I am back in North Dakota. It is so odd to be back. Maybe that is partly because I don't really feel like I have a place. I'm staying with my friend, but even there I don't have a place. (Erin, if you read this, don't feel bad, that's just the nature of staying with someone). I'm so used to being on my own, not having anyone waiting for me, or wondering where I am. I'm used to having space to put my things. I'm used to cooking my own meals, and buying my own food. I can still eat whatever I want, but more so depends on what is in the house that I am currently sitting in, which I don't control.
But, I have an interview this week. I really hope I get that job. Then I may look into finding a place for me to live. But, the problem is that I would need a furnished apartment (I don't really want to have to go looking for furniture) and that is really hard to find here. Plus, I don't want a long lease, maybe 6 months at the most, but preferably a month by month lease. That is also hard to find. The only option, in my very minuscule browsing, that I have come across is corporate housing. I haven't been able to find price quotes, so I'm assuming that it is probably expensive. I guess there is also subleasing, but who knows if anyone is doing that? I'll have to look into it more. The corporate housing really would be perfect, but I doubt that I could actually afford it.
So, that is my dilemma. The best option would be for my security clearance to go through quickly and for me to start working for the State Department, but since the government is nothing if not thorough, I kind of doubt I will start working before the end of the year, if even that soon.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Communication
I've known for a long time that communication is an important part of any relationship. In fact, I feel that there is no relationship without communication. Perhaps that is why it has ceased to worry me that my so-called relationship with my dad has pretty much gone down the toilet. There never really was a relationship because we never had communication. Oh, I tried. I tried when I was younger. But unfortunately, I came to realize that my dad only heard what he wanted to hear, and never what I was trying to tell him.
For example, when I was 14 years old (or thereabouts) I went on an overnight camping trip with my two best friends. This overnight camping trip was through my friend's church. There were other people on this camping trip, including guys. I didn't think anything of it. I had a great time. My two best friends and I hung out the entire weekend, hiked, shared a tent, and had great adventures (we almost hiked into a buffalo . . . literally), but when I got home, my enthusiasm for the trip was quickly squashed when I decided to tell my dad about my fantastic weekend. I was telling him about some exciting thing, I'm sure in an excited and animated way, only to be interrupted with this, "There were boys on this camping trip?" I was astounded. I hadn't really thought about it before. It wasn't an essential part of my story. In my silence, he proceeded to get angry and tell me that he never would have let me go if he had known that boys would be going, too. That was my childhood relationship with my father. I learned after that experience to be very selective in what I told my father. If it was something really important to me, I would tell my mother, but never my father. If I couldn't escape mentioning something to him, I was very careful in what I said, only telling the exact facts and necessary details.
That is the time that I can really say that my communication with my father ended. There wasn't really communication with him before that, but after that vivid experience, I quit trying.
That is, until my brother died. After my brother died, I realized how fragile life really is. He was there one day, gone the next, with no warning that such a drastic change was going to take place. I wanted to revitalize my relationship with my dad. I attempted to tell him so, and although he agreed that he wanted a better relationship with me, I don't think either of us really knew how to go about it. I was already a way at school. He doesn't like to talk on the telephone. It seemed an impossible situation. Then I left for my mission. I was half-way around the world with the only form of regular and consistent communication that of writing emails or letters. At first I didn't hear from my dad at all. My mom was really good about writing me. Elizabeth got good at writing me after I chewed her out for not writing me. Sara, although she eventually wrote me every week, did not write much, so I guess I can't say that she was good at writing me. However, although my dad didn't write me weekly, he did better then I ever expected. I considered progress to have been made, no matter how minuscule.
Then, less than a year after I returned from Russia, my mom passed away. Although we had a little warning, it was definitely not enough. We were all shocked by my mother's quick passing. I figured that my father would realize the importance of family (that isn't to say that he thinks family is unimportant, but knowing the importance of something is different than REALIZING the importance of it) and step up, become a father, a real father. But the opposite happened.
The day that my mother died, I became an orphan. Not officially, but that is how it felt/feels. Perhaps the problem is that my father never learned how to be a real father. For him, being a parent means physically providing for his family. Although that is important, being a father is more than just bringing home the bacon. It means being there emotionally. He never was. I only remember my father saying one nice thing to me while growing up. But that isn't much of a surprise, he was gone so often. He was never interested in what I did in school, or what my dreams and aspirations were. Or if he was interested, he wasn't interested enough to ask me about it. Perhaps my mom just passed the information on, and he was content to hear about our lives, rather than participate in them, but for me that is not enough. That is not what it takes to be a father.
So, after my mother died, I again wanted a better relationship with my father, but I didn't know what to do about it. I felt and still feel that it is up to him. He has to take a step, make an effort. And here is where problems in communication come back into the picture. I have to say that a lot of my dad's family is bad at communicating. Sometimes, at least when it comes to them, I find myself having the same difficulty. On my part, I know the reason why, I don't feel like I can communicate with them. And so no communication exists. My older sister lives with one of my dad's sisters. Whenever that sister wants to pass information on to me, or wants to ask me something, it is done through my sister. I'll get a call from my sister (which rarely happens). That is why, when I graduated, it was really annoying that my aunt, who said she would be at my graduation, didn't come because she hadn't gotten the information about my graduation in time. But she has my phone number. She could have called. She could have asked me herself. But, communication is not a strong suit in that family. For me, that makes me feel like I can't call her directly and ask her things, or tell her things. After all, she is a great deal older than me. Shouldn't she be setting the example?
This is ending up a lot longer than I expected. But I have just one last thing to say about communication. The most recent display of lack of communication didn't actually happen with me. My younger sister who is living with my dad right now told me about it. Apparently my dad went out of town. He told her a couple hours before he left. This is by no means a solitary incident. In fact, my dad rarely tells her anything. She usually finds out that he is going out of town from other people, or when she overhears him telling someone else. There is no communication. There is no relationship.
For example, when I was 14 years old (or thereabouts) I went on an overnight camping trip with my two best friends. This overnight camping trip was through my friend's church. There were other people on this camping trip, including guys. I didn't think anything of it. I had a great time. My two best friends and I hung out the entire weekend, hiked, shared a tent, and had great adventures (we almost hiked into a buffalo . . . literally), but when I got home, my enthusiasm for the trip was quickly squashed when I decided to tell my dad about my fantastic weekend. I was telling him about some exciting thing, I'm sure in an excited and animated way, only to be interrupted with this, "There were boys on this camping trip?" I was astounded. I hadn't really thought about it before. It wasn't an essential part of my story. In my silence, he proceeded to get angry and tell me that he never would have let me go if he had known that boys would be going, too. That was my childhood relationship with my father. I learned after that experience to be very selective in what I told my father. If it was something really important to me, I would tell my mother, but never my father. If I couldn't escape mentioning something to him, I was very careful in what I said, only telling the exact facts and necessary details.
That is the time that I can really say that my communication with my father ended. There wasn't really communication with him before that, but after that vivid experience, I quit trying.
That is, until my brother died. After my brother died, I realized how fragile life really is. He was there one day, gone the next, with no warning that such a drastic change was going to take place. I wanted to revitalize my relationship with my dad. I attempted to tell him so, and although he agreed that he wanted a better relationship with me, I don't think either of us really knew how to go about it. I was already a way at school. He doesn't like to talk on the telephone. It seemed an impossible situation. Then I left for my mission. I was half-way around the world with the only form of regular and consistent communication that of writing emails or letters. At first I didn't hear from my dad at all. My mom was really good about writing me. Elizabeth got good at writing me after I chewed her out for not writing me. Sara, although she eventually wrote me every week, did not write much, so I guess I can't say that she was good at writing me. However, although my dad didn't write me weekly, he did better then I ever expected. I considered progress to have been made, no matter how minuscule.
Then, less than a year after I returned from Russia, my mom passed away. Although we had a little warning, it was definitely not enough. We were all shocked by my mother's quick passing. I figured that my father would realize the importance of family (that isn't to say that he thinks family is unimportant, but knowing the importance of something is different than REALIZING the importance of it) and step up, become a father, a real father. But the opposite happened.
The day that my mother died, I became an orphan. Not officially, but that is how it felt/feels. Perhaps the problem is that my father never learned how to be a real father. For him, being a parent means physically providing for his family. Although that is important, being a father is more than just bringing home the bacon. It means being there emotionally. He never was. I only remember my father saying one nice thing to me while growing up. But that isn't much of a surprise, he was gone so often. He was never interested in what I did in school, or what my dreams and aspirations were. Or if he was interested, he wasn't interested enough to ask me about it. Perhaps my mom just passed the information on, and he was content to hear about our lives, rather than participate in them, but for me that is not enough. That is not what it takes to be a father.
So, after my mother died, I again wanted a better relationship with my father, but I didn't know what to do about it. I felt and still feel that it is up to him. He has to take a step, make an effort. And here is where problems in communication come back into the picture. I have to say that a lot of my dad's family is bad at communicating. Sometimes, at least when it comes to them, I find myself having the same difficulty. On my part, I know the reason why, I don't feel like I can communicate with them. And so no communication exists. My older sister lives with one of my dad's sisters. Whenever that sister wants to pass information on to me, or wants to ask me something, it is done through my sister. I'll get a call from my sister (which rarely happens). That is why, when I graduated, it was really annoying that my aunt, who said she would be at my graduation, didn't come because she hadn't gotten the information about my graduation in time. But she has my phone number. She could have called. She could have asked me herself. But, communication is not a strong suit in that family. For me, that makes me feel like I can't call her directly and ask her things, or tell her things. After all, she is a great deal older than me. Shouldn't she be setting the example?
This is ending up a lot longer than I expected. But I have just one last thing to say about communication. The most recent display of lack of communication didn't actually happen with me. My younger sister who is living with my dad right now told me about it. Apparently my dad went out of town. He told her a couple hours before he left. This is by no means a solitary incident. In fact, my dad rarely tells her anything. She usually finds out that he is going out of town from other people, or when she overhears him telling someone else. There is no communication. There is no relationship.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Blood, blood, blood, blood, blood . . .
I went into the doctor's this morning for my medical exam. I am amazed at what the U.S. Department of State wants to know about the inner workings of my body. I had to have so much blood drawn that I'm surprised I have enough left in my body to run. There are 7 different blood tests that they have to run, and some of those tests needed more than one vial of blood.
But, I've jumped ahead of my story. My appointment wa
s for 9:30 this morning. I went, did the customary waiting after I got there, and then was taken back for the pre-doctor examination stuff. You know what I'm talking about. How is it that doctor's office's scales are always 5 pounds heavier than home scales? Do they do that on purpose so you feel fat when you go in? Luckily, I attributed my extra pounds to the extraordinary amount of junk food I've been eating while traveling.
I don't want to get in to all the details, but lets just say that the examination included everything EXCEPT a mammogram and a colonoscopy (and for that I am EXTREMELY grateful), but only because I am not 50 years old. If I was 50, the exam would have included both of those. Oh, I lied, I also did not have to give a stool sample (also because I am not 50). Are they perhaps trying to dissuade older people from entering the foreign service? I wouldn't be surprised. Or perhaps it is only to dissuade those in advanced years who are not determined enough to go through that kind of insanity.
I had to have a chest x-ray (that was my first) and then I spent a large amount of time waiting. Apparently I was forgotten because I waited a long time. They hadn't drawn my blood yet, or done my TB test, but there I was waiting. By this time it was after 11. Finally the nurse who first assisted me, noticed that I was waiting. She said, "Are you still here?" Obviously I was, but I still answered, "Yes." She apologized and explained that things were crazy. I asked about the blood tests, she said that I needed to be fasting (luckily I figured this out before I went, so I had skipped breakfast) and was suprised when I told her that that wasn't a problem. She got everything ready and took me back to have blood drawn. That was when we discovered that I was going to have to go to the hospital for my blood tests. So, the nurse was going to do the TB test, but they aren't going to be open on Saturday due to Memorial Day being Monday. That means I have to go back on Tuesday for my TB test.
I was about to leave when the nurse stopped me. She gave me a gift basket because of the long amoung of time I spent there. (It was then after 11:30, meaning I was there for more than 2 hours). I thought that was nice.
Then I drove up to the hospital. Since I was already fasting, I figured that would be best. Plus, I really just want to have all this done so I can fax in the paperwork and get on with my life.
That took a while. As already mentioned, they had to draw a lot of blood. I didn't count them all, but I think there were 8 or 9 vials. I think my arm is going to be bruised.
Finally, after I was drained (not only of blood), I was able to leave. I ran some errands before coming back to my apartment. That was when I took the picture included with this post. I look tired, but that's because I was. Notice the hospital bracelet, and I'm holding my gift basket.
But, I've jumped ahead of my story. My appointment wa
s for 9:30 this morning. I went, did the customary waiting after I got there, and then was taken back for the pre-doctor examination stuff. You know what I'm talking about. How is it that doctor's office's scales are always 5 pounds heavier than home scales? Do they do that on purpose so you feel fat when you go in? Luckily, I attributed my extra pounds to the extraordinary amount of junk food I've been eating while traveling.I don't want to get in to all the details, but lets just say that the examination included everything EXCEPT a mammogram and a colonoscopy (and for that I am EXTREMELY grateful), but only because I am not 50 years old. If I was 50, the exam would have included both of those. Oh, I lied, I also did not have to give a stool sample (also because I am not 50). Are they perhaps trying to dissuade older people from entering the foreign service? I wouldn't be surprised. Or perhaps it is only to dissuade those in advanced years who are not determined enough to go through that kind of insanity.
I had to have a chest x-ray (that was my first) and then I spent a large amount of time waiting. Apparently I was forgotten because I waited a long time. They hadn't drawn my blood yet, or done my TB test, but there I was waiting. By this time it was after 11. Finally the nurse who first assisted me, noticed that I was waiting. She said, "Are you still here?" Obviously I was, but I still answered, "Yes." She apologized and explained that things were crazy. I asked about the blood tests, she said that I needed to be fasting (luckily I figured this out before I went, so I had skipped breakfast) and was suprised when I told her that that wasn't a problem. She got everything ready and took me back to have blood drawn. That was when we discovered that I was going to have to go to the hospital for my blood tests. So, the nurse was going to do the TB test, but they aren't going to be open on Saturday due to Memorial Day being Monday. That means I have to go back on Tuesday for my TB test.
I was about to leave when the nurse stopped me. She gave me a gift basket because of the long amoung of time I spent there. (It was then after 11:30, meaning I was there for more than 2 hours). I thought that was nice.
Then I drove up to the hospital. Since I was already fasting, I figured that would be best. Plus, I really just want to have all this done so I can fax in the paperwork and get on with my life.
That took a while. As already mentioned, they had to draw a lot of blood. I didn't count them all, but I think there were 8 or 9 vials. I think my arm is going to be bruised.
Finally, after I was drained (not only of blood), I was able to leave. I ran some errands before coming back to my apartment. That was when I took the picture included with this post. I look tired, but that's because I was. Notice the hospital bracelet, and I'm holding my gift basket.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Wedding
I went to a wedding this morning. It was at the Washington DC Temple. I almost didn't make it. First, I almost missed my bus because I was on the wrong side of the street. I was on the right side, but didn't see a bus stop sign, so I crossed the street to go where I saw an actual bus stop. Then, I saw my bus coming down the street. I ran across the street (and it was a busy street, too) to try and 
catch it. The bus was about to start going, but the driver must have seen me running and so he waited for me.
(Left - The DC Temple. It was an overcast day, kind of rainy, but still beautiful) After that, I was right on track for my next bus and the metro. When finally got off the metro, I didn't know which direction to go to my bus stop. I had looked at a map, but it ended up not being very helpful since I didn't know which side of the street I came out on. I eventually found the bus stop, but I was 3 minutes late for my bus. I had to wait for the next one. Unfortunately, the next bus didn't come until 10:30, which was the time that I was supposed to be at the temple.
The wedding started at 11, so I figured they wouldn't turn me away if I could make it there in time, but I had no idea where I was going. I asked the bus driver to tell me when we got to Capitol View Ave, but he didn't even know which bus stop I was talking about (I guess it is called something different then it says online). I just knew that it was near Stoneybrook Rd. After the driver pointed out the sign for Stoneybrook Rd, I pulled the stop signal. I walked back, but the signs were really confusing. The way that I thought that I needed to go said it was Capitol View. I walked that direction anyway because I couldn't figure out where I was supposed to go. Luckily, that turned out the be the right street. I walked up to the temple with about 6 minutes to get to where I needed to be. My feet were killing me by this time. My shoes had cut up my heels a little. They weren't really made for running in.
I walked in, confused about where I was supposed to go. The Washington DC temple is huge! It has at least 6 floors. I was directed down where I took off my shoes before having to head up. By this time, I only had 3 minutes to go. I made it to the 6th floor, and the waiting room with one minute to spare. I was relieved. I would have hated to go all that way only to miss the wedding.
The wedding was really nice, of course. Both Erika and Aaro
n (the bride and groom) seemed to only have eyes for each other. (Right - Erika and Aaron Kimbler, newlyweds) I wonder if they even heard most of what was said. Erika had to wipe tears away, she seemed so happy to be marrying Aaron. Afterwards I went outside, not sure if they were going to be taking pictures or what. I felt out of place because I didn't know anyone but Erika, still, I am glad that I went.
Finally, Erika and Aaron came out of the temple and we went down to get pictures. I was in the everyone picture, and left shortly after. I decided that I wanted to stay for a session at the temple since I had come all that way. It really is a beautiful building, inside and out. Then again, I haven't been to a temple yet that isn't beautiful inside. They always have such classy decorations. I think I would like to hire the same interior decorator for my own home. I think it would make a home feel more peaceful.
Anyway, I didn't know how long I had to catch the next bus, so I only stayed a few extra minutes before finding my way out. It really hurt to walk in my shoes, so I ended up walking a little funny. That ended up making me feet really sore, but it was better at the time. I caught the bus back, caught the metro and my other buses with no problem and I made it back to my hotel room. I wanted to go to the reception tonight, but I couldn't find transportation to get me there, and I was really tired from today as well as yesterday's events, so I decided to stay in my hotel and I'm going to go to bed early. Tomorrow I fly out of DC! Then I have to worry about getting in for my Medical Clearance checkup. Urah...
catch it. The bus was about to start going, but the driver must have seen me running and so he waited for me.(Left - The DC Temple. It was an overcast day, kind of rainy, but still beautiful) After that, I was right on track for my next bus and the metro. When finally got off the metro, I didn't know which direction to go to my bus stop. I had looked at a map, but it ended up not being very helpful since I didn't know which side of the street I came out on. I eventually found the bus stop, but I was 3 minutes late for my bus. I had to wait for the next one. Unfortunately, the next bus didn't come until 10:30, which was the time that I was supposed to be at the temple.
The wedding started at 11, so I figured they wouldn't turn me away if I could make it there in time, but I had no idea where I was going. I asked the bus driver to tell me when we got to Capitol View Ave, but he didn't even know which bus stop I was talking about (I guess it is called something different then it says online). I just knew that it was near Stoneybrook Rd. After the driver pointed out the sign for Stoneybrook Rd, I pulled the stop signal. I walked back, but the signs were really confusing. The way that I thought that I needed to go said it was Capitol View. I walked that direction anyway because I couldn't figure out where I was supposed to go. Luckily, that turned out the be the right street. I walked up to the temple with about 6 minutes to get to where I needed to be. My feet were killing me by this time. My shoes had cut up my heels a little. They weren't really made for running in.
I walked in, confused about where I was supposed to go. The Washington DC temple is huge! It has at least 6 floors. I was directed down where I took off my shoes before having to head up. By this time, I only had 3 minutes to go. I made it to the 6th floor, and the waiting room with one minute to spare. I was relieved. I would have hated to go all that way only to miss the wedding.
The wedding was really nice, of course. Both Erika and Aaro
n (the bride and groom) seemed to only have eyes for each other. (Right - Erika and Aaron Kimbler, newlyweds) I wonder if they even heard most of what was said. Erika had to wipe tears away, she seemed so happy to be marrying Aaron. Afterwards I went outside, not sure if they were going to be taking pictures or what. I felt out of place because I didn't know anyone but Erika, still, I am glad that I went.Finally, Erika and Aaron came out of the temple and we went down to get pictures. I was in the everyone picture, and left shortly after. I decided that I wanted to stay for a session at the temple since I had come all that way. It really is a beautiful building, inside and out. Then again, I haven't been to a temple yet that isn't beautiful inside. They always have such classy decorations. I think I would like to hire the same interior decorator for my own home. I think it would make a home feel more peaceful.
Anyway, I didn't know how long I had to catch the next bus, so I only stayed a few extra minutes before finding my way out. It really hurt to walk in my shoes, so I ended up walking a little funny. That ended up making me feet really sore, but it was better at the time. I caught the bus back, caught the metro and my other buses with no problem and I made it back to my hotel room. I wanted to go to the reception tonight, but I couldn't find transportation to get me there, and I was really tired from today as well as yesterday's events, so I decided to stay in my hotel and I'm going to go to bed early. Tomorrow I fly out of DC! Then I have to worry about getting in for my Medical Clearance checkup. Urah...
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