Travel Awards: Slovenia

Slovenia/Slovenija

I didn't know much about Slovenia when we went there. Definitely didn't know how to pronounce the capital city name: Ljubljana. I knew that my cousin was serving a mission somewhere in the country and that a friend of mine had told me it was beautiful. And I trust my friends implicitly. Plus, Croatia and Slovenia are counted as one country in the Eurail Select Pass. So why not?!

As we approached the train station there, I remember thinking, "Dangit. This looks ugly." Apparently I have high standards for train stations?  Regardless, my first impression couldn't have been further from the truth. If ever there was a more pristine, charming city, I have not yet come across it. Look at this place!

Triple Bridges

Ljubljana is pretty small, as far as European capital cities go--population 272,000 (compared to Copenhagen's 560,000 or Paris' 2.2 million). After my experiences in London, Paris, New York, and other big cities, Ljubljana's quiet and slower pace was almost surreal. All Emily and I did was walk the city and admire its beauty.

  It looks like a fairytale city, in some ways; kind of like the type of city a theme park would build for a mini-Europe attraction. And yet 100 times more magical because it's real!

 

 

 I hereby award Ljubljana, Slovenia:

Cleanest & Most Charming City Award

 As a side note, our trip to Slovenia wasn't entirely uneventful. Being chocolate fiends deprived of real (European) chocolate and having a craving that had to be filled by whatever happened to be at the train station shop, Emily was charged with the duty of finding us some snack chocolate. Her choice? "Rum Kokos." Before you judge Emily on her Word of Widsom-breaking candy choice, I ask you to consider our innocence. Having grown up without ever tasting even a drop of alcohol, and also being American and, thus, under some vague impression that alcohol must be cooked out of food prior to sale to the general public, we popped a couple of the Rum Kokos into our mouths. They were disgusting--with a taste neither of us had experienced but that smelled suspiciously like alcohol. Beginning to put two and two together, we checked the ingredients.

Because of yet another naivety-induced experience later on in our trip which I will mention in another post, I only award Slovenia as host to:

Biggest Naïve Accident

Honorable Mention

Travel Awards: Croatia

Croatia/Hrvatska

When my sister Emily and I planned our trip to Europe, we didn't have a particular desire to go to Croatia. I think, in the end, we chose Croatia because it was the cheapest airport to fly into and it sounded like an adventure. Croatia didn't disappoint us. We spent our first day exploring the city--botanical gardens, beautiful Eastern European buildings, parks, cathedrals. Despite our jetlag and our inability to read any sign whatsoever, we thoroughly enjoyed the capital city Zagreb. However, I'm afraid the first award I must give to Croatia is....[drumroll]...

Creepiest Children Award

I admit that this award is perhaps unfair, seeing as I only interacted with one group of kids. However, if, in our short 36 hours in Croatia, the only kids we happened upon were creepy, I don't feel too awful presenting this award. Here is what happened:

Emily and I were exploring Zagreb by night--and it was amazing! Jelačić Square is right in the city center, and it's beautiful! 

Afterward, we continued walking around aimlessly exploring, and happened upon a cute and quirky little playground. We enjoyed ourselves playing on the strange park toys, as exhibited here:

 

 However, as you can see in this (not very good) photo, there is a young boy looking at us in the background of the picture--top left.

And that's fine. Playgrounds are for kids, and not only were my sister and I not kids, we were foreigners. It's natural to exhibit in interest in the doings of foreigners. He and his friends were laughing and saying things we couldn't understand, and I didn't think much of it. But as I grabbed the camera to take a picture of Emily, the little twit twerp kid sneakily came near me and then grabbed me--and I'm not talking about my elbow, my friends. I stood in shock for a second, and then, in outrage and disbelief, told Emily what had happened. That was the night Emily became a true heroine.

 Because she ran after him.

We chased those little boys up stairs, across a couple pavilions, and then down some more stairs until we came upon a policewoman. And, although she spoke no English, we communicated with charades why we were chasing after a group of 10-year-old boys. It was probably a pretty amusing night for her. Thankfully, she took it from there--by which I mean she took off after those icky boys. 

Hence Croatia's first award. 

Despite that jarring experience on our first night, Croatia still had much to offer us. On our second day, we took a trip to Plitvička jezera--or Plitvice Lakes National Park. It was absolutely pouring rain and barely 50 degrees; not the makings of a miraculous or even enjoyable day, in my book. But even on such a cloudy, rainy day, the park was stunning.

 Waterfalls both big and small, turquoise lakes, and bright green vegetation everywhere.  

It's one thing for water to look this color in sparkling sunlight, but another thing entirely to have such color on a dull, gray day.

 For this, I present Croatia the award for:

Most Beautiful Freshwater Award

and

Greenest-Place-I've-Ever-Seen-In-All-My-Livelong-Days Award

 I mean, look at it. Look at it again.

 Amazing.

 Lastly, due to the delicious breakfast I had on our departure day, I award Croatia:

Most Delicious Breakfast Pastry Award

I still think about that pastry sometimes.

I would highly recommend any of you take a jaunt over to Croatia if you have the chance. As long as you are wary of innocent-looking children and have a strong, protective sister, your experience is sure to be lovely!

Night with Miranda Sings!!!

So last week was my birthday, and even though I was sick, I got a great birthday present from some of my siblings--a VIP night with Miranda Sings!!! 

Now if any of you aren't familiar with Miranda, you're missing out. Big time. If you need a little intro into the world of Miranda, here are a couple videos:

I'm a big Mirfanda myself, and have shamelessly attempted to impersonate her in my own video.

Anyway, now that we all know and love Miranda, let's talk about Brandon's and my VIP night at her show! When we got in line for the show, we basically just watched all the Mirfandas arrive in their Miranda pants and shirts, complete with bobby-pinned hair and lip-enhancing sloppy red lipstick. And they were all talking in Miranda voices. The whole time. Miranda has quite the fan base! I was surprised to see so many little girls there.
The show was pretty awesome. It started out with Colleen Ballinger (the girl who plays Miranda) singing a couple of numbers. She has a really good voice and she's really beautiful. The second number she sang was Defying Gravity, and I caught some of her transformation occurring.

Everyone loves when that lipstick comes out! Once Miranda was on, she told us all how happy she was to be with us in Salt Lake City, Mormons. It was pretty awesome to see how her family works together with her. Her sister introduced her, her brother was part of her show, and her niece and nephew got up and sang a little bit, as well. It's crazy to see how big Miranda Sings has gotten when it all started with a joke between Colleen and her friends.
Basically, her show was a seminar (or cinemar, as she says it) for her fans on how to be better people. She covered "selp helf" topics of love, haters, porn, and talents: all of her favorite topics.

When she sang the Nat King Cole song "L.O.V.E.," she came and sat on Brandon's lap and serenaded him. 

Her face probably looked more like *this* when she was singing to Brandon, though:

After the show, we got an awkward Miranda hug, an autographed picture, and this lovely snapshot with her.

Fun-Filled February

This weekend was a family weekend. All of us were anticipating the arrival of the long-awaited Calvin Joseph--Brian and Rachel's baby they've been trying so hard to bring into this world for the past few years. While waiting for the little man to make his entrance, I got to take some photos with Eric, Liz, and Savvy. I just love these guys!  Eric and Liz are such amazing parents, and they're pretty dang good-lookin', too!

 Savvy isn't too fond of pictures at this point in her life, so snapping shots was slightly tough. As you can see, Elmo is her security blanket. Since he is such an integral part of her life, I suppose it makes sense to have him in all the family photos. 

Savvy also demands to be with her Aunt Emily at all possible moments, which isn't always feasible.

What it looks like when Savvy can't be with her aunt Emily 

As you can see, one measly Elmo just doesn't cut it for this girl.

 

But who can resist a face like that?!

I really love watching my sister Liz and her daughter--she's such a sweet and smart mom with such a sweet and smart child.

Another awesome part of the weekend was seeing long-lost Sarah and Mason who drove all night from San Francisco to be here for little Calvin's arrival. It was so fun to play games with them and spend some quality time for the first time since Brandon's and my wedding.

Meanwhile, Anna got to fulfill a big dream this weekend by going to the Pentatonix concert in Salt Lake. If anyone can truly appreciate a band like PTX, it's Anna. She's got perfect pitch and some awesome musical ability and knowledge that the rest of us covet. 

 She had VIP tickets, so she got to meet the band. 

Photo credit: I have no idea!

While Anna was enjoying herself at the meet 'n' greet and concert, Calvin made his grand entrance. This guy was born 11 lbs and 23 inches long (!) which means he's nearly as tall as Savannah, who is 19 months. 

Here's his over-the-moon papa who's glad to have a newborn son who doesn't look like such a shrimp in his 6'7" father's arms. 

 

I love spending time with my family, even though we sure missed Peter in California, Tim and Whit in Seattle, and Mom and Dad in Australia. 

Our Story, Part Four--an Accident, a Test, and a Miracle

Brandon told me that he'd be stopping by with his brother. When the doorbell rang, I was sitting "reading" (read: reading the same sentence over and over again with zero comprehension or focus) The Rent Collector. I opened the door to see Elder Keyes Brandon wearing normal clothes and no name tag, with no companion or brother anywhere in sight.
Alone. 
And then we hugged. Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas the MTC anymore.
We caught up in my living room for a couple of hours, talking about everything that had happened for the past couple of years. And then we ended up listening to music on YouTube (every legit hangout ends in YouTube one way or another, right?).
And then suddenly his phone was ringing with a call from his brother wondering where in the world he was. Apparently it was almost 2 am 9pm! Oops.
(Warning: certain details have been changed to protect the aforementioned parties against minor Honor Code infractions that possibly might maybe may have occurred during this event. Judging is permitted).
I walked him outside (super generous of me, since January 2013 will go down in history as the Ice Age of my lifetime), and he gave me a hug. I remember having a contingency plan in the unlikely event that he attempted to kiss me. Not because I was vain. My worry was that this recently-returned, affection-deprived missionary that I hardly knew could easily be looking for an end to his "dry spell." And as tempting as it was to humor him, I did, in fact, have a smidgen of pride left, and I did not want to be the convenience/desperation kiss he went home and crossed off a list in his RM Daily Planner.

However, circumstance had something else in mind. As I pulled away from the hug to look at him and say bye, he tried to kiss me on the cheek, which left us accidentally kissing--intended by neither, each blaming the other.
My contingency plan thus foiled, half of me thought, "Dangit." Cantine filled.
While the other half, blissfully ignorant that it was an accidental kiss on his part, thought, "Victory!!!!"
And when he left, I did what was expected of me, and of any other girl, for that matter: I suppressed a squeal and immediately called a sister to fill her in. Mid-call, before I was even to the good part, a call comes in on the other line--it's Brandon. So, naturally, I ditch my sister mid-story and pick up his call.
Brandon: "Hey...um...my brother and I are locked out of our new apartment. Is there...um...any way we could...um...crash there on your couches tonight?"
To me, it smelled like a test. A test that I would fail either way, because naturally, the only possible two scenarios were:

Scenario One: The Rule-Breaker
Me: "Of course you can sleep here on the couches!"
Brandon: "Wow. I can't believe you'd break the Honor Code and let boys sleep in your apartment. That really tells me all I need to know about you, Martha." [click]

Scenario Two: The Heartless Jerk
Me: "Um, I don't think that's a good idea. It's against the Honor Code, after all."
Brandon: "Wow, you self-righteous Grinch. We'll just sleep outside in the -2 degree weather. Hope you enjoy living your letter-of-the-law life, Pharisee!" [click]

Which one would you choose? I chose Scenario One, because I'm a terrible person. They slept on the couches. So, in case you need a recap, somehow, the last time I saw Brandon (January 2011), we were barely allowed to shake hands, but the next time (January 2013), we accidentally kissed and he and his brother accidentally slept at my house.
Things progress quickly here in Provo, guys.

But I feel like maybe life got me back for choosing Scenario One. Brandon and I had only been spending about two weeks together, and we were still in that fragile, pre-DTR state where all my efforts were focused on just not messing anything up while simultaneously acting like there was nothing going on between us to mess up. I talked to my parents and casually let them know we'd be stopping by the house in Salt Lake, so we'd see them if they happened to be home. Dumb. Dumb dumb dumb.

Brandon and I pull up. Precisely at that moment, my brother and his wife pull up.
Me, innocently: "Oh hey! What're you guys doin' here?"
Brother Brian, not even a little bit innocently: "We heard you were bringing a boy home!" (What else did I expect from the big brother who teased me relentlessly since I was a wee lass?)
Thanks, Bri. Pretending that wasn't embarrassing, I open the front door, to see my dear mother coming down the staircase toward the door.
Mom: "Brandon!! Or should I say 'Elder Keyes' as we've known you for so long."
Really, Mom??? I officially sound like a creepo who's been talking incessantly about Brandon to my family for two years. And I thought I'd done a pretty good job of making myself seem normal thus far...
As my entire family circles around us and pesters Brandon with questions, it comes out that he doesn't like cats (naturally, one of the most straining differences in our relationship to this day).
Dad: "Yes!" [fist pump]
Brother-in-law Eric: "Yeah!! Another one in the family!"

Heaven help me. And as if that weren't enough, when I brought him there the next time to spend a nice, relaxing weekend with my quickly-forgiven family, we just happened to have a house flood, complete with disaster clean-up crews pulling up carpet and hammering walls away into the wee hours of the morning. A sleepless night. Not quite what I had envisioned.

And yet here we are a year+ later, married.

Bottom line: Miracles happen, guys.

Our Story, Part III--the Rising Action

We wrote.
Okay, fine. I wrote.
His letter is somewhere in the Peruvian Amazon. Apparently one extra word in an address can significantly alter the destination of snail mail. Sometimes I still wonder wistfully what that letter says and who has it...

Anyway, fast forward. I'm home early from Bolivia with health problems. And I couldn't keep myself from wondering why I had felt to turn down a wonderful grad school offer only to have to return home after a few months on a mission. Here I was--no job, no school, and no prospects of a job or school. It was confusing, to say the least.

In that confused state, I wrote Elder Keyes a letter (don't try this at home, kids). And I was scared. Scared that he would think less of me for being home or that he wouldn't write me. But guess what?
He wrote me back. And he was the same way he'd always been toward me, which, technically, I still didn't know how to interpret, BUT it was still nice to hear from the same old Elder Keyes.
Feeling relieved and somewhat emboldened by his response, I wrote a prettttty nerdy letter back, incorporating snippets from my unused scrapbooking supplies I had stumbled upon at home (once again, don't try this at home, kids). I knew he'd either love it or think it was over-the-top/repulsive, but I sent it anyway. What can I say? I'm a risk-taker.
I didn't hear back.
Ouch/Oops. 
To me, not hearing back from him was like the equivalent of the person who just stops coming into work instead of formally quitting. At first you make excuses for them. "I'm sure tomorrow they'll be in. I'm sure there's a good reason." But little by little, you realize--they ain't comin' back! Touchée, Elder Keyes. Touchée.
Even though I secretly felt more and more embarrassed as the months of silence went on, I brushed it off like a champ. (Come to find out, Brandon said that's his favorite letter he ever received. To which I stick out my tongue and say, "Actions speak louder than words." And "You're not the boss of me." And "My brother can beat up your brother." And other awesome things.)
Feeling thus shafted, naturally I proceeded to have another cute friend write him. Apparently that's my "thing."
And then I started dating someone, and I mostly forgot about Elder Keyes.
Mostly.
I also started applying to graduate school--again. And, boy oh boy, was I ever set on going to school in the U.K! London, here I come! If you don't believe me, just look at my past posts. I made a bucketlist and everything. Oh, also, I applied to BYU as an afterthought. As a safety net. At the urging of my (wise) mother.
And then personal revelation happened. And personal revelation told me that I wasn't going anywhere. My future would look like this:
Weekends exploring  the Cotswolds  the depths of the Smith Field House
Jaunts over to Paris  the Richards Building
Walking up the steps of Scot's Monument  death by the RB
Exploring the old stomping grounds of my forebears  myself.

Why?!
I didn't know. But after 9 months of praying and agonizing over which school to pick, I was just glad to get a decision. So I listened and I stayed at BYU. In Provo, Utah. Again. 

Fast forward to September 2012. Things are on the rocks with me and the guy I was dating. It was feeling all wrong, and then
BOOM
out of nowhere I get an email from Elder Keyes. Short. Sweet. Unexpected. Basically he's coming home in two months and he's excited to catch up.

To make a long two months short, I spent those two months telling myself all the reasons I shouldn't expect anything at all. I think I was actually pretty successful. But not entirely because...
1. I vividly remember feeling "VICTORY!" when he added me on facebook the first day he logged back in. I think I even did a fist pump.
2. When he finally got to Provo, I was on the tail end of my holidays at home. He texted me to let me know he was finally here and that we should get together. Being the very cool and nonchalant girl that I am, I think I dropped whatever I was holding (unless it was my niece, guys) and I booked it back to Provo. As I was getting off the Provo exit, he let me know that getting together probably wouldn't happen that day after all. 
I mentally smacked myself and then decided to pamper myself with a book, a bubble bath, and early bedtime. I know. While thus reveling in my otherwise-empty apartment, I got a text from Brandon saying "I'm gonna come over and see you!"
Make up your mind, boy!!! I mean, [shrugs] "Yeah, sure. Come on over if you want."
What?!?!?!?
First time I'd see the guy in 2 years, and I'm in the bath, hair on top of my head, no makeup, reading The Rent Collector (good book, btw).
I got it together, though. Cuz I'm a girl, and that's what we do. We may take two hours to get ready, but you better believe we can make do with ten minutes and still have time to make it look like we've been busy and that we had totally even forgotten you were coming over!!! What a pleasant surprise!!


And then the doorbell rang...

Our Story, Part II--the (Anti) Climax

January 5th, 2011. My first day in the MTC. 

That much-anticipated day where I would start my very own mission, meet my very own district, and start spending every hour of every day with my very own companion. I was pleasantly-surprised at how comfortable and not homesick I felt there. I had left everything behind me--the Emotional Disaster of 2010 was a thing of the past, and I had thrown into the proverbial fire my acceptance letter to attend grad school with Prince William in Scotland. Aside from my family, I had only a few close friends who would be writing me during my mission. None of them were male. And that was exactly how I wanted it.

A fresh start. 

A clean slate. 

Sans distraction. 

An eye single...

and a single heart, for that matter.

And I did it. I made it. There I was, sitting contentedly with my lovely district--my new family--focused on becoming my best missionary self. It was a happy day.

Cue the classroom door opening. 

Enter two elders. 

Cue my heart both sinking and skipping a beat at the same time. 

But don't worry, guys. I got this. It was under control SO fast. Really, though. I mean, who was this young elder to barge in on the first day of my, thus far, perfect mission and trip things up? N-n-no.  
I probably wouldn't see him again anyway, right? There were over 2,200 missionaries in the MTC, and the only ones I needed were in my district.
So I diligently forgot about it and went along my merry missionary way.

Until...
Gym the next day. We circle up for prayer, and I see him. And again at dinner. And again at breakfast. And again at Large Group Meeting. And again at gym. And again at lunch. And again in the halls. And again. And again. And again. Multiple times a day.
Every.
Single.
Day.
Apparently that's what happens when you're in the same MTC zone. Go figure.

Much as some people hate the MTC experience, I loved mine. And not because of Elder Keyes. That was more like a thorn in the flesh than an added bonus at the time, though I naturally feel a keen sense of gratitude in hindsight. I experienced such intense growth, and I had SO much fun with my awesome district. In fact, never in the realms of my pre-mission thought did I anticipate being attracted to an elder on my mission. It just never even crossed my mind. Perhaps that was naive of me. But hey, going into the MTC, I was soon-to-be-24, and I guess subconsciously I assumed that the age gap between me and the 19-year-old elders was protection enough against any kind of interest. Remember in elementary school when you were a 6th grader and you didn't really even notice those 2nd graders because, well, why would you? They were in the same school but in a completely different world than you. Well, I thought I was a 6th grader and that all the elders were 2nd graders. "Your humble pie is served, Hermana Maxwell."

Attraction. Connection. Pull.
I remember feeling it. And sometimes I thought he felt it, too. And I remember resisting it and resenting it, because it would intrude every once-in-awhile on my otherwise-missionary thoughts and emotions. I'd feel a sense of disappointment if we didn't sit near him and his companion at dinner. I'd feel more upbeat when they would play volleyball with the rest of us.
I loathed that those feelings would surface. For those three weeks in the MTC, I used the only means I knew for expressing thoughts and feelings that are both unwelcome and personal. I wrote about it in my journal a few times, hoping that it would just stick on that paper and leave me alone.

And it worked all right. I was a missionary, and I knew my purpose.
My Purpose: To invite others to come unto Christ by helping them receive the restored gospel through faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement, repentance, baptism, receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, and enduring to the end. 
My Purpose: Maximize interaction with Elder Keyes.
My Purpose: To invite others to come unto Christ...
I was determined that I would have no reason to look back and regret my behavior and my time in the MTC. I didn't avoid interaction, because that would be acknowledging the attraction. No, what I did was so much more masochistic than that.
I had Elder Keyes write one of my friends. 
And when it tugged at my heartstrings to help him send that letter off, and to feel like he was a bit happier to write it than I wanted him to be, I drowned out the sound of those overactive heartstrings with missionary work. Sweet missionary work.

My (stellar) companion Hermana Olsen and I left the Provo MTC about the same time as Elder Keyes' district. Except for him. He had to wait a couple extra days for that ever-elusive visa. But we had a zone despedida/goodbye meeting the night before the rest of us departed, and I remember thinking how strangely close I had come to feel with not only my district, but also Elder Keyes and his companion over a three-week period. Spiritual experiences beget close relationships. And I remember feeling how completely lame a goodbye handshake felt after the experiences we had all had together. But a good-luck-and-goodbye handshake it was.

And that was it...
Kind of.


To be continued...

Our Story, Part I--the Pilot Episode

A lot has to happen...and not happen...for two people to come together and fall in love.

Suffice it to say that, even though I had contemplated serving a mission as I was growing up, when 21 rolled around for me, I didn't feel impelled in that direction. I had a lot going on at the time. I never made a conscious decision not to serve a mission. I just didn't really ask.
Fast forward.
After a rough few years of somewhat self-inflicted emotional roller coaster riding, I finally decided it was time to hop off the ride and pursue something new. I knew that I wanted to further my education, and my adventurous and britophilic side told me it was time to apply for graduate school.
In the United Kingdom.
So I did. I applied to English Lit and French programs at Oxford, Cambridge, Royal Holloway, and St. Andrews. And then..

BOOM.

Seemingly out of nowhere I had a powerful sense that I needed and wanted to serve a mission. At 23? Really? But why? I prayed. I attended the temple. I fasted. I asked advice.
It all happened so fast.
After receiving a few humbling rejection letters from graduate schools, I was still waiting to hear back from St. Andrews in Scotland. It was 6 weeks before school would start, and getting everything together to move across the Atlantic--alone--in such a short time period was starting to feel daunting. And yet still tempting.
Still unsure of whether I was supposed to pursue graduate school or a mission at that point of my life, I made a very specific request of God. Essentially, I said,"If I'm supposed to go to graduate school in Scotland, let me receive an acceptance letter there. If I'm supposed to serve a mission, let me receive a rejection." 
That'll be all, thank you.
Kind of an uppity request, as I look back, but I was trying to sort out my path anyway I could.
Still nothing from St. Andrews, so I pursued a mission. And it felt good and right. My bishop emailed me the link to start my papers, and I started filling them out the same day.

BAM.

The very next day, the mailman brings me a letter from St. Andrews. An acceptance letter.

Do you feel confused? I sure did.
So what now?

More praying and counseling, that's what. I still had a desire to serve a mission, and I realized that it was my decision, ultimately. The Lord had given me both options, and He wanted me to choose.

So I chose a mission. And I felt a sense of urgency about it, for some reason. I finished my papers within a week and a half of starting them.And I prepared. I studied Preach My Gospel in English and Spanish. I memorized the First Vision account in Spanish. I attended the temple. And before long I was set apart to serve as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, little realizing what effect that decision would have on me eternally.

To be continued...

After my endowment