Movies Are To Film As Pulp Fiction Is To Literature

I apologize for the couplet-title. I'm studying for the Miller Analogy Test and I'm thinking in analogous phrases.

In junior high my best friend was a Mafiaphile. While other young women (aka, me) fantasized about being a Bennet girl or at least living in 18th century England, Kate imagined the romance of being a Corleon matriarch. She also dragged me through the shadowy underground of R-rated movies. Growing up in white-bread Utah, I didn't realize that said shadowy underground mostly exists in minds of members of the Church, and that to other people such a rating didn't particularly influence movie-watching choices. Especially R-rated movies circa the 1980's. As Kate and I made our way each weekend through another gangster movie, I felt delightfully rebellious. And though my Italy-fever never reached my friend's near-obsession, I actually really enjoyed all of the contra-band.

Kate and I didn't stay BFF's. (I guess the label is misnomer.) My new peer group was very anti R-rated movies and, at the time, the Church issued the first edition of its youth pamphlet titled, "For the Strength of Youth" which carried a firm warning against viewing any movie rated R. The line in the sand was more than enough for me and some years passed without me watching any others.

Enter The Mistake. Despite his church-ish demeanor (at least around me), he had few qualms about such viewing. When I had been home from my mission just a month we had already seen Air Force One (actually cool and thought provoking), The Full Monty (hilarious) and The Rock (wrong on nearly every level). The irony, of course, is that of all the movies we saw together (what else did we do, after all?) the trashiest two were both rated PG-13. The first Austin Powers, during which I ultimately had to leave the room; and Titanic. Okay, okay, there are some awesome things about Titanic, but I thought it was highly overrated and plenty heavy on the Tit. Though I'm sure The Mistake was thinking about how artistic Kate Winslet was as she disrobed for her paramour.

Yes, yes, "trashy" is a relative word and certainly in the eye of the beholder. The other strange thing, to me, is that in Australia there is no "R" rating. Most movies in the US that get a PG-13 OR and R rating are labeled "M" for mature in Oz. Every member of the Church I knew went to a wide variety of "M" movies, several of which I knew to be rated "R"in the US. Oooo. . . .even "good" members of the Church.

Not long after returning from my mission, the Church issued a second edition of the Strength of Youth booklet, counseling specifically ONLY against pornography. The header scripture for the section is an excerpt from the 13th Article of Faith, "If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things." The new emphasis on the section is on the dangers of immersing yourself in media of any type that causes of a loss of the Spirit. And that is pretty much it.

There are a variety of opinions on this: some say that the standard is therefore stricter than ever. That there are plenty of even PG rated movies that can't make the cut here, and virtually none of the other movies with their seedier ratings are appropriate, just by virtue of all that can be allowed in movies that have those ratings. Others have gone just the opposite and say that now it doesn't matter what we watch, and that we should just exercise a particle of caution. My own view is more in the middle, though I've definitely gone to the side of more caution and with a reversion to the standard from my teenage yars.

In our married life, Plantboy and I have only rented R-rated movies on two ocassions. One was not a bad movie at all (and I'm still a little confused about the rating); the other was a bloodbath predicated by characters with bloodlust and covered with loads of bloody blood after most scenes. With Mel Gibson. I guess that image should be pretty clear.

We have never paid to go to the theatre to see one; though, admittedly, I've seen plenty of PG-13 and even PG movies that could not pass the 13th Article of Faith Litmus Test.

So it is with the background that I stood in line to buy tickets for The King's Speech last Friday night. I felt anxious. Naughty. Like a 14 year old boy trying to sneak into a porn film . . .

Okay, maybe not THAT bad, but I don't think I've ever paid, personally to see an over-17. The young man behind the counter hesitated, ever so briefly, when I told him what I wanted. No doubt, he was waiting for his computer screen to tell him that, yes, there were still seats available, but I thought he was going to ask for my ID, though I blow past the over 17 thing by more than double. He stared at me lazily, his mood clearly out of step with my shaking hands.

We are so conditioned.

The King's Speech is a movie about loyalty, bravery, war, true love, patriotism, friendship, family, overcoming, suffering . . . Along with such grand themes, every other aspect of what makes film making (and literature) interesting is also present--brilliant juxtaposition, careful characterization, mood and pacing. From the opening minute, you feel such an intense connection to the main character (it IS Mr. Darcy, after all), that you already begin rooting for him. The humanity of this story is truly remarkable.

The film is praising of virtue. It is Lovely. Of good report. Praiseworthy. I came away uplifted, and with a greater conviction to treat others with kindness, to understand their story. Do not miss this film, but seek after this thing as soon as you have opportunity.

So, in other news, I've been very busy. (And I don't just mean breaking commandments that don't actually exist.) I've discovered the graduate program I want to be a part of and am working on my application. My friend and I backed away from running the BIG race because we couldn't get enough support, but we are running a half-marathon at the end of July and I'm making a rather weak effort to train for that. Plantboy was in charge of last weekend's ward party; and, of course, that meant we were co-chairs. Church in general has kept us ridiculously busy. The novel-writing is progressing: slowly but surely. I have maybe 30 pages left to finish a 300 page manuscript. At that point, that is where YOU will come in. I will definitely be soliciting readers. I'm making my six year old a blanket out of granny squares.

Oh, and I un-closeted myself as a registered Democrat the other day on Facebook which generated a very interesting discussion with 65 comments. No, not all of them were mine. Sheesh, if I had that much to say I would just start a blog where I spend an unhealthy amount of time writing/thinking/discussing politics and religion. . . . wait a minute . . .

Not Friends--Lifelong Friends

Some friendships are meant to be. And if you are really fortunate, you find yourself in a group of friends that was meant to be.

In college, I found myself living with some great girls (both by design and "accident") as well as across from some fabulous neighbors. Over my few years in school, members of the two groups would trade in and out, marry (sometimes one another) and move. But even in the fluidity of the group, there were some core friendships that held it all together.

Fortune smiled on us this summer, and thanks to the miracle of Facebook, with just a few days notice, a majority of the old gang was able to gather at Lawyerboy's house. Though for some of us it had been years, we re-connected as if it had never been otherwise.

Though my personality was formed at home, my experiences with these friends, helped me to morph into the adult I would eventually become. I think my friendships in that group are the reason that my old college town is the place I'm most likely to call "home." Each member of that group has such a collection of special memories attached to them. In some groups of people, you revert to a certain persona. With these people, it isn't really necessary because I just love who I am when I am with them. They have been bringing out the best in me since 1993.

One of my favorite pictures from my wedding day is standing outside the temple, arms linked together with these friends: men and women who exerted such a positive influence in my life that I still feel its effects years later. Our LDS theology teaches us that families will be together, but on that day I understood that the best friendships are likewise eternal. As I stood with men and women who have been at important times as near and dear to me as my actual brothers and sister, I knew that my journey was forever linked to theirs.

On the night of our barbecue it was hard to decide where to be. I wanted to be a part of each clustered conversation. Nate would say that it is because I have a (strong) opinion about everything, but I think it is mostly because everyone had such interesting things to say. Conversation topics ranged from Twilight to China as a world power to adoption to raising children to the Middle East to decorating to hair cuts to employment . . . . you get the idea. In the right group of friends, the lightest subjects or the heaviest topics all take on special meaning. Are we friends because we all agree? Noooooooooooo. . . . . . . . quite the contrary. Still, somehow, they are the most agreeable people to disagree with.

I've moved a lot, and often a great distance between locations. How grateful I am for friends who will always be friends even when years and miles separate us. Seeing them again was like picking up in the middle of a conversation. Though we lingered late, and well past the time for happy little kids, we still have more to say to one another. But I'm content; some conversations never really end.

28 Days of L-O-V-E

Day 14

I have to warn you up front: this is a rather shmoopy post about my husband. It is, after all, Valentine's Day. I will relate a story to help you see why I love Plantboy so much, and it is kind of a long story. Hit "next blog" now if you hate this sort of thing.

After breaking up with The Mistake in 1998, I went through a really difficult time. I was living with my grandmother, most of my friends had gotten married and/or finished college while I had taken my hiatus to be a missionary, and I was just a semester from graduation. I was lonely, rather depressed and my confidence was shot. I found a job on campus and one of my fellow-employees was a fabulous friend named Carrie. Though a few years younger than myself, she took me under her wing and helped me to adjust to life after a mission and an engagement gone south. (Quite literally--the girl he got engaged to three weeks after breaking it off with me lived south.) There was an opening in Carrie's apartment that summer, and I jumped at the chance to begin acting like a more normal college student again.

Carrie had a crush on a guy we went to church with that we will call Metal Plate Face Boy. (So named because of an unfortunate accident during an ultimate Frisbee fraternity tournament in which his zygomatic process was crushed and replaced with a steel plate. Really. He wasn't a cyborg-face or anything, it was all under the skin, and you couldn't tell unless you were really close to him. Keep reading to learn why I was privy to this information.) Not just a crush, but the BIG CRUSH. She knew his class schedule and hung on his every word. He seemed nice enough and was pretty good-looking. He was the kind of guy that all of the nice girls in your ward have a crush on at one time or another, but never seems to ask anybody out.

The problem was that Carrie was rather shy, especially around MPFB, and couldn't even speak to him without stammering and blushing. There was a church picnic that summer and I dragged her to his table in an effort to force her to chat naturally with him. It worked a little bit and I managed to get the ball rolling, conversation-wise, for the three of us. Two days later, he called our apartment, Carrie answered the phone (remember when roommates shared land-lines?), and handed it to me. The Man of Steel had called for me.

There followed the five most awkward moments of my life. He re-introduced himself to me, thinking that I wouldn't realize who he was. We talked for a few minutes and the whole time, Carrie is standing there mouthing and whispering, "He is awesome. He likes you. You have to say yes if he asks you out. Don't you dare say no . . . . "

If I was a really good person I probably would have said no, leaving MPFB with little or no explanation to keep my friend's secret, well, secret. But I am not a really good person, and I was incredibly flattered. I'd been out with friends. I'd been out with boys that I had flirted for months to hook up with. I'd made-out off and on that summer with a boy from work that I had no intention of dating. I'd been set up on blind dates. But I never had been asked on a date, out-of-the-blue, by a man clearly nervous about being rejected. It was very appealing.

We started dating. Carrie was such a champ through it all. I still regret ever telling him yes.

That summer, as the pieces of my life began falling in the right places again, I felt like I was finally moving in a positive direction. My cousin, on the other hand, though just a few months older than myself, was finding out that her husband of less than two years was more interested in an tattooed and pierced 18 year-old at work than with her and their baby on the way. She and I had always been very close, and I spent quite a lot of time with her during those devastating months of heartbreak and anger. I could relate on some small level. My Mistake and her Ex could have been brothers. (No denigration here of my cousin's choices; it was, after all, the Mistake that broke up with me, not the other way around. I would have married my charm-boy too if he hadn't been so commitment-phobic. Praise the Heavens for that.)

As MFPB and I dated more, I opened up and told him about my cousin. His response was almost total indifference. Any emotion he showed was probably more along the lines of if-you-are-upset-then-this-probably-means-no-kissing-right? I missed the signs that Metal Boy just wanted to hang out and have fun. It didn't occur to me that a guy might be only attracted to me, as such a phenomenon had never happened before. I thought a handful of dates meant we were on the road to eternal bliss. No doubt he saw that one serious conversation as an attempt for me to get closer than he wanted to be.

He didn't call.

A couple of weeks later, I cooked for him one Sunday afternoon and goaded him into having a DTR (Define the Relationship) conversation. Poor boy. When he asked me out initially I should have told him, "No thanks. I'm on the rebound and I'm likely to be clingy and needy and read too much into your every action. You seem very nice, so I'm just going to spare you that drama right now." I'm not sure why women undermine their relationships, but we do a heck of a job at it. I basically told MFPB that I wanted him to be honest with me. I didn't want to have him say that he was going to call, and me sit by the phone for weeks, only to run into him on campus six months later and he thinks, "Oh, yeah, didn't we go out once?" He looked me right in the eye, no lie, and said so sweetly and sincerely, "I would never do that to you."

I never heard from him again.

Fast forward to late summer. I was commiserating with a fellow-employee (female) about my frustrations with guys in general. You know, the conversation that women in their 20's have every other time they get together. I told her about the last conversation I had with cyborg face and we soundly condemned him, the lame girl he would one day marry*, his children and his convertible Sebring. Plantboy had just begun working with us, and though I didn't realize it at the time, he was listening carefully to every word we said. It was months (years?) later that he told me he wanted to jump over the counter at that moment and promise--for real--that he would never do that to me.

Not too many weeks passed before we began dating, and I really liked him, but then something happened that taught me in a profound and tender way the depth of his unassuming personality. I was unable to go out with him one night because my cousin was on watch for a premature delivery and at the hospital. She was very ill, and despite being more than 25 weeks pregnant, was still losing weight. I explained to Plantboy about my cousin, just waiting for him to shrug with indifference in the manner of Ironman. Men are just like that, right?

Wrong. Plantboy was genuinely distraught. He volunteered to go with me to the hospital and then asked what I was bringing for a gift. The answer was, of course, nothing, as my whole budget for the month had been blown on a case of Ramen noodles. He volunteered to take my cousin a plant from his house (he had several) and chose the nicest one in the prettiest pot. He discreetly stood aside while I conversed for some time with my cousin, not acting with impatience for even a moment.

When we left the hospital, I related more of her story and his gorgeous hazel eyes teared up as he said, "I don't know what I would do if that happened to me. I cannot imagine how awful she must feel." And though it was many weeks before I would admit to it, on that day I began to fall in love with him.

From that day I was touched by his deep compassion and sincerity. His generosity and his selflessness. His tender-heart and doing-hands. I have seen him give his gloves to a homeless man on a freezing cold street. I have seen him drop everything for a month of Saturdays to help other people move. I have seen him react without hesitation to leave at any hour to give a blessing to someone in need. I have heard the tears in his voice as he has blessed each of his young sons to love and learn from their mother. I have cried on his shoulder for an hour or more at a time without any complaint. He has never wanted to change me, but just knowing him has changed me for the better.

When I was young I read a lot of fairy tales. When my life didn't look like one of them by the ripe-old-age of 17, I became unfortunately and dramatically bitter about relationships, which were always so hard for me to figure out. I felt like the whole thing was a big game in which I was never privy to the rule book. I never expected to have a love like this. Sometimes reality is better than the fairy tale.

Happy Valentine's Day, Plantboy.



* ChrisW pursued a master's degree a couple of years later. One of her roommates ended up marrying the Cyborg, who, by the way, is a very nice guy named Dave. It wasn't that he couldn't nurture, he just couldn't nurture the lump of need that was me in 1998. Sometimes people prepare you for what you are really waiting for. Thanks, Dave.

28 Days of L-O-V-E

Day 4



I love sleep. If I could write a sonnet or an ode, it would be to sleep. Sometimes I crawl in the covers at night, and the relief and joy is so intense that it is a wonder I ever get out of bed. Ever.

My mother tells me I was always a kid that needed a lot of sleeps--still napping occasionally in the afternoons after coming home from kindergarten. Except for the ages of about 6-15, I have been a champion napper. I can nap for three or four hours in the middle of the day. No problem. None of that wimpy (and effective) power napping for me. No sir. I'm going to sleep until I've had at least two REM cycles.

Here is my favorite illustrative story: Plantboy and I got married the day after I finished my first teaching job. As a newbie teacher I was pretty much clueless about end-of-year protocol and made a huge project due for my AP class the LAST DAY OF SCHOOL. Not the last working day, I mean the last day when everybody is signing yearbooks and nobody goes to class. School let out by eleven, and I spent a long, feverish day grading the projects that actually were turned in, and trying to work out how to fairly grade those that weren't when I realized what a complete moron I was. Most of the kids were seniors, for crying out loud! Anyway, I finally got the grades in, though I'd been seriously tempted to just chuck it all. I was, after all, getting married the next morning; and I was, after all, not going back to that school. Duty called, and I got home about five that day. Utterly exhausted.

I've recounted that emotional day here before. The rain, which had lasted all week, was hourly erasing the hope of the outdoor wedding we had planned for all spring. Last minute changes were made, Plantboy finally came into town after living in another state and working for a month, and I was a wreck. The wedding day stress melted into honeymoon stress over money, tickets, travel, sex, etc. etc. By the time we arrived at our beautiful cottage on the Puget Sound I was emotionally and physically at my limit. Our second afternoon at the house, I laid down for a "nap" as I told Plantboy. I slept for six hours.

That section of our honeymoon videotape is hilarious. Plantboy took a long walk BY HIMSELF along the beach videotaping twenty different varieties of trees. He taped every part of our cabin. He taped me sleeping. He may have taken my pulse once. It is safe to say that my dear, sweet husband got a taste very early on exactly what he was dealing with when it came to me and sleep. He didn't learn about my attractive snoring until I was pregnant the first time.

This is the actual cottage. I can't decide what I want more this minute--to book a weekend and find someone to farm the kids off on, or just a really, llllloooooonnnnnngggggg nap.




Look at that bed! My gosh I'm tired . . . .

I love sleep.

In the Interest of Furthering the Discussion

You really never know what you're going to get when you post, do you?

My thoughts on the previous post were running more along the lines of humor a la ward librarian, and instead this deeply introspective discussion has mostly revolved around the aside I almost didn't include. I was going to add the following remarks as comment #15 or whatever, but they became too lengthy and I felt like some clarification was in order before I mortally offend any reader who comes this way.

What I think is fascinating in this discussion is the overall theme that many different life paths still fall in the realm of "righteous" and that each is unique to the individual on that path. And yet, for all that we've come to many of the same conclusions, each of you here is so different! There are single women, married women with and without children in various numbers, returned missionaries, women who were married before age 20 . . . . heck, there might even be a ward librarian or two. Oh, and men. There are a few brave enough to wade into the middle of the sea of estrogen from time to time.

With my aside, I didn't mean to imply that women should wait until they are 21 to either get married OR go on a mission. I think what I was trying to share is that we sometimes unwittingly reinforce certain stereotypes among our young women. Even with my head rather firmly on my shoulders when I went away to college (I can say that--there are very few here who knew me then. Brooke, Mike and Rachel, you can all just stay quiet if you disagree.), I still was pretty anxious about the fact that I could count on one hand the number of dates I'd been on. As I saw the girls in my ward snatch up the "few really good guys," I was totally convinced that I would never get married. I WAS ONLY 19. For all my practicality and ambition and even some profound experience with personal revelation, I was nearly certain that I was going to be single always.

This fear of being alone prevented me from taking my guy-relationships for what they were worth--wonderful, life-long friendships. If there had been dating or attraction there, many of those relationships would be lost to me now. Another skewed idea that grew out of this fear was that I started to think that if ANY guy ever wanted to marry me, regardless of his religious situation, it would be better to be married than to be alone. (Again, no offense meant, righteous women marry non-members all the time; I'm just indicating that before I'd even had a chance to taste life I was selling myself short.) In addition, my fear caused me to spend a lot of time and energy on a man who ultimately cost me a lot of self-esteem.

In my post-mission, post-first-fiance months, I had a very difficult time just dating for fun. I was just a few months from graduation, and terrified of leaving college as a single. At that time, my grad school ambition was not immediate and the prospect of high school teaching didn't seem all that conducive to finding someone to marry. Most of my friends from my pre-mi days had moved on to lives and marriages of their own. Again, I was convinced that I'd NEVER be married. I was only 23. But again, for all the wonderful lessons I had learned in the alone part of my journey, I was still prey to my upbringing and the stereotypes read in novels and heard in so many young women's lessons.

Now, here is the personal revelation part, voiced so importantly by many of you. Chrisw was teaching school in another city. There was an opening at her jr. high for a science teacher. She told her principal about me and he, trusting Chrisw's judgment implicitly (how could you not?) said that he'd be willing to offer me a teacher internship position. What this meant is that I would bail on my fall student teaching, not have to find a mid-year contract full time job, and instead teach for partial salary the entire year at Chrisw's school. Not a bad proposition. Chrisw and I talked about becoming roommates (which, okay, would have been completely awesome), and she was saving her yen to backpack through China the next year (which, okay, would have been completely awesome).

I prayed and told the Lord this was my intention. I felt like hanging around USU another semester was the equivalence of waiting for the axe to fall on my marriage dream and that by moving in with Chrisw at least I'd be throwing myself whole-heartedly in to my life as a single. (Remember: only 23.) The next morning, I completely forgot everything I had to do in order to make the internship happen. And I kept forgetting. Also, things I remembered to do weren't smooth sailing, and bailing on my renter's contract was going to be expensive. I'd only had such stupor of thought once before--when I was 18 and chose to reject my acceptance to nursing school in spite of no clear alternative. So the next day I prayed again and told the Lord I'd decided to stay.

The peace was palpable.

I met Plantboy the next week at a job I would have left by that point if I had taken the internship.

But I think the Lord knew I might screw it up. By a strange "coincidence" he was also assigned to be my sister's home teacher at his apartment complex several wards away from where I lived. We might have met anyway.

So yes, absolutely, young people, men and women, need to be taught about receiving personal revelation. But maybe we also need to back off the primary use of examples that reinforce stereotypes that, albeit inadvertently, encourage early steady dating and poor choices of companions. I'm sure you all had a friend or roommate for whom getting married was so much more essential than marrying the right person that the result was disastrous. (I think this is what Mike's paraphrasing of the 70 was essentially about.)

If my previous post made anyone feel like I was critical of your life choices either concerning number of children, or marriage, or your spouse of the color of your kitchen, please understand that was not my intention at all. My intention was to encourage us all to create a place where our young people feel comfortable exploring a variety of choices and ambitions, and to remind them that their worth comes from them being children of God and not from their marital or dating status.

When my boys go out into the world to find their wives, I hope they find women who will be true partners to them in every sense of the word--women who have prepared themselves to stand equally yoked as partners in the gospel and truly understand that happily ever after means enduring joyfully long after the novelty of their first romance wears off. The age and life-experience of my daughters-in-law to be matters a whole lot less to me than their commitment to their covenants and to finding the Lord's will in their lives.

And I hope these remarkable young women find the same in my sons.

Homesick

When you have lived in a variety of places, the concept of "home" becomes a little bit fuzzy. It seems to take on a more figurative quality than a physical one. I am glad to say that there are things I have dearly loved about each place I've lived: Colorado for the proximity to my excellent in-laws and the mountain towns; Houston for the most amazing set of friends a young mom could ever have; Utah for my family, its familiarity and the itchy feet I get every winter to pull out my skies. If (When?) we leave Oregon, I will miss the green and the wet, but mostly I'll miss the ocean.

But none of these places have been foremost in my mind the past several days. Instead, my thoughts have turned to the home where I lived just over a year and have little practical chance of ever returning to. In just a few weeks it will be 12 years since I left that place.

Australia.

I saw the movie by the same title on Saturday. Before going, I read several, mixed, critical reviews. I seldom do this before going to a movie, but I'm glad, in this case, that I did. It is important to approach the film with an understanding of what the director's intention was. Baz Luhrman set out to create an epic. And I mean epic in the Gone With the Wind, Ten Commandments and Wizard of Oz sense of the word. His story is a mix of a fable and history and miracles. His strong characters are placed on a technicolor backdrop and shot in an amazing array of situations both up close and from hundreds of miles out.

If you see this creation, you must immerse yourself in a world of film-making with the expectation to have an old-fashioned time at the movies. And such a time it is.

It took some time for me to settle into the rhythm of the film: the first 20 minutes or so is told from the narrative view-point of a biracial aboriginal boy (Nala) and the main characters are painted as almost-ridiculous caricatures. Then, when the other characters actually meet up with Nala, the actors assume a more realistic pose. The story is then told in two main parts--before and after happily-ever-after. A word on the three main actors:

The child is incredible. The film is really about him and his people. He carries the movie the way Haley Joel Osmet carried Sixth Sense and that adorable Maori girl carried Whale Rider. When this boy smiles, he steals every scene from two of the world's most beautiful people. His air is a perfect combination of innocence and wisdom. He is on the screen only minutes when you find yourself caring intensely about his fate.

Nicole Kidman is perfect as Lady Sarah Ashley. Again, the first several minutes of the film creates her as more of a parody of a great British lady than as a person. Then, within just a few hours of meeting Nala, she takes a horsewhip to her white foreman who is attempting to beat the child. She curses him off of her land without a thought about what will happen next and behind her beauty and poise you see a woman to be reckoned with. Her pencil-skirts and high heels deceive us into thinking she is a typical heroine in need of rescuing. But her intoning, "Just because that's how it is, doesn't mean that's how it should be," tells us that she, instead, will be the rescuer.

What can be said about Hugh Jackman? Perhaps only that People magazine previewed the film before publishing last week's article, because their assessment is spot on. As "The Drover" He is tough, tough, tough every minute. So tough that when startling moments of tenderness come through it is disarming and wonderful. For all the American films he has starred in, and how believable he is as an American, this movie is a powerful reminder that he is all Aussie.

Australians often call their country "Oz." When I first heard this expression, typical of the Aussie speech-mannerism to abbreviate any and all words when it is convenient to do so, I assumed I was hearing "Aus." then I saw somebody write it one day. Oz. Hmm . . . .

My favorite scene in the movie is when Nala is in need of comfort, and Drover tells Lady Ashley that as a woman, she must be the one to do it. She is awkward, having never really been around children before. Still, he listens wide-eyed and fascinated as she launches into a hilarious and horrible re-telling of the Wizard of Oz, complete with a terrible rendition of "Over the Rainbow." At its heart, this film is about each character's longing for a place they can call "home." Physical AND figurative.

When Dorothy learned what she needed to from her time in Oz, she went home, back to the arms of the people who loved her most. It is what she wanted; she was happy in Kansas. And yet, I can't help but wonder if there were days, in the years after her Dreamtime, that she sometimes stared idly out the window, forgetting all of her responsibilities for a few moments, and thought about Oz and how she might get back. In her black and white life, she remembered that magic place in all its technicolor glory, knowing she was better for her time away.

The Christmas I returned from Australia, my mother got an enormous wreath that she hung in her living room. It smelled of eucalyptus: just like Australia in the moments before a rainstorm. On lonely days, I sometimes sat in the room, closed my eyes and let the scent of Oz rush through my mind and remembered.

They say that "home is where the heart is." There is truth to that, but when you've left pieces of yourself in so many places, it isn't quite as clear. Perhaps that is what dreaming of that place over the rainbow is all about. The journey is as essential as the destination.

Energy Czar

I was green when green wasn't groovy. Okay, maybe green has always been a little bit groovy, but now green is down right mainstream. I have always been fascinated by science at some level and the little bit that we did in school regarding ecosystems, etc., was always fascinating to me. With a group of like-minded (and extremely groovy) students at my high school, we started a Save Our Earth Club. We recycled all manner of nasty cans; the Christmas tree we decorated in the commons still had its roots and was bedecked with a garland of thrown out dot matrix printer paper edging. We planted the tree in the spring.

In college, my love of things environmental intensified, particularly through my course of study and the time I spent in Logan Canyon. My first career job was teaching AP Environmental Science to a group of amazing students who made me look positively wasteful. Even when gas was $.93 at the Maverick in Layton, I bought the most fuel efficient car I could afford. I was then blessed above all measure to marry the like-minded Plantboy.

I'm not as green as I could be by any stretch of the imagination, nor even as green as I once thought to be. Just like nearly everyone else, I do things to be convenient, so disposable diapers are getting more and more to be the norm around here. I'm very good at recycling because our curbside program is so extensive here, but I'm not as good about keeping up with Plantboy's compost. In principle I'm against both fertilizers and pesticides on the lawn, but when the weeds got too out of control this week, I insisted on a weed killer (which doesn't come in the organic variety). I usually take my fuel inefficient SUV places, even when I just am hauling one kid, because changing car seats is such a pain . . . .

You get the picture.

All in all, I doubt I am much different than any well-educated and concerned person that I know when it comes to trying to minimize my impact on the planet. Lately, however, it seems difficult to get properly educated about what exactly DOES minimize one's impact on the planet. Scientific research in different quarters is sometimes in conflict and political spin on issues that should be scientific makes getting factual information almost impossible. Like many of you, for the past several months, I have spent some time pondering gas prices, food shortages, and even carbon emissions. I have heard information from lots of sources and have tried to form opinions. It can be very confusing to navigate the information (and mis-information) available.

So, recently, at our family reunion, when somebody looked at my father-in-law and asked him, "So, Dad, when the new president is elected, if he turned around and named you energy czar and you had the power to pass and implement policy what would you do?" I sat up and took note.

I have immense respect for my father-in-law. He is smart and spiritual and a great patriarch to his large family. My husband's still ways and even temperament come a lot from him I think. Because he tends to reserve opinion and judgment in conversation, when he does speak his words are usually carefully thought out and spot on. He is one of these people who is extremely smart, but is also wise in that he doesn't have to spend half his time and energy mouthing off so people know how smart he is. He graduated from BYU as a mechanical engineer in the late 1960's--the hot field in engineering at that time--with the promise of nuclear energy a big draw for many. He has, in fact, spent much of his career dealing with various aspects of nuclear energy. A concept I have been highly interested in for many years.

Paraphrasing what he said, I'll bring out the important points from the conversation:

(1) Invest heavily in building nuclear power plants. He explained that there are more than a dozen major projects in some stage of construction, though we are still a few years off from getting a single kilowatt of energy, even if the lawsuits were all blocked tomorrow. He advocates the use of breeder reactors (like they use in Europe with an excellent track record of safety and efficiency.) A breeder reactor is something like 90% efficient as opposed to coal at 60% at natural gas at about 30%. It was even suggested that the government pull funding from things like the Iraq war (which has only raised gas prices) and instead invest in these billion+ projects because few companies can put up the capital to get through the process. Like military contracts of the 80's, such investment would create a moving economy and jobs, both blue collar and professional. The magic energy bullet has already been found, but it has been co-opted by fear, which doesn't exactly fuel our homes or cars. He also pointed out that several prominent environmentalists are jumping on the nuclear bandwagon where they have always been adamantly opposed, such as the president of the Sierra Club.

(2) Require American auto manufacturers to begin mass-producing electric cars in the next five years, with the idea that by the time the nuclear power plants are up and running (providing cheap energy), most Americans would be driving electric cars on trips less than 50 miles.

(3) Allow no new homes to be built without Energy Star insulation and windows, but especially not using natural gas for anything but hot water heaters and stoves. Natural gas is just far too inefficient to run our cars or power our homes as the primary source.

(4) Require coal-fire plants to meet stringent, reachable requirements, but begin phasing these out entirely.

(5) Invest heavily in math and science education in order to create a new generation of engineers and scientists, much like Kennedy's declaration that America would put a man on the moon in a decade. The result? Millions in federal funding to bolster education. It worked. Think of how many of your parents went to college compared to how many of your grandparents didn't. This is the legacy of education being given a premium over other government spending.

(6) Find a way to balance ethanol and food production. Only use ethanol as a means to get from here to there, recognizing that it does have value as a renewable resource, but is not the most environmentally friendly option. Instead, emphasize wind and solar (cover Wyoming with windmills and southern Arizona with panels) over ethanol.

(7) Find any and all new sources of oil and drill, drill, drill to fill the gap in the interim between where we are now and where we can be 10 years from now if there is a major policy shift.

For those of you that podcast, download NPR's Science Friday dated 7/18 called "Exploring Realities of Offshore Drilling." It was so illuminating. The guest said something really profound. He said that oil companies don't make oil, they make profits, which is why most of them have quietly begun to pursue other avenues of energy production. "Easy" oil is a thing of the past. It is true that oil companies are reporting record profits, but it is also true that oil is getting harder and harder to bring to market. This problem is not going to go away. Even with a ban on off shore drilling lifted, many companies lack the will to drill thousands of feet into the places they'd be allowed to go. Europeans would call our $4/gallon oil a bargain.

Though what I've learned of both science and economics tells me that expanded offshore drilling will do very little to affect the price of oil tomorrow, and will only help slightly shore up our future supply (false hope, considering that we need a major change in thinking here), I still think that the Democratic Congress right now is wrong in not allowing this issue to come to a vote. If only because this ONE issue is affecting Barack Obama's polling numbers more than anything. The Democratic Leadership, by keeping this issue off the table, is hurting the impression that the Democrats are progressive, wanting to move forward, and willing to look at a variety of ideas. Agreeing to offshore drilling now might smooth the way into the public hearts for nuclear power plants later.

I'm still "green," and I think that there are wild places that need to be saved/protected (Alaskan wildlife refuge, the Everglades), but for most people, the morality argument for saving the environment is totally ineffective. Until it is an economic problem, changes cannot happen. $4 gasoline is a kick in the rear, but maybe this turn of events will finally teach us to be conservers instead of just consumers.

200 Things (From Doreen's Blog)

1. Touched an iceberg (a glacier?)
2. Slept under the stars
3. Been a part of a hockey fight
4. Changed a baby’s diaper
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Swam with wild dolphins (though I was invited to do so on my mission)
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a tarantula
10. Said “I love you” and meant it
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Stayed up all night long and watched the sun rise
15. Seen the Northern Lights
16. Gone to a professional sports game
17. Been to the top of the Sears Tower
18. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
19. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
20. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Bet on a winning horse
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Taken an ice cold bath (this one, unfortunately, is closely related to an incidence of #26)
28. Had a meaningful conversation with a beggar
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Ridden a roller coaster
31. Hit a home run
32. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
33. Adopted an accent for fun
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Felt very happy about your life, even for just a moment
36. Loved your job 90% of the time
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Watched wild whales
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Gone on a midnight walk on the beach
41. Gone sky diving (this was scheduled for my 25th b-day, but we moved to Houston instead. Now with kids. . . . this will have to wait)
42. Visited Ireland
43. Ever bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited India
45. Bench-pressed your own weight
46. Milked a cow
47. Alphabetized your personal files
48. Ever worn a superhero costume
49. Sung karaoke
50. Lounged around in bed all day
51. Gone snorkling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Done something you should regret, but don’t
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Sung on a CD
60. Gone without food for 3 days
61. Made cookies from scratch
62. Won first prize in a costume contest
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Been in a combat zone (Does laser-tag count?)
65. Spoken more than one language fluently
66. Gotten into a fight while attempting to defend someone (not a physcial fight)
67. Bounced a check
68. Read and understood your credit report
69. Recently bought and played with a favorite childhood toy
70. Found out something significant that your ancestors did (Martin Luther is somewhere far down the line on our family tree)
71. Called or written your Congress person
72. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
73. Seen the Golden Gate Bridge
74. Helped an animal give birth
75. Been fired or laid off from a job
76. Won money
77. Broken a bone
78. Ridden a motorcycle
79. Driven any land vehicle at a speed of greater than 100 mph
80. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
81. Slept through an entire flight: takeoff, flight, and landing
82. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
83. Eaten sushi
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read The Bible cover to cover
86. Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about
87. Gotten someone fired for their actions
88. Gone back to school
89. Changed your name
90. Caught a fly in the air with your bare hands
91. Eaten fried green tomatoes
92. Read The Iliad
93. Taught yourself an art from scratch
94. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
95. Apologized to someone years after inflicting the hurt
96. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
97. Been elected to public office
98. Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream
99. Had to see someone you love in hospice care
100. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you
101. Had a booth at a street fair
102. Dyed your hair
103. Been a DJ
104. Rocked a baby to sleep
105. Ever dropped a cat from a high place to see if it really lands on all fours
106. Raked your carpet
107. Brought out the best in people
108. Brought out the worst in people
109. Worn a mood ring
110. Ridden a horse
111. Carved an animal from a piece of wood or bar of soap
112. Cooked a dish where four people asked for the recipe
113. Buried a child
114. Gone to a Broadway play on Broadway
115. Been inside the pyramids
116. Shot a basketball into a basket
117. Danced at a disco
118. Played in a band
119. Shot a bird
120. Gone to an arboretum
121. Tutored someone
122. Ridden a train
123. Brought an old fad back into style
124. Eaten caviar
125. Let a salesman talk you into something you didn’t need
126. Ridden a giraffe or elephant
127. Published a book (hope springs eternal)
128. Pieced a quilt (no, but I've hand quilted and tied them)
129. Lived in an historic place (define historic?)
130. Acted in a play or performed on a stage
131. Asked for a raise
132. Made a hole-in-one (does miniature golf count?)
133. Gone deep sea fishing
134. Gone roller skating
135. Run a marathon
136. Learned to surf
137. Invented something
138. Flown first class (and didn't pay for it!)
139. Spent the night in a 5-star luxury suite
140. Flown in a helicopter
141. Visited Africa
142. Sang a solo
143. Gone spelunking
144. Learned how to take a compliment
145. Written a love-story
146. Seen Michelangelo’s David
147. Had your portrait painted
148. Written a fan letter
149. Spent the night in something haunted
150. Owned a St. Bernard or Great Dane
151. Ran away
152. Learned to juggle
153. Been a boss
154. Sat on a jury
155. Lied about your weight
156. Gone on a diet
157. Found an arrowhead or a gold nugget
158. Written a poem
159. Carried your lunch in a lunchbox
160. Gotten food poisoning
161. Gone on a service, humanitarian or religious mission
162. Hiked the Grand Canyon
163. Sat on a park bench and fed the ducks
164. Gone to the opera
165. Gotten a letter from someone famous (From the person in #148)
166. Worn knickers
167. Ridden in a limousine
168. Attended the Olympics
169. Can hula or waltz (both)
170. Read a half dozen Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys books (half a dozen! More like half of all that were ever written!)
171. Been stuck in an elevator
172. Had a revelatory dream
173. Thought you might crash in an airplane
174. Had a song dedicated to you on the radio or at a concert
175. Saved someone’s life
176. Eaten raw whale
177. Know how to sew
178. Laughed till your side hurt
179. Straddled the equator
180. Taken a photograph of something other than people that is worth framing
181. Gone to a Shakespeare Festival
182. Sent a message in a bottle
183. Spent the night in a hostel
184. Been a cashier
185. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
186. Joined a union
187. Donated blood or plasma
188. Built a campfire
189. Kept a blog (DUH...)
190. Had chicken pox
191. Worn custom made shoes or boots
192. Made a PowerPoint presentation
193. Taken a Hunter’s Safety Course
194. Served at a soup kitchen
195. Conquered the Rubik’s cube
196. Know CPR
197. Ridden in or owned a convertible
198. Found a long lost friend
199. Helped solve a crime (caught a counterfeit bill)
200. Received a professional massage

Austenland?

A friend whose book-sense I trust asked me Sunday if I had read Austenland. I said no, but replied that now I'd gotten a taste for Shannon Hale I wanted to get my hands on more of her stuff and that Austenland had been on the to-do list for a while. She shook her head saying that she couldn't get through more than half of it, thought it was intensely boring and could hardly believe it was the same author.


Still, just the title was too appealing for me to give it a pass, so yesterday I read it in one sitting (or as much as a mother of three CAN read anything in one sitting). I did not think it was intensely boring, and Hale's voice, her wit and her charm was just as distinctive as in the last book I read. The common thread in both Austenland and in Goose Girl is this idea of looking in a mirror and wondering who exactly is looking back at you. This is never more apparent than in perhaps my favorite moment in the book. (CAUTION: SPOILERS AHEAD)


Jane Hayes has gone to a place where fantasies play out, but unlike the other women present, she is unable to completely lose herself in the role-playing. Even as she tries to "catch" various suitors, she knows it is all pretend and can't quite figure out which Jane she is the most often, or even which one she likes the best. She finally convinces the most Darcy-esque of the actors to fall for her. (Or does she? Does he? Isn't it all pretend?) During the ball, with various desperate older ladies fawning all over him, he grabs our intrepid heroine's arm (not the first time he has done this) and pulls her into a small room off the ball room. After some pacing, during which he looks all sexy and tortured,


"He wildly combed his hair with his fingers. 'I can't bear to be out there with you right now, all those indifferent people watching, admiring you, but not really caring. Not as I do.'

"Jane: (hopeful) Really?

"Jane: (practical) Oh, stop that.

"Mr. Nobley sat in the chair beside her and gripped its arm.

"Jane: (observant) This man is all about arm gripping."


Re-creating the punctuation in the above passage is awkward, but if you followed, you see that Jane didn't actually SAY any of these things, though she could have said any one of them and been perfectly herself. He then professes his love, she sees the ridiculousness of it all (or does she?) and refuses him. Walks away. Knowing that for once and for all she is over the Darcy-fetish. Yeah right.


So while I really liked much about this book, at the end she gets the man that you knew from the opening scenes that she had to get all along. For a moment, Hale makes the reader believe that it will not work out that way and it will still be okay, but I was feeling a bit cheated until about nine pages from the end until Hale, of course, righted everything. And though the book is supposed to be all about coming to terms with what is real and imaginary(?), in the end, she does get "Mr. Darcy." And what does he sweetly reply to her protestations that it had all been fake? "We are cast as actors that are closest to the parts we play, since we had to stay in character so long." Ah ha! So he is Henry Jenkins and Mr. Nobley and Mr. Darcy all at once! Lucky girl.


In those last nine pages, he says some intensely beautiful things to her, and this time we are to believe that they have moved from scripted to un-scripted, but you just know that Hale poured over this dialogue for a long time to get it just right. People don't just say things off the cuff like this: I'm throwing myself at your feet because I'm hoping for a shot at forever, have you stopped to consider that in fact you are my fantasy, etc. And don't even get me started on the kissing that Hale so perfectly describes.


Anyway, for a book whose jacket claims to be about a woman learning to separate fantasy from reality, our main character only gets about 10 minutes to decide she can do that before fantasy-man walks right into her life. And true to the Darcy Effect, he is giving up everything for her, stepping on the plane with nothing but a vest and cravat. Oh, and we assume he has a passport.


Like Mr. Darcy and Miss Jane, this plain governess once found herself looking into a pair of fine eyes and falling in love against her will. The night before our wedding, my delicious Gardener gave me two things: a beautifully huge hammock and the Complete Works of Jane Austen. (I refrained from tearing right into it shouting, "Jane Austen! Your works complete me!") I've always loved that gift. I think, in his way, that Plantboy was telling me that he knew he wasn't the Perfect Man I had long dreamed of, but that he would never begrudge my escape with my books as long as I came back to him at the end of the day--refreshed and ready for another round of reality.

Vindicated! (Or Just Vindictive?)

You know how in movies, the girl always gets to really confront her idiot ex and make him look like a fool. This is so the opposite of real life. Most relationships end quietly and if you hear about them again it is okay, or if you never hear about them again it is okay. Other relationships end badly, and usually you hear about that awful person becoming enormously successful. Or you know nothing, which might be worse. Anyway, I heard something this morning about somebody I used to date. Okay, I'll be honest, somebody I nearly married.

I won't repeat it. As triumphant as I feel, I know that I shouldn't because I'm really over all that and spelling it out here will just be too sour grapes for my very mature self. . .

But still.

I'm glad to know that ultimately my character judgment was entirely on and that he is struggling with all the things that I knew would be a struggle had I married him.

After a decade of wondering, today I finally see that it wasn't me. It was him.

Okay, I'm done. Any more will just be vindictive, and then I'll feel yucky instead of euphoric.

Nine Years and Nine Reasons

Tomorrow it will be nine years since Plantboy and I got married. Nine years ago today I was working frantically to get in grades on the last day of school for my first teaching job. I was so green that I was actually still taking work and grading it that day. Besides getting all the grades in, I had to leave a spotless room because I was changing jobs as well. Oh, and it rained all week, ruining any chance for the outdoor reception Plantboy and my mother had spent untold hours on. The temperature also plummeted to the 40's. Very unseasonable for the first week of June. I remember taking the hour ride to the temple where we were getting married with my parents--Plantboy was coming from another direction and we were meeting there--shivering in my summer dress, snapping at anyone who looked at me wrong, feeling so nervous I wanted to throw up and fighting the tears the whole way.

Hm . . . . probably not the way most people describe their emotional state as they head toward marital bliss, right?

I was exhausted and overworked; I had only spent a couple of days with Plantboy in the month previous because he was working in another state; the weather was a huge blow to our plans; I had just said goodbye to a job and a group of students that I absolutely loved; I was about to spend the summer living with my in-laws whom I hardly knew in another state . . . I suppose that there were definite reasons for my near breakdown the morning I got married.

But it wasn't until I walked into the foyer at the Logan temple that I really knew the source of the anxiety, which mounted and mounted until I actually saw him walk in--about two minutes after we did. He gave me a big hug and I immediately relaxed. I said to him, "You came." He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Of course." I think in some corner of my mind, I really didn't think that marriage would be a part of my life. I wasn't that old, even, but for those who didn't know me in the 18 months leading up to my marriage, I was pretty much an emotional train wreck a lot of the time: maybe there were too many beginnings and endings and heartbreaks in too short of time for me to be entirely stable.

When we were married, the man who sealed us said that part of the symbolism of the altar in marriage ceremony is that we lay down all we have and are for the sake of the union. A true marriage is an act of sacrifice. He said a lot of other great things, that I'm sure were very useful, but it was that part about sacrifice that has stayed with me these nine years. I've learned that sacrifice brings amazing blessings.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of joy and sensation and yes, exhaustion. The third day of our honeymoon, I told Plantboy that I was going to take a "short" nap. He woke me up five hours later, no doubt wondering if I had entered some kind of alternative universe from which I'd never return. The whole first year of marriage was a little unsettling for me. I had been on my own and independent long enough that adjusting to the new "we" consciousness was a slow learning curve for me.

People talk about the "honeymoon" phase being the earliest part of a relationship and/or marriage. For me, however, I really believe that Plantboy and I finally hit our stride in the summer of 2005. I'm not exactly sure what changed, but since then we have been amazingly happy together. Even when things have been difficult, they are not difficult between us. As a youngish 20-something it was so easy for me to imagine myself being alone, but instead I was blessed to marry a man I'm still so in love with that at times it makes my heart ache for the joy of it. So, here it is,

Nine Reasons I Love Being Married to Plantboy

1. He can never keep the whole truth from me, even if he is trying to tease or surprise me. I can just read him too well.

2. Our favorite dating memory is of cuddling in a sleeping bag under the stars in Logan Canyon. We were way too unmarried to be there (I'm smarter now that it doesn't matter any more), but Plantboy was a perfect gentleman, keeping his hands and yes, his lips to himself while we talked for hours. Though I didn't admit it until several weeks afterward, that was the night I fell in love with him.

3. From the very beginning I always knew where I stood with him. In all the years I had dated (and not dated), I had never known a boy that was crazy about me from the moment he met me. Once I got past the feeling that he was human crazy glue, I knew that I was happy to not play games anymore and just know how somebody felt. Even now, I catch him looking at me sometimes and I know that time has not diminished his sincere and tender attachment.

4. His eyes. Oh yikes. I've never seen eyes as fantastic as his. (Except maybe me oldest son's!) When his optometrist told him that he may not be a great candidate for Lasic, I was secretly happy. I'm afraid that if he starts going around without his glasses on, women will start chatting him up in all kinds of random places whether he is with me or not.

5. Though he is beginning to gray and will probably be totally gray by the time he is 40, I'm just shallow enough to love that he still has a full head of thick hair and probably always will (as did his maternal grandfather). The irony is that every other guy I ever dated or was attracted to was losing his hair: they are probably all bald now.

6. I've never known a man (at least one who was straight and LDS) who loves the natural world the way Plantboy does. I love that our idea of the perfect vacation is to get as far away as possible from other people and look at God's creations. And when we hike or just drive around and I see plants or flowers or shrubs that I love, he can nearly always tell me the common and sometimes scientific name of what I'm looking at.

7. He is a great home teacher.

8. He is willing to listen to the other side of an argument before forming an opinion. We both like to read TNY, National Geographic and listen to NPR: we never run out of real things to talk about.

9. He loves our kids. When he spends time with them, he is NOT babysitting. He is parenting. We nearly always see eye to eye in our approach to raising kids and if one of us is grouchy and short of patience, the other can easily step in. He never acts like he's doing me a great favor when he takes the kids with him to the store or stays home so I can go alone.

I love this man with my whole heart. And, a year from now, I'm sure it will not be hard for me to come up with ten new ones. If you are lactose intolerant, you may want to skip the cheese next year.

This Medium Gets Me Thinking

I was going to post a second comment on Nem's latest post, but when I last logged in there were already 37 comments. What I wanted to say was just way too much to reasonably be called a comment, and so I'm posting myself. And while its true that a lot of the people who traffic her blog, don't traffic this one, I think it is worth hearing some new opinions on this and related subjects. For those of you that don't read her "Voice Of Reason," today may be the day to start, including all 37 comments.

I think my lengthy comments inspired by her post must be in context of a personal situation and I can only do that on my OWN blog, so here goes.

For those of you that have read here for a while and know me, you know that I was engaged to be married within a few weeks of being home from my mission, and was unengaged a month or so later. We dated for a few more weeks, fizzled, and he was engaged just a couple of weeks later to somebody else. For all the great experiences I've had and my usual ability to laugh off awkward or difficult situations soon after they happen, this broken engagement is not something I've ever been able to laugh about. My decisions leading up to the engagement, some of my actions during the engagement and my severe depression afterward revealed things to me about my character. Things that scare me. The scriptures tells us the weak things can become strong; I wonder if the Lord means that those weaknesses keep us close to Him as we fight against them . . .

Anyway, after the engagement was broken I was speaking with a friend, who had the "wisdom" of four or five years of marriage behind him. I was thoroughly confused and questioned, "Why did this not work out? We were both impressed strongly that it was the right thing. How could it not be the right thing now?" It sounds a little desperate to say that this was my attitude, but he was, after all, the only boyfriend I'd ever had in five years of dating eligibility and he had waited for me on my mission, I was six months from graduation and living with my grandmother. I thought I had missed my ONE chance for marriage in this life.

My friend explained something very powerful to me that I've never forgotten. I'll quote him here, but it is an obvious paraphrase as his exact wording is lost, "When the Spirit speaks to us, we are obligated to act. When we don't act on promptings, when we doubt, when we refuse to move forward with faith and confidence, the Spirit will cease to work on us. Just like on your mission, a baptism slip is a terrible thing. If a person doesn't act on the Spirit, and moves into the realm of doubt, it is that much harder for them to feel the promptings again, by not acting, they move away from the peace the Lord would have given them had they continued forward. By harboring doubts, even after he asked you to marry him, by not being faithful to you and his commitment, the Spirit stopped whispering peace to his heart."

In the Doctrine and Covenants its says, "Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning this matter, what greater witness can you have than from God?"

Why this is relevant to Nem's post (if you didn't read it) is that a misguided object lesson in Relief Society inspired her post and a slough of very touching, personal and difficult comments. The central issue, at least to my mind, behind all this discussion is, why are relationships between men and women so confusing and difficult? The comments read like a laundry list of the many things that can go wrong. And, in most cases (my own certainly included) the quick comments try to simplify a very complex issue.

On further reflection, I think my thoughts stray back to what my friend said all of those years ago when I was in such need of answers. Maybe when it comes to marriage and parenting and serving and friendships and covenants, the Lord is less in interested in if we are ready and more concerned if we are willing. Because the truth is, we'll never be ready. I'm eight years and three kids into this journey called marriage and there are very real days when I don't think I'm going to survive another one.

I know this sounds like another simplistic explanation, and not a fresh one. We hear all the time that men are afraid of "commitment" and I agree that the above paragraph sounds like semantics, but the spirit of it is different. The unwillingness to commit is a psychological, or even biological label for the difficulty people having in getting and staying together. I'm talking about something spiritual. I'm talking about two people looking at one another and saying, "Okay, you aren't perfect, not even close, but neither am I. Still, I'm willing to show up every day to make this work if you are."

My husband was attractive and sweet and worthy when we first met, but he is so much more now. In another forty or fifty years, I imagine he won't be so attractive any more, but he will be even more wonderful. And it won't be because he married me! It will be because he will have kept his commitment with faith every day, even when it was hard. And when he or I or any married or single person falters away from that commitment in any degree, there is repentance to get us back on track so that we can "learn from our mistakes without being condemned by them." (Elder Hafen, from a conference address about three years ago.)

I don't think we need more psychological solutions and surveys to explain why it is hard for marriage to survive our culture of cynicism and immorality, I think we need testimonies of the atoning blood of the Savior and the restoration of His church and its principles. We need to teach our young people--the young women AND the young men--to love themselves enough to make choices that will guide them through times of loneliness or difficulty. Such times will abound in our lives, and it is only by acting in faith that we can receive the peace we all long for and seem to find so elusive in these times.

Who Says You Can't Go Home?

This is the title of a song that came out rather recently. It is a fairly jubliant song, I think they are contending that you CAN go home.

The problem sometimes is knowing where home is. I'm writing this because of something of Nemesis's recent posting. She is just saying that after a year in Cache Valley she is not really attached. I can see where she is coming from. It seems like everyone that Plantboy and I met in Texas couldn't believe we didn't want to stay there forever. We just never felt that way, but I saw more than a few bumper stickers proclaiming, "I wasn't born in Texas, but I got here as fast as I could!"

So what makes a person love a place?

Because, unlike Nem, I love Cache Valley. I don't think I could ever live in Utah unless it was in the Valley. (For those of you unfamiliar with the area, in way northern Utah "The Valley" is Cache Valley, not Utah Valley.) I'm not sure why this is. I didn't grow up there, although my parents did. Many of my aunts and uncles and cousins are still in the area. But I don't think that is the real selling point either; there are many things about dealing with extended family that are difficult, although they have been a HUGE help to me in recent weeks, as they are to anyone in need.

I do know this. After 16 months of missionary work in Australia, I came back to a house my parents had only owned for a few months before I left into a ward with about three familiar faces. I was disoriented and confused and lonely. But when we drove through Sardine Canyon and came upon that view (there was less smog then) of the temple and the university in the center of all that beautiful snow just before dropping down into Wellsville, I finally felt home. And I knew that everything would be okay despite the fact that all my friends had graduated, and/or gotten married, and moved on.

To me, Logan is my first kiss. My first love. Tubing down the canal in the summer. Running the River Trail. Hiking to the Wind Caves. Getting caught by the UPS man while making out with Plantboy in the cooler at work. Passing notes during Evolution 560. Classes and professors I'll never forget. Roommates and neighbors who have become lifelong friends. It is where I met my husband. It is where I had my third baby. Canoeing on the Bear River. Cool summer nights watching movies outside with friends. Eating lunch out on the terrace behind the student center. Hockey and basketball games. Crushes. Being a True Aggie three times over. It is where I held three jobs I loved. It is Aggie Ice Cream. Mudding in the canyon just south of Paradise on that PERFECT day. The chair I sat in when the first real inkling of testimony hit me like a ton of bricks. Sledding down Old Main. Shopping for engagement rings. Wildflowers at Tony's Grove. Letters sent to a special address in Canyon Road nearly every month for the past 10 years. Rook and even, dare I say, poker games until four o'clock in the morning. The Old Hogi Yogi on Monday nights. Ultimate frisbee. Crying myself to sleep some nights over lost opportunities. Two fateful phonecalls before spring break of my freshman year. My endowment. My wedding.

As I look over the above list, I begin to realize what it is. This is not just a list of things I did in Logan, these are things that are a part of me. Memories so vivid and important they define me. Yes, I have made memories, wonderful memories, in other places. But my years in Logan were such a formative time that the place is inseperable from my sense of self. I never lived in Cache Valley until I was 18 years old, and I still feel like it is where I grew up.

I hope that each of you who reads this has a place like that. A place that feels like home even when you move so often you begin to wonder if you should just put everything on eBay and start over. No doubt, many of you will respond that, especially after you have kids, home just feels like wherever they are at. I will certainly not argue with that, but I think it is important to have a place that is special too.

So I guess, although my little family will be together in our cozy cottage, in many ways, I feel like I am really leaving home. Again.

There Are Scarier Things Than Monsters

This blog is going to be a book review. And lengthy. That will probably put most of you off right there. But it is my blog, darn it, I guess it can be whatever I want it to be! My book club this month read "Twilight" by Stephenie Meyer. Now, just 4 days after our meeting, the sequel "New Moon" has likewise spread like wildfire among our group.

Both books are page turners, to say the least.

Meyer's plot is clever and fresh with a young protagonist--all of these things make for excellent popular reading. Or even good critical reading. She has certainly created a formula here that will no doubt carry her easily through the rest of the series; there are five books planned.

Now, here is where we move from book review to personal musing. (Again--my blog, my rules.) Maybe if I had read the sequel yesterday when it was sunny I wouldn't feel quite the way I do. Instead I read it today when it rained all and the snow has begun tonight. It is a good setting in which to read dark stories about werewolves and vampires.

Through both books I keep feeling this mild disturbance tugging at the fringes of my mind. I have been unsure about my disturbance until I neared the end of the second volume. Now, I have begun to put a finger on my trepidation and hope that by writing some of my thoughts I will get even closer to my faint distaste.

Despite the deeply romantic element in these stories (a thing that usually gets me sailing on cloud nine for days after I read such a novel), I do not find myself with a good feeling at the end of them. There is something so obsessive about the love the two protagonists share for one another that it is almost destructive. The Romeo and Juliet allegory in the second tome became almost unbearable. And while Bella, our brave and impulsive heroine, isn't so naive that she doesn't draw this comparison herself, there is a faint sense that she prefers the Romeo and Juliet story above all others, despite its idiotic and unneccessary ending. (No disrespect meant to Bill--I think he meant to point out Romeo and his Juliet for their foolishness.)

And I really hate what was done to Jacob. Since the beginning of the last book, I have loved this character. His connection with the earth and his vibrant humanity (even with his werewolf nature) have been a very bright spot in two otherwise very dark books. I think Mike's line in the second book when he tells Bella that "Girls are cruel," just about sums up a big part of this story for me. Some have complained that Bella is weak . . . well, Bella is human for sure. But she is frightening simply for the power she wields over any man who ends up remotely connected to her life.

Now, on a more personal note, another reason to find Meyer's stories somehow out of jive with what I can relate to. Many years ago I was engaged to a man I loved with everything in me. We were compatible in many ways and I was HIGHLY attracted to him. In my whole life I don't think I've met anyone with quite as much charm. I had a wedding dress and we set a date. (This week would be our ninth anniversary, actually.) I'd begun seeing photographers. And then he began dating somebody else--or did he just want to first and that was the reason we broke up? It doesn't matter at all now. Except for one thing: he left a gaping hole in me that Bella is so fond of bringing up in "New Moon." (The way she brings up having her breath taken away in the first; oh, and don't forget that she says "crap" about 20 times in the last 50 pages of the book. Not your most clever expression. Blood sucking vampires? More like holy s**t! Meyer doesn't shy away from the occassional damn or hell, which make some sense for these characters, but if the beautiful Bella pops out with "crap" one more time then I am going to start wondering what anyone can possibly see in her. But I digrees.)

Anyway, after this abrupt breakup, I did the zombie thing. My grades were impeccable that quarter. I went through the motions of every part of my life, knowing that if I for one minute gave into that aching explosion in my heart the hurt would overwhelm me until it crushed me. My friends and family spent months not daring to look me right in the eye for fear they would shatter the tremulous control I had on my life, or fear that I would start to cry and they would have to somehow find the right words to say--an impossible task. I know that I am not the only person this has happened to. Probably most everyone lives through something like this once.

Then, the healing started, even when I wasn't sure I wanted it to. Even when I knew that if he walked back into my life at any point during that time I would shatter to pieces all over again. I forgot his voice and his walk. I threw away 18 months worth of letters from him, willing the memories away. I recognized our relationship for how difficult and unhealthy it had actually been and I came to gradually accept that there might be a different path forward from the one I had expected.

And I learned the most powerful lesson of all: I was stronger than a broken heart. And while it would be a VERY long time (I even still dream about him some time) before I could let go of that last shred of memory and re-collect all the pieces of my heart, I knew that I would make it. I also came to see that what I really wanted to become was a happy, stable person all by myself. I never again wanted to depend completely on another person to fill my days with color. It is not fair to expect another person to complete every wish fulfillment; after all, I cannot do that for anyone else either.

Whew. Cathartic to get that all out. What I am saying is this--why are Bella and Edward so special that the loss of their love never heals? Why couldn't Bella have loved Jacob? Why couldn't Juliet have found a great measure of contentment as Paris' wife? At least then she would have lived! I want Isabella and Juliet and every woman to know the joy that comes from being in charge of their own lives.

Don't get me wrong--I think men are great. I love my husband dearly and we grow closer all the time. He is wonderful. But he is not a replacement for me. And any human heart can heal if we want it to be so and give it enough time. Maybe Bella is less human than Edward thinks she is . . . .

Still, the third installment comes sometime this summer and I am sure I will read it. *Sigh* I love a romance as well as the next girl, however twisted it may be. I guess I am as exactly as human the next 17 year old girl. Which, as Desmama said of "Twilight," that it painfully points out how much of that girl never left!