Childish Ways

I've always believed whole-heartedly in the mantra, "fake it till you make it." If I don't want to feel something, I should just pretend I don't feel it till it goes away, right? I've heard people say it takes strength to show emotion, and in my head I think, what a cop-out. Of course it would be nice if spilling your drama over into everyone else's lives were the "strong" thing to do, so go ahead, say whatever you need to say to make yourself feel better, and then, please, don't try to apply your philosophy to me.

We adopted my little brother when I was seven. I had seven whole years of a ridiculously idyllic childhood; my parents took us to church, homeschooled us, and were 100% invested in pouring out God's love on us. We weren't poor, we weren't exposed to anything children shouldn't be exposed to, we were just completely immersed in love.

By we, I mean my older brother and I. Ben is 2 years older. Let's talk about that for a moment. I have this older brother worship syndrome that I try to keep under control, but it's really hard because I want to be EXACTLY like him. Indulge me while I gush about him really quick: he always seems to have his life under control- even when he has NO idea what he's doing, he has this calm, intellectual solidness about him that I have admired from the time I was little. He is one of the smartest people I know, and he is ridiculously supportive of pretty much every part of my life whenever I need him. I also admire the way he loves his girlfriend, who happens to be super high-quality.

So all that to say that I have a lot of good things in my life. At eight, (1997) we had two additions to our family. Grace was born in March, Alex was adopted in October. To say we underestimated the adjustment we would have to make would be a gross understatement, but that's what happened. I remember overhearing a few phone conversations my grandma had with my mom while she and my dad were over in Russia gathering up our tiny, bony bundle of joy. "He threw Jack's glasses over the balcony? In the middle of a mall?" I gathered that he had thrown a fit or two since my parents had gotten custody, but I assumed he would calm down once he got home. He'll be so happy to have a new family, I thought. He was going to share Ben's room, and we couldn't wait for him to come home and see it. We had gone shopping for clothes, toys, all the things a destitute five-year-old would need, but we were going to try not to overwhelm him with too much wealth in the first day. Finally the night came that we were to pick them up from the airport, and we arrived plenty early. Practically our whole church plus more friends had shown up to welcome them all home, and I remember being annoyed that someone had made a banner because I hadn't thought of making a bigger, better one. The plane finally arrived at the gate, and an eternity later, I spotted my parents and ran for it. I wanted the first hug, (in case you haven't noticed yet, I was just a little competitive) and I got it.

Fresh and Honest

Whenever I see reviews of new books or blogs, the phrase "fresh and honest," usually means the critic thinks the thing is the cat's pajamas, and it makes the rebel in me want to give you a stale and deceptive look at my childhood, but I know deep down that honesty is the best policy, so I will do my best to stick to that. No promises of freshness, though- that policy is definitely debatable in my eyes.

Alright, where to begin? I'll start with the positive, which was any part of my life before the date of Sept. 22, 1997. (That's the day our little bundle of joy stepped off the airplane from Russia at the age of 5) Just kidding, my entire life is full of positives! No, but seriously, it kinda started to go downhill after that day. So before that... I was born into an upper-middle-class family, older brother, loving parents, sandbox in the backyard, amazing, memorable vacations, two dogs, cats are the devil, learned to read and played in the mud, all the things a child should have. Boring, I know, but important. It's important because I was about to have my world rocked.

I was shy to the point of pain. I remember one time we had some friends from church over for dinner, and when my mom opened the door, Mr. Wallace gave me a simple, "Hi, Kara, how are you?" I couldn't handle it. I looked down, twisted my fingers together, and wanted to crawl in a hole for the rest of my life.
"Kara, Say 'fine, Mr. Wallace, how are you?'" My mom nudged my back, and I knew she was slightly embarrassed at my rudeness. Her touch sent shivers down my spine, and I started to feel intensely guilty, but I couldn't do it. After several minutes of prompting in the doorway, my mother, not one to back down, gave me an ultimatum: say what she told me to say, or get a spanking. I was probably crying by this time, but I literally could not make my mouth to form the words, or my voice to say them, yet I had known from the beginning that I was headed for this. I was actually relieved that she finally said it because I would much rather have been spanked than say the words, and I was spanked. What I didn't expect, however, was that my mother would wait for me to finish crying, lead me back out, and make me be polite. I remember finally squeaking, "Hi, Mr. Wallace," and then breaking into tears again, wishing with all my little heart that my life would just be over. Drama much? Perhaps, but I wasn't trying to cause drama. I freshly and honestly wanted to disappear, never to be looked at again.

As a writer, my greatest temptation is to rush to the point within the first paragraph, but duh, that's the opposite of the point of writing, so that's the end for today. Plus I have to go to work.

Starting Over

I never in a million years thought that Phoenix could be this attractive. I've been giving in to my cheesy side lately, and it is true that you never know what you've got till it's gone, and it took a year and a half of Utah to convince me that Phoenix is the best possible place for me right now. Not that Utah wasn't fantastic- the outdoors there are spectacular, but there is a kind of spiritual and cultural closed-mindedness that is frustrating and restricting. It's strange to me that despite how easy it is to travel these days, and how cheap and accessible the internet is, people still manage to be so entrenched in their own worldview that the thought of exploring someone else's doesn't even cross their mind. But I digress.

I am posting today to tell you that I am re-purposing this blog. I have come to a realization just recently, and it is that I live with some pretty intense guilt. Guilt over my childhood, and guilt over my failures, and guilt when I can't protect the people I love. So my writing from now on will be my memories from growing up as a homeschooler in a family that adopted and did foster care. I want to start with a couple of disclaimers, and the first is that this is from my perspective, and mine alone- I can't speak for anyone else, and sometimes the way I felt will sound harsh, but the second is that there will be absolutely no apologies here. I have spent my life apologizing for things I had no control over, and things that can't be changed, so I am stopping here and now on this blog. That being said, I want everyone to know that I love my family more than life itself, I would give up anything for them, and I admire the love my parents have for eachother, for us kids, and for the world. I wouldn't change anything they've done, and this is not a criticism of their parenting, this is simply an honest view of my childhood as I experienced it. I guess my hope is that if anyone who reads this can relate in any way, they will feel less alone because of it. I'll start tomorrow from my beginning.

White Out

Here's the view out my window. It's pretty white out there, so I'm staying indoors in my sweater and socks and drinking coffee, listening to music, and reading the books I've been putting off for way too long. Here's a sample of my snow day mix.

New Hair. Finally.

I dyed my hair again. It's almost black this time, with a little red in the sunshine. I was never meant to be a blonde, I have just been giving my hair a rest from all the chemicals after that last debacle.

February

Maybe it's not cool to not discover indie rock bands till long after they're dead, but I dream of the 90's, so listen to Morphine. So smooth. So cool. I will be in St. George today, working at the Deli, and tomorrow I shall go to church. I'm finally better, and so happy.

Sick

Sorry it's been so long. Sorry to nobody, since that's who reads this. That's right, I just called you a nobody. Feel sorry for yourself. Right now, I'm sitting at the Folks house, next to a toasty warm fire, feeling like there's a wad of cotton in my throat the size of Texas and I just did the hardest workout of my life, which is alot better than I felt yesterday. I am truly the luckiest girl in the world. When Heidi Folks heard I was sick, she drove all the way up to Cedar City to pick me up and take care of me at home. I've been gargling salt water and eating chicken noodle soup and watching movies.

I haven't said anything since I FINALLY started school so I'll try to give a short rundown of my classes.

1) Shakespeare and Adaptation: the basics. You know, how has Shakespeare influenced modern culture and how can each person in the class best show off their extensive knowledge of the subject through the use of adorable puns, quotes, and inside jokes that only theater people get.

2) U.S. Economic History: Not my fave, but a good class to take, and something I need to understand better.

3) Southern Utah Flora: This one doesn't start till March 3rd since there's no flora till about that time. But I am SUPER juiced for this class.

4) Second Band: A concert band that needed a pianist, and I needed a second Ensemble.

5) Concert Choir: I think just about every music major is in this Choir, so it's a good place to make friends.

6) Intro to Music: This class is silly, but kinda fun for me. Another venue for poorly educated children to expose their ignorance. I try to keep my mouth shut and enjoy the music videos.

7) First Year Seminar: Ok don't get me started on this one. There is nothing I hate about Universities more than their hype about having a "good college experience" and "learning how to learn" and "we all want to graduate, don't we?" and, I don't know what all they want from me, but if I didn't know how to learn, I wouldn't be here. I always leave this class both shocked and ashamed of my generation, because the sad thing is, as elementary as the material is, most of the kids there actually don't already understand it. Come on guys. Be a little proactive so your University doesn't have to breast feed you. (I know the expression is "spoon feed," it just didn't seem to embody the disgust I am looking for.)

8) Studio Piano: This is where it gets good. Basically, all the piano majors get together and perform whatever they're working on at the moment. Very inspiring.

9) Individual Applied Piano: Aaaaaaaand this is what I'm here for. Private lessons with Dr. Gliadkovsky- everything I ever dreamed they would be.

10) Recital Attendance: I get credit for going to student recitals, which tend to be either phenomenally great, or absolute torture. It's totally worth going to all of them for the good ones.

In general, I'm having a good time; my roommates are funny, I'm meeting interesting people, and I haven't died from the cold yet, although sometimes when I walk home from school I'm pretty sure my ears will have to be amputated from frostbite.

Ben came to the states for a few weeks, so he and my dad drove up from Phoenix to visit me for a weekend, and also Erik flew into Vegas so they picked him up on the way. We had a good time, but they exposed my poor planning skills for what they are, and I learned that I better do some research before I invite people over, especially when you live in a town where there is absolutely nothing going on other than what you put together yourself. Erik stayed a whole week, so we got in a good hike and saw just about everything there is to see in the area. He turned me on to Verdi, and I suddenly can't get enough, hence the playlist.

Stay classy, San Diego.