Back Home Again

Let's discuss the many events that have occurred in my life in the last few days. Let's do so in rapid-fire bullet points so you don't get bored:

• I worked my last shift (hopefully ever) at the Museum of Art
• I packed all of my things
• Molly arrived at the airport and we had a long awaited reuniting
• We cleaned my bathroom and room as best we could
• I almost killed my landlord for showing up early and expecting us to have cleaned already
• I finally got my deposit back
• Molly slept at my neighbor's house (female) so she could actually get sleep
• We left Provo, UT for the last time as two unwed people at 7:15 a.m. on Thursday
• We took numerous breaks and stops on our way home
• We had by far the shortest 13 hour drive and fell in love all over again
• I dropped Molly off after saying hi to Haley and the puppies
• I remembered that puppies like licking feet and I hate having my feet licked but love puppies (dichotomy)
• I threw in this bullet point to see if you were paying attention
• I unpacked all of my stuff...sort of and hung out with some of the old Clovis crew for a while
• I moved a piano
• Molly and I registered for things at Target, then paused for a few hours and continued online
• I went on an awesome road trip with my mom and Candace to the coast (Santa Cruz boardwalk and Monterey) all day Saturday
• I visited Molly at Jamba Juice for the first time since I left in January

I know that is quite a bit of stuff. I apologize for a third of it, but I wanted you all to know what's been going on.

The significance of this recent return home to me is great. These are my last days as an unmarried man. (Lest you think I wish there were more, I assure you I am ridiculously excited to be wed to Molly).

I could write a lot more about our road trip from Provo or the one to the coast. Suffice it to say that I am so so so so so so so so happy to be home with my family and future family that I cannot accurately or adequately express in words how much it puts a smile on my face. I love Molly, I love my family, I love California, and I love this time of year. If you are sad, just come be around me for thirty minutes and you'll feel better. I'm not that great, but I just feel so darn happy that you can't help but be affected.

Now I just have to remember to buy those Fudge Grahams for everyone (or assorted Dollar Tree items).

- Rex

The Boy Who Cried Love

Ok, I've been debating whether or not I want to post the script of my book on here. It's not long so I think I'll do it. If for no better reason I'll at least have a copy in case I lose the handwritten one.

It's called The Boy Who Cried Love and it's supposed to be a children's book of sorts. If you don't like it, that's fine. Plus there are no illustrations here to explain what it will look like. Here goes:

There once was a boy whose parents were in love. He knew because every day when Dad left for work he would say to Mom, "I love you sweetheart." Mom would sweetly reply, "I love you too. Be safe." As the days wore on and the boy grew he became anxious to understand what it was to be in love.

One bright Thursday as he walked to school, the boy decided that he would try and be in love.

When he entered the classroom a girl with a blue ribbon in her hair said, "Hi." The boy thought to himself, "This is it! This must be love!"

But when it was time for arts and crafts, the girl with the blue ribbon would not share her supplies. Frustrated, the boy thought that surely two people in love would share their scissors and glue. No, this wasn't it. This was not the love he was looking for.

At recess the boy ran straight for the tetherball court. On the way he tripped and skinned his knee. A girl in red sneakers helped him up. "Maybe this is it," thought the boy. "Maybe this is love."

But when he had brushed off his pants and looked around he saw the red sneakered girl playing hopscotch with another boy. The boy thought that love meant you had to play together too. No, this wasn't love either.

By the time he got back to the classroom the boy was sad. "Maybe I'm just not supposed to find love. Or maybe it's not even real," he thought.

He let his head hang down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something on his desk. He opened it up. It read, "Hi, I'm new here. What's your name?" The boy didn't know where the note came from and he didn't care. But as he put it away he got a funny feeling in his stomach.

At lunch a girl sat down next to the boy. She tried to talk to him but he just thought she wanted to trade desserts. He barely heard her say, "Did you get my note?"

The boy looked up and saw her, finally really saw her. She was very pretty and had a yellow flower on her shirt. He didn't want to admit it, but the boy thought he might have found love.

"I know," the boy thought, "I'll ask her to walk home with me. If she says not, it's not love and I can stop worrying about the whole thing." After the boy and girl talked for a few minutes he nervously asked her to walk home with him. She said yes.

When the final bell rang they found each other. As the girl took the boy's hand he thought, "This may not be love. But whatever it is, I sure like it."

The end.

It will be dedicated to Molly. I can't wait to draw it all up and put it in the book she got me for my birthday :)

I'm 22. Don't mess with me.

If you haven't seen Molly's birthday post for me, you need to go read it. It's incredible. I thought I could do a mean rhyme. She's ridiculously good.

Anyway, today was going to be full of birthday celebration, but it turns out things couldn't be that way. And that's okay. At first I was sad when every one of my friends said they weren't going to be able to make it to my party. Then I realized it's not so bad. It's just another day and it's not like there has been no celebration. Here are a few things that happened just for me:

Molly sent me a package with an incredibly thoughtful and awesome gift.

My parents and sister sent me a great package full of some foods I love and lots of cards.

My grandpa sent a card in that package too.

Molly wrote me a beautiful poem on her blog.

I'm going to breakfast in an hour and a half with a couple of friends.

What more could a man need?

I am just so excited to see Molly and my family again. That will be the best gift of all. I miss them terribly. Winter semester has seemed eternal. I will be happy to be done with finals next week and have a terrific drive home with the woman that I love.

So, Happy Birthday? Ya, very happy.

Lost Generality #1

Okay, let me set up some disclaimers before I write this post:

I have only seen season 1 and part of 2, so don't comment any spoilers or I will actually be upset with you.

I don't know why, but the other night I was dreaming and this thought came to me. I almost got up to write it down but I was in that state between sleep and consciousness that didn't permit me to move at all. In my head I was thinking "I should write a post about how to survive as a character on Lost." So that's what I'm doing.

If you are to survive on this show, you must:

- Be either entirely crucial to the plot or absolutely unseen

- Have an incredibly complex backstory worthy of constant flashbacks or no past at all

- Not be black or a child

- Not have a drugrunning brother who dresses as a priest

- Not beat your real daughter's mother when she doesn't know you're her father

- Not hang out on ledges with guys like Hurley

- Not be an imaginary friend

- Not hang out with your new Iraqi boyfriend in the rain

- Not have a sister who's not really your sister by blood and who you're in love with

Those are just a few suggestions based on my observations up to this point in season 2. Please don't ruin the rest for me. I want to discover them bit by bit.

Overall the key is to be a doctor or pivotal character, or be the guys who do heavy labor while the pivotal characters boss you around behind the scenes.

I hope you have enjoyed this lesson. If you have not seen Lost and are subsequently confused, consult your Netflix account during any spare time.

- Rex

Seriously, more about the Fudge Grahams

If you paid attention to my last post and the comments that followed, you are probably sick of hearing about these things. But I'm waiting for class to start so I figured I should give you a little more detail on why I constantly offer these as a prize.

First off, they are only a dollar. Second, they are covered in fudge. Third, they are graham cracker based. Fourth, they remind me and my friends of the giant poker chips used in Casino Royale that represented a million dollars (or whatever the denomination was).

Anyway, that's why. If you're hungry, there's probably a Dollar Tree near you. Stop in and grab a few!

I should be dreaming

I bought a big poster board and started drawing on it because I had too much free time on my hands. I haven't touched that thing in almost two weeks. I miss my free time. I would shun responsibility if I weren't so darn responsible.

Lately I've started to cook real dinners. Last night it was fish and corn. Tonight it was chicken and various vegetables. Good news: I'm not a bad chef. Bad news: They were frozen vegetables.

This post will be bits and pieces of a thousand things running through my head so just quit now if you aren't interested.

I'm bad at following through with goals. When I bought my poster board I also bought a big calendar like the kind used in elementary school classrooms. My plan was to draw something to represent what I did or what happened to me every day. I started on March 24. I ended on March 29. I just want to take it down and tear it up because it's staring at me and every time I look at it I realize I failed at the one goal that was important to me without really affecting me.

Some days I'm incredibly productive and others I lack initiative. Usually those days are grouped in bunches, like little spurts of energy followed by little dead periods in which I am basically useless. I think I'm exaggerating for effect, but the point is the same. I suppose that's part of the human existence. If we could all be perfectly consistent there would be no gray areas. Everyone would be 100% good or 100% evil. I should hope that were this the case, I would be found with the good.

I registered for classes last night. I only have to go to class on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Is it wrong of me to wish I had gotten Tuesdays and Thursdays instead? That sounds lazy, but then I would have tons more time to do assignments and work and be with my then wife. If it's wrong, I don't want to be right.

Wow, I think I've flapped my metaphorical gums enough tonight. If you made it all the way through this post, comment to prove it and I will owe you anything from the Dollar Tree. I recommend the Fudge Grahams. They are fabulous.

Post Script: Don't ever write a blog post at midnight.

Recuerdos

I went and reread Molly's post on Europe as well as the Kevin and Ashley blog detailing their San Franciscan adventures and decided that I too should post some pictures and look back at a great time of my life. Here we go:

Here I am in my kitchen in Maipu making delicious corn bread. My parents often sent me packages full of delightsome treats that helped keep me afloat. Chilean food was nothing impressive.

Here I am as a district leader in my last area before returning home. Those were easily among the best missionaries in the whole world. I miss them all. We shared some great times.

This little guy's name is Danton. Despite the fact that he was sometimes very difficult to deal with, he is adorable as you can clearly see.

This is the statue atop San Cristobal. We took a couple of trips up here during my time in Chile. I found it a fun diversion. I thought this picture was pretty awesome since it looks like Mary is controlling the skies.

Here I am holding a tray of "milkshakes" that I made for a family who had never had them. It was quite tasty though the ingredients did not lend themselves to what I had in mind.

I call it "Chilly In Chile." I will give you a dollar if you can figure out what it's made of. Mark Nielson is excluded from that deal. And don't try and bribe him with 50 cents.

Here I am with Elder Walker painting Eliana's doors. She was an investigator who apparently still remembers me. She was a sweet lady who owned a Book of Mormon for somewhere near 35 years without ever reading a page. We helped her get around to reading it.

These are from cigarette cartons. The top (right) one says something about the flavor you love followed by "Tobacco Kills. If you want to live, quit smoking." The one with nasty teeth says, "Yes I have bad breath." The old man is followed by the caption, "In Chile tobacco kills 16,000 people every year. The next one could be you."

They take their warnings seriously.

Hermana Pagoaga trying to kill another member of our district. Secretly she was in love with him. You can't see it but the cup he's holding has the face of the prophet taped on it from the Liahona. Pretty awesome party cups.

Here we are when I had two companions. We went with two sister missionaries and our friend Fernando to sing Christmas carols at rest homes in the area. There was no proselyting to be had.

This metro is NEVER empty. Except on New Year's Day. This was New Year's Day. Hence the picture.

Ok well that was my first installment in a series of posts to come some time in the future with pictures and captions about my mission. If you couldn't tell, it was the best experience ever (except for falling in love with Molly).

The End.

Wake up

It's 1:50 a.m.

It's way too late to be up.

Time to go to bed.

But it's been a while since I last posted something.

I've never been so sure in my life that despite the challenges the future holds, I am on the right path and Heavenly Father is pleased with the decisions I am making.

Time is flying by. Soon will come the day when my love and I will be reunited. For that I am grateful.