New Blog Site

I started this blog in 2008.  I can't believe that was eight years ago!  I started it primarily because it was the "cool thing to do."  Overtime, I found it to be a place where I can just talk, share ideas, stories, and memories (that is, when I actually do blog).  In the past eight years I've graduated college, I have a career, and I have grown from a young and naive 19 year-old, to a woman is who more comfortable in her own skin.

I see and hope for a lot of big changes on the horizon; which is why I have decided to start a new blog.  Fear not friends, I am not leaving the blogging world, I am simply changing my address.  In a couple of weeks, this online journal filled with embarrassing, sacred, and serious posts will be complied in a book, on my bookshelf.   I hope you'll follow me over to this new blog site:http://mostbeautifullyyou.blogspot.com/

Yours Truly

Flip-Flops and Pajama Pants

We have a guest blogger today; well, sort of.  My brother, Erik had to write a humorous memoir for one of his college English classes.  Yours truly provides this family humor that is often repeated as they try to and embarrass me, or when they want a good laugh.  I must say, this is brilliantly written.  Well done Erik, well done.

Without further ado....

Flip-Flops and Pajama Pants

            The morning had finally come. I awoke with excitement and enthusiasm as I bounced out of bed at the slightest sign of sunlight. I had waited so long for this day to come; I couldn’t believe it was finally here. I ran into my parents’ room like it was Christmas morning. Continuing to bounce, I leaped onto their bed, waking them from the night that had just passed.

            “You guys, wake up! It’s time to go! We have to get there before all the good ones are gone.”

            “Go back to sleep; the ski swap doesn’t start until ten.” Feeling deflated and less energetic, I decided to go downstairs and make myself something to eat. I need to get a “well balanced breakfast” if I’m going to get my first snowboard, I thought to myself as I flew to the kitchen. As I poured my Lucky Charms into a bowl, my big sister, Alexandra, entered the room, grumpy and rude, as usual. As I filled the mountain of charms with milk, Alexandra commenced her daily chore of yelling at me. This time, it was for waking her while running down the hall. I didn’t understand why she was so irritable.

She used to be so much fun to be around. Ever since she turned 12, she wasn’t the same. All of a sudden, she had turned into a short-tempered and contentious preteen. I overheard my parents explaining to one another that puberty had finally overtaken her body. As my seven-year-old mind tried to comprehend what puberty was, I decided to stay with what I heard my big brother, Jonny, say one time, “She’s just got a stick up her butt.” I thought about asking how it got up there, how long it was going to stay, and how to get it out, but some things were better left unknown.  As she accomplished her task of yelling, I knew the stick must have really been rubbing her wrong that day. Although the day didn’t start off the greatest, nothing was going to stop me from having the best day ever.

            “We’re going to make a quick stop at Rancho San Rafael Park,” I heard my mom say from the front of the car as we were driving. I had forgotten it was Veterans Day. At the park was a list of all the names of the fallen veterans engraved into a wall. I protested, but it was no use; before I knew it, we were there.

Stepping out of the car, I noticed an obstacle course of mud needing to be evaded to get to the wall. In late October, Nevada was no stranger to rain and mud. Seeing the crowds of people walking around booby-trapped messes of mud, I decided to speed up the process by jumping over the many puddles that stood in our way. Leading by example, I did so, closely followed by Jonny, my younger sister, Marissa, and last but not least, Alexandra.

 Along with puberty came a very unique fashion style for Alexandra. That day, she wore a yellow shirt, pink pajama pants, and matching pink flip-flops. It was not the hottest fashion for a New York runway but stylish enough for her. I watched her night attire flow in the wind as she jumped over each puddle, shakily landing on the other side. One by one, we dominated the lava-like puddles until we arrived at what seemed like a mammoth pit of mud and brown water, certain death to anyone who might fall in. This was the last one separating us from our destination. Knowing my limits, I decided to skip this one and walk around. Like I expected, everyone followed.   

After what seemed like a lifetime of paying our respects to all the faithful, fallen soldiers, it was finally time to leave. I thought for sure all the good snowboards were gone, so I decided to leave the park the same way we had entered, leaping. Feeling motivated and gutsy, I walked to the first puddle that separated me from my snowboard. Although I was defeated by this mud puddle of death in our first meeting, it was going to be a different story in our second. I knew I had to try to tame this monster, not only for me but for the fallen men and women whose names lay upon the wall behind me. Staring straight into the eyes of this overgrown chocolate pudding cup, I prepared myself for flight.

 With a racing heart, shortened breath, and the determination of a tiger, I took off like a bullet train. Three steps, two steps, one, Houston, we have takeoff! Flying through the air, my short seven years of life flashed before my eyes. Thoughts sped through my mind, I hope my mom knows I love her, and, Who’s going to take care of my goldfish if I don’t make it? As I looked down, I could see the luscious, green grass overtaking the abyss of the deep brown, carnivorous mud. I closed my eyes, stuck out my feet in preparation for landing, and prayed. SMACK!

Houston, we have a successful landing. Imagining the clapping of the audience around me, I took my bow, held my head high, and smirked at the defeated mud. As I looked up, trying to find the head nodding approvals of my family, I saw it. Alexandra’s attention was focused on the same opponent I had just defeated. Knowing she was the least athletic in the family, I knew she was doomed. As I noticing the tips of her toes tensing to her sandals and the same look of determination on her face that was once on mine, she took off in a duck waddling sprint.

Three steps, two steps, one, Houston, we have takeoff. As I watched Alexandra and her awkward 12-year-old body take flight, I knew her outcome would not be the same as mine. Just like I had done seconds before with my own life, thoughts started racing through my mind. What’s it going to be like to not to have an older sister? Can I have her room after the funeral? What’s going to happen to the stick in her butt? In her flight—which was much slower and lower than mine had been—I knew a bath of mud and bugs was imminent. She stuck her feet out in front of her just like I had, but to her dismay, she crashed and burned right into the rich, creamy center of the mud. She was on her feet, but only a tenth of a second passed until her feet slipped out from under her, immediately causing her to fall on her back. Just like a slip-and-slide, she slid through the rest of the puddle to the green grass that harbored me from danger.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Her high pitched screech was heard from miles away. Bystanders all around exploded in laughter while pointing at what looked like a mud monster arising from a grave. “I hate you all!” she shrieked as she saw even her loving parents struggling to contain their laughter. Before I knew it, she was down the road, tears cleaning her face. All that was left from the scene was a body print in the mud and a broken pink flip-flop.

My Grandpa: Albert Arthur Day

On September 8, 2015, my Grandpa Day went into the hospital for a scheduled and routine knee replacement.  Simple.  Unforeseen to us all, complications began to arise.  Five surgeries, and weeks of hospital stays later, my Grandpa passed away in his home on December 15, 2015.  My heart broke, and is still broken.  If a year ago you would have told me that this would happen, I wouldn't have believed you, called you crazy.  He was, for the most part, healthy.  He was strong, both physically and mentally.  More than that, he was my rock.  People have asked if we were close.  A part of me takes offense to that.  He was my Grandpa, yes,  but he was my advisor, he was my listener, he was my protecter, he was the man who set my standards.

Looking back, I'm grateful for the extra time I got to spend with him before his passing.  I will forever cherish the time we spent talking; the time we spent not talking, but just sitting with each other; the time we expressed our love and gratitude for each other with words, and with the spirit of love.

I had the opportunity to give the eulogy at his funeral.  It was an honor.

Albert Arthur Day

::Grandpa::

I’d like to thank each of you for coming here today to celebrate the life of truly, one of the most honorable men I know.  I’ve had about two weeks to prepare for this eulogy, and during that time, I kept a running list in my phone of memories I have with my Grandpa.  But as I sat down to put some order to it all, I found it to be a very difficult task.  How do you describe a man whose heart is made of gold with words?  Words just seem insufficient and inadequate.

Thursday morning I was watching a clip of Ellen DeGeneres accepting a humanitarian award, and one thing she said was, “What if there was no such thing as the word love, just proof of love?”  That struck a chord with me, it was one of those “ah-ha” moments.  All of you are here today because my Grandpa showed proof of love to you.  Whether it was a smile, a strong handshake, a birthday card in the mail, or a simple act of service.  My Grandpa is proof of love, proof of kindness, proof of charity and service, proof of bravery,  proof of friendship, proof of family, and proof of everything that is good in the world.  He is proof, by words, but most importantly, by deeds.

Many of you know him as Al, Mr. Day, brother Day---I know him as Papa Duke.  Even at the youngest of age, I always had the notion that my Grandpa was always around, and would always be there whenever any of us needed him. 

I’d like to share just a few of the memories I have with him growing up:Our Grandparents took pleasure in spoiling us.  Visiting their house was something I always looked forward to.  A few days before our arrival, the two of them would call and ask what kind of food we wanted.  If you were smart, you took full advantage of this phone call.  Fruitloops, Captain Crunch, hot dogs, candy; all the types of food that your parents wouldn’t normally let you have.  And of course, when you arrived, all the food would magically appear in the kitchen. 

And then there was the princess room.  I was the only girl out of the three of my siblings for a while.  So the princess room was my own special place.  Not only was it special because it was right across from Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom, but it was filled with a countless number of costumes that my Grandma had made, and jewelry, dolls, etc.  My imagination ran wild in that room.
I truly thought I was royalty.  And in a sense, I was.  It was my Grandpas actions and the way he treated us that made us feel special, loved, cherished, and protected.  My Grandpa considered my Grandma his queen, and we were his princesses.  In fact, he gave my sister and I special princess names when we were born that he called us by as we were growing up.  I was princess Falalina, and Marissa was princess Rosebud. He always put aside his own needs and made sure we all feel loved.

As we grew into adults, he was there all the way—leading us, advising us, supporting us, and loving us.  His special gift was to love, and the example that he led imprinted on each and everyone of my siblings heart. 

My Grandpa believed this about love:

Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  it does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  (1 Corinthians 13:4-7 of the new International version).

I have some cousins who were unable to make it today.  I asked them to send me messages of some of their memories of him.  I will only name a few:

His hugs that enveloped you

His support: any big or small event happening in our lives, he would be there: graduations, weddings, sporting events, plays, and concerts.

His voice that “BOOMed” when he was a spectator at sporting events or watching sports on TV

Calling us “sweetness.”

Dates that he would take us on

Three days after he died, I went to bed feeling sad, vulnerable, and scared.  Scared of what life would be like without him.  That night I had a dream.  I won’t go into detail, but one thing he said, is, “I hope you know how much I love you.”

John 14:18: I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you.  Both my Grandpa and my heavenly father sent me comfort that night.

I know my Grandpa is here with me today, and will forever be with me in spirit. I know his happiness is immeasurable now,  and that he is embracing his sweetheart.

To my Grandpa,

I promise to take you with me wherever I go.  You will always be in my thoughts and in my heart.  Thank you for your service, your kindness, your shinning example, but most of all, your love.    

Love you forever and always, 

Your Granddaughter 

Perspective

There have been a couple things on my mind lately.

First, I'm grateful for my life.  I wake up everyday with a sense of security.  I can leisurely drive myself to work, with a full gas tank, and warm shoes on my feet.  I have the privilege of making a living, and interacting with teenagers at the same time {though there are some days I want to poke my eyes out with a fork}. I go home knowing that I will not go to bed hungry or cold at night.  I feel safe at home, at work, on errands that need to be run, and when I go to sleep.  I thank God everyday for my life, and pray for those who are less fortunate.  There are millions of people who don't have the same luxuries as I do.  There are people who go to bed hungry and cold because they have no home.  There are people who have to look over their shoulder every minute of everyday because they live in an unstable country.  There are people, children even, who are so desperate to leave their war-torn home that they are willing to cross a sea with hundreds of others on a dinky raft. There are people who are missing their loved ones because they were killed a in senseless, inhumane act.  So even on the days when nothing seems to be going right, I am grateful.

Second: I'm grateful for my work ethic.  I grew up in a middle-class family.  I never had things handed to me; I always had to work for the things I wanted.  In fact, my first job was working for my dads janitorial business cleaning a bank.  {I can now clean toilets like nobody's business.}  I never saw a paycheck either; instead, I was given money to go to the movies, or grab a burger with my friends.  When I needed money for cheerleading, I stood in the heat for hours at a time selling ice cream at Hot August Nights, or dipping corn in butter at the Rodeo.  When I was 18 I made my first major purchase: a 2006 Toyota Corolla.  I worked hard for that car, but in order to put gas in the tank, I had to have a job.  I worked at a dental office and a preschool making $9.75 an hour.

Did I feel poor?  Yes.

Did I live paycheck to paycheck?  Most months, yes.

Did I survive because I was taught how to work hard and manage my money?  Absolutely.  

Recently I learned that protests are taking place across many college campuses.  From my understanding, students are demanding free higher education, student loan forgiveness, and at least $15 an hour for those working on a college campus.

Would I have enjoyed free college? Duh.

Do I wish my student loans would suddenly vanish into thin air?  Who wouldn't?! 

Would I have liked a job that paid me $15 dollars an hour verses a measly $9.75?  Absolutely.  

But I'm a realist, and I know that their demands simply aren't realistic.  There is no such thing as free; someone is always forking out the money.  Unfortunately, I am part of a generation where many people feel self-entitled.  We are so used to instant gratification that when something requires hard work or patience, we demand something in return for our "sacrifice."

That is simply unfortunate.  The value of hard work, sacrifice, and patience is immeasurable.  It has given me confidence to tackle things that may feel out of reach or impossible.  It has taught me diligence, dignity, respect, and the importance of goal setting.

So I guess I can care less if my Starbucks cup is red, because I can afford a warm drink.  I don't care that I had to pay for my higher education, because going to an institution where I can gain knowledge and wisdom is a luxury that many people in the World will never know.  I don't care that I have to put in 40+ hours a week at work, because I know that I am making a difference in at least one teenagers life.  I don't care that I make monthly budgets for myself, because I'm grateful to even have money to work with.

Even though times can be tough, and we may never have all that we want, I do my best to be optimistic.  It's all about perspective, and I'm choosing to be grateful for my beautiful life and the things that I do have.

Little Brother's Wedding

Introducing Erik and Keara Martinez 

est. August 14, 2015

  Their love story goes something like this:

Boy meets Girl in Colorado.  Boy falls for Girl.  Boy and Girl live happily ever after.

Sigh...melt my heart strings. I couldn't be happier for these two.

Talk about a knock-out of a couple!

 Welcome to the family Keara!!!

Cape Cod 2015

The day I arrived in New York was the day my brother had to take round one of his dreaded boards for Podiatry school.  The guy was studying for literally eight hours, six days a week.  Earlier in the summer when I had seen him in Utah, I went in a room to say hello and he stopped his timer at six hours and fifty-four minutes. He times himself to make sure he gets his full study time in.  If that's not dedication and discipline, I don't know what is!  Anyway, we decided to plan a quick weekend trip to Cape Cod, Massachusetts to celebrate his boards being over.  It was also Whitney's birthday celebration.  We packed up a mini van and headed out.  Along with the four of us came friends Tanner and Christina.  Technically the drive is only four to five hours, but with New York and Connecticut traffic, we rolled up to our hotel eight hours later, around 11 pm!

There's nothing much left to say other than beach, food, window shopping, and lots of ice cream.  I think the pictures will tell the story.

Everyone under on 3.....

1....2....3....

So cold!

Cape Cod, you were too good to us. 

New York City, Summer 2015

Disclaimer: If you don't want to read about my thoughts/feelings of NYC, skip to the bottom for pictures.

New York City.  Also referred to as the  big apple, the city that never sleeps, the concrete jungle, Gotham City, or more appropriate, the center of the universe.  Well, it won't come as a shock to many that New York City is simply my city.   

I remember the first time I visited New York City, I had just turned seventeen. I went with a large group of choir friends.  It was one of those experiences from your adolescence that you'll never forget.  Broadway shows, backstage tours, Empire State Building, Carnegie Hall, 5^th Avenue; it was all a dream.  It was my first time in a city of that scale.  I remember distinctly thinking to myself, "I could never live here because I would never be able to find my way to my apartment."  That was young and naive seventeen-year-old me.  

Fast-forward to today and you'll find me owning the streets like I'm a native (or so I feel like, and wish for).  Since my first visit, I've been back about ten times. People often question my sanity for loving New York so much.  I've heard all of the complaints:

1. It's too big.   Yes it is.
2. It smells.      Yes, in some places it does.
3. Too many people.  Hence the term "The city that never sleeps."
4. It's expensive.  As are most big cities.
5. You most likely have to walk everywhere.   Yes, but you'll learn to love it.
6. It's noisy.  Yes, in some places, it is.
7. People are rude.  Stereotype, but some truthfulness. 

Sure, I can defend the city by naming its positive attributes: diversity, BROADWAY, the skyline, the creativity and energy, etc. But my love goes a lot deeper.  When I'm in New York I'm apart of something bigger than I am. I find myself dreaming endlessly--I'm captivated by the endless amount of opportunity at your feet. Fear is replaced with curiosity.  Doubtful thoughts turn into ambition. Even the most conventional of days are filled with new culture, art, and people. But most of all, I feel self-sufficient.  I'm not comparing myself to others' around me, because everyone is different; and really, that's a beautiful thing.  I feel comfortable walking in my own shoes, whether it's by myself or with a group of people.  I am in control.  I guess a person can find that I anywhere, but for me, it's in my city of dreams.  In reality, I don't know if I'll ever have the opportunity to live in there (Internal monologue: oh you better!).  However, I do know it will always be a part of me (as cheesy as that sounds).

I'm going to let you in on a little secret.  Ready? My pipe dream is to live in NYC for while, and when the time comes to settle down and have a family, I'd like to live in a suburban area about an hour outside of the city.  Okay, that may not be secret to everybody. 

Now, enjoy the endless stream of pictures. 

P.S. I've been back in Reno for only 1.5 days and have already cried about five times due to the fact that my I'm not there anymore.  If I seem a little emotional, do not bring up NY unless you want to witness me cry and throw a tantrum. 

P.P.S. Cape Cod post to follow 

 The view coming in from the Staten Island Ferry 

Washington Square Garden 

 These brownstones.  I drool over them every time. 

A message to those who have never been to the city: It's not all made up of tall buildings and skyscrapers.  Behold, Prospect Park. 

 Gabriella decided to play in the sudden rainstorm.  Silly girl.

Bucket List: See Les Miserable with Ramin Karimloo as Jean Valjean.  Check!

 Central Park and giant bubbles. Perfection.

One World Trade

 Manhattan Childrens Museum on a hot and humid day.  Gabriella hasn't mastered the slides yet.

I mainly posted this to show off her cute outfit with the red accents.  Well done.

Sunset at Astoria Park.

Until next time my beautiful city.  I will miss you every day 'til then.