through... Thanks to all of you who have been so supportive about our decisions! (Especially you Mychelle, LOL I didn't expect you to be so supportive but you have been, probably because you guys are working so Joe can follow his dream one day too.) So thanks!

A few thoughts...

I have always been struggling with forgiveness. It is easy to say, "Yeah sure, I forgive you" in the quiet way that I do, and keep a little secret speck of hurt and loathing inside of me. This quote is great, emphasizing the need to forgive in order to progress:

As we consider the unity required for Zion to flourish, we should ask ourselves if we have overcome jarrings, contentions, envyings, and strifes (see D&C 101:6). Are we individually and as a people free from strife and contention and united “according to the union required by the law of the celestial kingdom”? (D&C 105:4). Forgiveness of one another is essential to this unity. Jesus said, “I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men” (D&C 64:10).

We will become of one heart and one mind as we individually place the Savior at the center of our lives and follow those He has commissioned to lead us. We can unite with President Thomas S. Monson in love and concern for one another. In general conference last April, President Monson spoke to those estranged from the Church and to all of us when he said: “In the private sanctuary of one’s own conscience lies that spirit, that determination to cast off the old person and to measure up to the stature of true potential. In this spirit, we again issue that heartfelt invitation: Come back. We reach out to you in the pure love of Christ and express our desire to assist you and to welcome you into full fellowship. To those who are wounded in spirit or who are struggling and fearful, we say, Let us lift you and cheer you and calm your fears” (“Looking Back and Moving Forward,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2008, 90).
D. Todd Christofferson, “Come to Zion”

I struggle with knowing that the people closest to my heart are the ones who can most easily hurt it. It makes letting people in, and forgiving them, scary.

Ben recently asked me why I get nervous when people read my writing, and why I get even more nervous when they like it. Writing, to me at least, is like standing on a big stage with your soul naked, and it's so scary to have people stop, stare, and contemplate at you while they walk by. It's not necessarily undesirable, just uncomfortable and nerve-wrecking. Particularly when those close to you read it- those who know you best can poke at your heart more easily than an unknown face.

I've noticed too that I'm such a "white" personality (ever read the Color Code book? lol I'm a nerd- white is the color of the peacemaker) that I sometimes get too caught up in the fact that there's tension and unease that I fail to notice that I am contributing to it.

There's been a recent drama surrounding my life, and while trying to be loving and forgiving, I often had the wrong attitude. I sought out anger at those who weren't in the same mind frame as I, which is wrong and only added to the drama and tension. And for those who know what I am referring to, I am sorry for those gossiping words and actions. I want to forgive and be forgiven.

Just a few thoughts.

On another note, I just got this:

Like the junky image I found?

Anyways, I was awarded honarable mention for the Scribbit's Write Away contest (see prior post). Which, of course, made me nervous. (Hah you all didn't know I was such a quiet anxious little wreck, did you?)

I did a quick entry for the contest, spending less than 30 mins on it and then deciding not to publish it. Then Ben made me, because he's a good husband and wants me to achieve the dream of becoming a writer one day.

So with not a very developed piece, if I would have won, I would have thought that it was too easy and that would give me an excuse to continue not writing. If I would have lost, I would have confirmed the doubt in my mind that I stink at writing and that would also give me an excuse to continue not writing. But an honorable mention awakens that little voice inside of me that says "if you actually tried, you could one day achieve your dream." I don't like that little voice, it's scary. I say back, "Liar! Meanny pants! When do I have time? I have two kids, a house to pack, jobs to apply Ben for, and crafts to make. Stop torturing me!"

But really, I do want to write. Anyway, you should check out the winners of the contest at http://scribbit.blogspot.com/2008/11/novembers-fantastic-write-away-contest_21.html. They did a way good job! Also check out my sister-in-law's blog and her post for the contest at http://icecreamdiary.blogspot.com/2008/11/forgive-in-time-for-turkey.html. She's my inspiration to start writing again, since she's always entering these contests and she has more than twice as many kids as I do. So thanks!

Full

I stepped outside to take a breath, lean on the chipped blue railing, and stare across the beach. The waves danced slowly, but all I could hear were kids squealing, that random high-pitched noise, and the thud of a basketball. I looked near my shoe, and small-potted cacti smiled back.

I loved being with family, but I loved being alone as well.

In my younger years after eating, I’d sneak out the back door, not to run and squeal, but to wander.

“Carly, you coming?” I crouched under the pines trees, crawling from my grandma’s backyard to the neighbors, following the tree line up behind their houses. Carly followed, wondering why we were again wondering off. “Because,” was my reply.

I felt like an adventurer, staying the trees, almost in a forest, if a few scattered trees on the coast of southern California could be considered a forest. My parents were cleaning the remains of thanksgiving off plates, my sisters each talking to someone else, and that meant I was free to listen to my body move, think.

I’d return when I finally hit the yellow stucco house that had a fenced back yard, where I was forced to follow the sidewalk to the stairs of my Grandma’s condo. When I’d return, the adults were sneaking their pie before the kids came in to demolish it. I’d then help myself to some apple pie, sit on the couch, and joke with my cousins, and watch the news.

Thanksgiving wasn’t always about giving thanks, although we often conferred about what we were thankful for, my Grandma and my Dad getting teary-eyed as they talked, and me sitting there wondering where I missed the teary gene. Thanksgiving was about being full.

It’d start with my Grandma’s broccoli soup, which we’d slurp down in Styrofoam cups. Then we’d eat pyrogies, the Ukrainian food my Canadian family coveted, homemade tamales from my aunts, and my mom’s special “real” apple pie. And of course, turkey. We’d eat until we were full, and then some.

But thanksgiving stands out not because of the bellyache full, but the heartache full. Our diverse and ethnic family gathering, each with distinct backgrounds and beliefs, united. The noise, the wandering times of silence, the beach, the basketball, the freedom and the cousins wrestling: it was “full.” Full of memories, and full of love.

This was written for Scribbit's Write Away Contest, which had to be about Thanksgiving and had to have a theme that started with the letter "F." It's scary to post something I whipped up so quick, but it's worth a try for sweet beauty product from Suave! Thanks for the chance to enter!

a plane full of apples

This packing box inspired me to write a little poem. Since I haven't shared any writing since I finished school, I decided to post it. Poetry isn't my forte, but heck posting it might make me desire to get back on track with my writing.

a plane full of apples must be heavy—
flying above the radios blaring
gossip and inclement weather
but constantly feeling the pull down, down.

a plane full of apples must continue flight
over fields of knobby ribs,
extended arms and sunken bellies
baking in the sun.

a plane full of apples must be satisfied
with tinted windows and music, sweet music,
because the passengers, sipping water and loosening their seatbelts
don’t know it’s a plane full of apples at all.

Yoga from the Skinny Devil

My climbing skills haven't exactly been skyrocketing, and my last few baby pounds aren't exactly running away from me either.

Or at least they weren't.

Things have been changing since I started this workout video:



There are four parts to it. This is NOT a beginner's yoga. This is death to the beginner yogi, like me. And I like it. A lot.If you try it, and can't finish it, don't be sad. Ben still can't finish this little 30 min. workout. He used to think yoga was for wannys, until he tried it.

This workout is called VINYASA yoga. What is vinyasa yoga? I hadn't tried it until this video. I think Vinyasa is like ripping apart your ligaments, one by one, and watching some skinny, insanely strong and flexible chick kick your trash while you do it.

Best of all, you get all that embarassment free on youtube in your own living room.

Now I TOTALLY want her 60 min workout, available here, but I need to master this one first...

it's MY blog

After hearing Ben continually saying "you should blog about this" and witnessing him create his own blogger account to comment on blogs, I have decided that this is now MY blog instead of our blog. I took his name off the account and added my own picture. My blog, MINE MINE MINE.

I feel better now.

Prop 8 protesters at the LA temple

After I saw this on my sister-in-law's blog, I had to post it. I can honestly say it made my eyes water. Not because of anger, just sadness that people could feel that way, and shout things at the Lord's temple and "home" on this earth.