Baby, it's cold!

I went back to Bulgaria recently with my dad and brother. I served my mission there and my dad is originally from there.

While there, my dad got really sick. I play doctor at work, so I diagnosed him with too much milk products (he's lactose sensitive), too much activity with little sleep, and too much annoying family members.

However, ALL (and I do mean ALL) the Bulgarians (family, friends, acquaintances) said he suffered from too much cold. It was a pleasant 80-85 degrees while there. What cold you ask? Cold water, ice, and leaving the windows open at night.

You see, Americans apparently are full of sickos because we like to be cool when it's hot. Bulgarians are afraid of the cold. I truly don't understand it. When Dad and I went back about 10 years ago, we could not find ice. Some restaurants had ice and when they did, we would ask for LOTS of ice. That meant to a Bulgarian to give, at most, 3 small pieces (their ice comes in the size of an oversized marble--maybe Milkdud size).



Here's a picture of my cousin (in the red), my aunt (dad's sister-in-law), my dad, and me. Notice Chinka's clothing? Yeah, she's wearing a woolen vest, with tights, and a scarf. When it gets really hot, she'll remove the vest.

Anyway, Bulgarians are starting to use ice a little more now, so we were able to find some. But they came packaged...seriously. You know the bubble-wrap you get in packages? The kind that are fun to pop? Well, imagine something similar, but instead of air in the bubble, there was ice. And the plastic was some kind that was demon-made because it was thick and hard to get the ice out. I lost so many pieces of ice to the dirt floor because of the devil inspired packaging.

Dad had planned on staying 2 weeks after my brother and I left, but once he got sick, he wanted to come home with us. So, after some expensive cell phone calls and texts, we got his ticket changed. Once he got word that he was coming home with us, he had a miraculous recovery. Ok, not miraculous, but he did start feeling a lot better.

He said that he won't be going back again. Of course, he said that 10 years ago when he and I visited and it was literally 100+ degrees there.....

Dobrey Doshlee na Bulgaria

That's "Welcome to Bulgaria" in Bulgarian for the non-speakers. This picture is the sign into my Dad's hometown. Just so you know, the name means "city/town of Ivan" and my Dad's name is Ivan in Bulgarian. But the town isn't named after Dad--Ivan is just a very, very popular name. In fact, in my family we have my Dad's uncle Ivan, Dad is Ivan, his niece is Ivanka, she is married to Ivan, they have a grandson named Ivan, Dad's brother has a grandson named Ivan. YIKES!

So, let's look at another fun picture of Bulgaria.



Bulgaria is getting more and more American. Too much, in my opinion....but that's a different post. Notice the sign beneath the big M? It says McDrive and that means they have a drive thru. Although no one was using it while we were there--and it was busy. I don't think the lazy American way has caught on there yet.

Let me show you one more picture from Bulgaria. This is one reason why I love Bulgaria. I love their open market shopping.


See the men on the left side of the pic? After I took this picture, I wanted to get the other side and so pointed my camera that way. The tall man standing in front of the 2 older men in lighter shirts (the tall man is looking at me) quickly walked away right after this pic. A lot of the people there still have Communism fears--picture taking means they can find you anywhere.

Also, notice the cobblestone street. I absolutely love that look. But it plays heck with your shoes. I ruined so many shoes while on my mission. In fact, many of the sister missionaries wore Doc Martens (I called them combat boots) because we just couldn't keep our shoes from developing holes so quickly. I never got into that look--I just kept buying shoes or wearing my holey shoes.

More pictures to follow......

Who is still reading this?

It's been so long since I've written anything. I'm thinking that now I'm writing just for me. Which is fine...I like me and find my conversation interesting.

I've been in a slump for a long time. It actually started getting worse around the time I went to Bulgaria. I know that my sleeping problems are a big part of it. And Bulgaria was definitely not good for sleep--the travel, the time difference, the bed bugs all contribute to lack of sleep.

But, now I'm back and looking foward to my trip to Hawaii. Which will probably mess with my sleep again--the travel, the time difference, but hopefully no bed bugs.

What was I talking about? Oh, yeah...my depression. I'm trying to change my thinking to help. I've decided that happiness is something that we work for...not a state of mind. But, it is work and I'm lazy. I want to find happiness in my cabinet or drawer and pull it out whenever I need it.

One thing that has me thinking even more is moving. As scary as that sounds, there's a part of me that gets very excited by the prospect of moving to the Mountain West. I love the mountains and always have. But, once again, I'm afraid I'm looking to just open a door to happiness--thinking that moving will solve my problems. I remind myself that it's not a problem solver, but rather a problem trader--one set of problems for another.

Goin' on a mission!

I was baptized the day before my 19th birthday. From that moment on, I wanted to go on a mission. I talked about it constantly, thought about it all the time, and prayed hard that I would go. When I turned 21, I was still in school at BYU. I was on the slow plan since I was having such a good time. So, I had at least 2 years before I graduated. But, I wanted to go on a mission. I called my mom to discuss the possibility. But, my non-member dad was dead-set against it.

After praying about it, I decided to wait until I graduated to go. I was at BYU home one Sunday morning. My roommates were gone and I was getting ready for church. As I normally did, I was listening to a churchy station while showering. This station would play hymns, church songs, and gave church news throughout the day on Sundays.I'm doing my thing in the shower when the news from the church came on the radio. It was announced that a couple of new missions were open. The first one they announced was the Bulgaria, Sofia mission. I dropped my soap and screamed. At last! The former Communist country of my father's was opened for the Gospel!

I was so excited, laughing, and crying, that I just turned off the water to not waste anymore. All I could do is think about this and how it affected my family there in Bulgaria. I couldn't collect enough thoughts to finish my shower. Suddenly I heard the phone ring. Since no one was home, I rushed from the shower to answer it. It was a friend who had heard the same radio broadcast and called to alert me. I kept saying, "I know! Isn't it wonderful?," while standing there naked and dripping.

I finally felt a cold breeze as the air conditioner began to blow. That made me realize that I was naked and dripping.

Later, I reflected on the news and was impressed that my decision to not go at age 21 was for this very reason. Had I gone when I was 21, Bulgaria was not open as a mission and I would not serve there. Somehow I knew that since I waited, I would have an opportunity to serve my father's native land. I wasn't sure if it meant now, as a young woman or when I was old and retired, but I knew that this was important news for me.

Buggin' out!

I hate bugs. I don't mind them so much when I'm outside (except for bees). My reasoning is that I'm in their residence. But, if I see one in the house, I get a little freaky. It's one thing that makes me really upset that I'm not married--because it's HIS duty to kill them.

When I first moved into my house, I didn't have any furniture except for my bed. So I sat on my living room floor to do paperwork. One night I'm sitting on the floor doing some stuff when I felt something on my hand. As I looked down to see what it was, I realized that it couldn't be anything other than a bug. It was big and black and after the echos of my screams died down I was able to grab my can of Raid and attack it. Eww, (shudder) just thinking about it makes me want to shriek.

When I was living with roommates, we each had our own room. On one particular night, M. was working late and T. and I had already gone to bed. Suddenly, out of the blue, I heard a scream. Not just one scream but a series of screams. I quickly left my bed and ran to T.'s room. She was screaming and pointing to her bed. She said that there was a cricket in her bed. After inspecting the bed (which was funny since we both were squeamish about it), we discovered that somehow a cricket had gotten into her pillowcase. It was in the corner at the bottom between the pillow and the case. How it got there is still a mystery.

We've discovered the ugly creature--how to get it out? We tried to make a space between the pillow and the case thinking that it would just crawl out--but to no avail. So, we got the great idea of taking the whole thing out to the balcony and then taking out the pillow and shaking the case. Brilliant! Except her pillow was a feather pillow. Which means that in order to get it out of the case, you practically have to grab it from inside the case and tug and pull to release it. No way, no how would either of us do that with a cricket inside. It might touch us!

I don't know how we were able to do it, but we finally got that darn pillow out of the case and shook the case. Instead of the cricket flying over the balcony, it was flipped into the apartment under the couch! Just picture this....2 girls prancing around, shrieking, and holding a pillow by their fingertips. Then after much dancing and crying, screaming that the creepy bug is now in the apartment and between us and our bedrooms. I think we finally just took a deep breath and ran to our rooms.

Don't know what happened to the bug....it may have died from laughter.

The downside of sign language

You know those jokes that you have with friends that never die? Well, I have several. Like a couple of friends who ALWAYS talk about how I got Euchred twice while going alone. (If that sentence doesn't make sense, then please see this about one of the best card games ever.) Or the friend who teases me about groping him almost every time I see him. Or my godfather always talking about my personal way to warm him up. Here's one that I have to tease my friend about quite often.

My roommate, T., had an off again, on again relationship with her boyfriend. T. would come home and I could usually tell if it was on or off with the boyfriend. Oftentimes, she would come home exclaiming, "I'm OVER him!" Of course, the next day or two she would come home glowing and no longer over him.

It got to the point that eventually, she would just use sign language when they were off. Usually this would be her holding one arm straight out and the other arm would making an arc over straight arm. That meant she was "over" him (get it? the arm going over the other).

One day T. came home and I smiled as I noticed her glow. I asked her about her vent the day before when she was "over" him. Without saying a word, T. held out her arm straight and with the other made an arc under that arm! Now, for those who may be too innocent to understand this particular brand of sign language, if you do that to someone, it is a way to flip them off. I couldn't believe it! My angelic roommate just flipped me off! When T. realized what she had done, she quickly explained that she was no longer over him, but in love again.

Ho! That was funny. By the way, T. is no longer over him since they were married and now have 2 children.

Miracles still happen

Let me share an experience I had. I had driven to Utah from Indiana and back. This happened on my return home. I returned over Labor Day. I copied this from an email I sent to a friend.

On Saturday night, I had dinner with the missionary who taught me the Gospel when I was 9. He gave the blessing on the food and during his prayer, I remember thinking that he was being so specific regarding his requests. He prayed for his children by name and activity for that night--being specific about what he was asking. He then prayed for me and my trip home--again being very specific. I felt touched that he was so detailed and concerned.


Then I leave Sunday morning. The first day was fine, no problems whatsoever. I stopped late that night to sleep and got about 4.5 - 5 hrs of sleep. I wanted to get up early to get on the road and be home at a decent hour. Once I got to Kansas City KS, the roads got very busy. We were driving the speed limit, but there were a lot of cars on the road. Once I hit IL, about every 5 miles was a police officer pulling people over. Very busy interstate.

When I was about 2.5 - 3 hrs from home, I was listening to my Ipod, had my passenger seat covered with stuff (food, napkins, etc.), and my phone on the passenger seat. The phone rang and I knew it was either Dad or my friend from UT. I reached for it, but couldn't find it. So, I looked at the seat. When I returned my eyes to the road, I saw grass. I had crossed from the right lane into the left lane and was in the median. I overcorrected and went across the 2 lanes again, slammed on my brakes when I hit the shoulder, and spun 360 degrees, landing in the grass on the shoulder.

I sat there just stunned. I wasn't hurt at all--didn't hit anything...just very badly shaking from fear and adreline. Three people stopped and the first guy that got to me tried to open my door. I had enough sense to unlock it. He kept asking me if I was alright and all I could do was nod. I finally found my voice and said that I wasn't hurt at all, just shaken. The other people that stopped asked him if I was alright. Everyone was stunned that I hadn't flipped the car. The guy that stopped and a couple that stopped (man and woman) were mechanics. Both men looked at the car (under the car, under the hood, outside, etc) and said that there wasn't a scratch on it. Nothing was wrong.

The woman was an EMT and was required to call it in. Since there were so many police on the road, there was an immediate response. The police officer asked for my license and proof of insurance. When he was calling in the license plate, I told him that it was a rental. He then wanted to see the rental papers.

*Side note: My brother wanted me to take a pistol with me for protection while on the road. I do not have a license to carry but never took the gun out except when I was staying in the motel at night. That morning, I stuck the gun in my duffel bag knowing that I wouldn't be using it or anything.*

When the police officer wanted to see the rental papers, I remembered that they were in the same place as the gun. I panicked a little, but I unzipped it enough to put my hand in there to get the papers and he never saw it. He checked out everthing which was fine (I've only had 2 speeding tickets and the last one was about 4-5 yrs ago). By this time I was bawling in reaction, so he told me to drive about 2 miles to the next exit to collect myself. I sat in a parking lot for about 20 min as I cried and kept saying thank you. I called my friend to get sympathy as I knew that I could never tell my dad what had happened (he was the one that called). He would completely lose it and get scared, mad, etc.


For the remainder of the time home, I kept praying for continued guidance and safety, to stay awake and alert, be extremely careful and aware, to ask that the car remain in good operating order and appearance, and saying thank you about every other sentence. I was reminded of the prayer given the night before I left and the specificity of it--and I remembered thinking during that prayer that it was a good example of being specific in prayer. Now I know how good to be specific because he asked for something like that I be alert and skilled to handle any situation.

There is no doubt in my mind that heavenly beings were watching out for me. It is truly a miracle that I didn't hit any cars, posts, or anything. All I got was shaking hands, sweaty armpits, and dry mouth. And deep gratitude for Heavenly Father and those people who helped. I truly believe that there is a reason why 2 mechanics were there to help me. As I have gone over the accident in my mind, I am amazed that nothing serious happened. With all the cars on the road, the least one would expect would to cause a pile up as cars slammed on brakes to avoid hitting me. But nothing like that happened--there wasn't even congested traffic from this--it all ended up on the shoulder. For some reason, I and everyone around me were protected. It's apparent that we are still needed here.