The Soundtrack of My Life

There is a free podcast on iTunes called "Celebrity Playlist." Famous people are asked about their musical influences and basically choose an album's worth of music. In between each selection, they explain what they like about the song and/or the artist and how it has been influential. Unfortunately, the free podcast only gives short clips from the songs and a portion of the interview. For the cost of an iTunes album, you can download the list with the songs and commentary in their entirety.

The latest installment features Drew Barrymore and Ellen Page tag-teaming a routine that makes Wayne and Garth look like rocket scientists. I only made it through half of their (mostly) forgettable list because I couldn't stand to hear Her Raspiness (Drew) use the word "awesome" one more time. And, I'm not making this up, Ellen used the word "massive" three times in her description of a single song. A few songs excepted, their celebrity playlist more resembled all the songs they've downloaded in the last few months, or bizzaro concerts they've attended.

This made me think about what songs I would pick. Yes, yes, I could just spout the last several songs downloaded or those getting the most playtime on my iPod, but I think the exercise calls for something more. So while I've been running around tossing papers the last several mornings I've thought through the playlist that best marks my life and how music has influenced me. The memories have been tender, and it has emphasized to me just how much music affects and enhances my memories of certain events. It also has helped me to realize just how influential music has been on my ideas and even, to a degree, my personality.

Because I don't think iTunes will be calling anytime soon, I present my playlist here.

It was all country music growing up at my house. In those days, Reba McEntire, George Strait, Alabama, Dan Seals and the Judds were all new. I'm still amazed when an old Conway Twitty or Eddie Rabbit song pops up on the radio and I know every word. Our eight tracks were of artists like Glen Campbell and Charlie Pride. Dad thought the "new" country was all right, but his tastes went to the classics--Don Williams, Merle Haggard and Johnny Cash were the order of the day. But mostly, and always, there was Willie Nelson. We teased my poor father mercilessly that his love of Willie stemmed from the fact that they were both so off-key that it sounded good when my dad sang along. I was into my teens before I realized that this first pick was not about a road trip at all, but about a band. We sang it every time we hopped in the old station wagon.

Track #1: "On the Road Again" by Willie Nelson

When I was able to make a few musical decisions for myself, my choices were mostly trendy and pop-y. However, I remember quite distinctly the first two tapes I bought with my own money: Bruce Springsteen's, "Born in the USA" and Cindy Lauper's, "She's so Unusual." They were on sale for $5 apiece through my mom's tape club. (You remember these? Ten free albums and then you have to buy 1000 more at jacked up prices or they take your firstborn child.) Cindy Lauper hasn't weathered too well. She was really so, like, 80's, you know. The lead track was Girls Just Want to Have Fun, and I saw the movie by the same title about 80 times. Still it is to The Boss's album that I turn for my selection. I later replaced my tape with a CD and re-discover it every three years or so, only to find it just as fresh and timeless as it was then. It truly is the consummate made-in-the-USA album. I choose a rock ballad from this great album, that you probably haven't heard unless you own it. It was never released as a single. I love a song that tells a story: "Somewhere out there on the road somewhere/you'll hear a radio playing/and you'll hear me sing this song/and when you do/please know I'm thinking of you/and all the miles in between/Now I'm just callin' one last time/not to change your mind/just to say 'I miss you baby'/Good luck/Goodbye . . . . Bobby Jean."

Track #2: "Bobby Jean" by Bruce Springsteen

I mostly avoided that mid to late 80's trap of glam and boy bands. But I think in a nod to the era, I have to choose a song that always reminds me of junior high more than any other. Some months back, Taylor Swift appeared with Def Leopard on a show called "Crossroads" that pairs country artists with unexpected artists from totally different genres. The country stars do covers, and the result is very interesting. I will say, however, for all that the lyrics of "Pour Some Sugar on Me" don't entirely make sense, I always felt that they were, somehow, really sensual. This point was brought home to me again when I saw the young Ms. Swift crooning said song to the lead singer of Def Leopard who is probably old enough to be her grandfather. Do you take sugar? One lump or two? Uh, Geritol, thanks.

Track #3: "Pour Some Sugar On Me" by Def Leopard

When my older brother got to high school, he began listening to a radio station called KJQ. The alternative bands (or was that era called post-modern?) had names like Echo and the Bunnymen, Dexy's Midnight Runners, The Mighty Lemondrops, Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark, The Cure, Oingo Boingo, The Dead Milkmen, Public Image Limited, Camper Van Beethoven . . . you get the idea. At first, I hated this station. The music was just so different and the mostly one-hit wonder singers were just bizarre. Then I heard a song called "Peek-a-boo" that I just couldn't get out of my head. I started listening to the station just to hear it again. And over a few weeks, I discovered that I actually LOVED this music. It was like a tiny act of rebellion for a girl that never did anything wrong. My brother and I plastered everything that would hold still with the station's cow stickers. We stayed up half the night in September of 1990 while he wrote his farewell talk. We called in the Eurythmics "Missionary Man" to the radio station and they played it for us at one o'clock in the morning. He and the music both changed in his two years away, and KJQ no longer existed when he came back. It was only when I downloaded the following song onto my iPod last year and began actually listening to the lyrics that I understood why my brother turned this one down every time Mom was in the room. Not appropriate. At. All.

Track #4: "Peek-a-boo" by Siouxsie and the Banshees

The bands I grew to love through high school weren't all one-hit wonders. I discovered U2 at this time, though it was mostly during their long break between Rattle and Hum/Joshua Tree and Achtung Baby. Choosing a U2 song for a playlist is like picking a favorite child. It just can't be done. The body of their work is so extensive and meaningful that their powerful presence will be felt throughout the music industry for generations to come. The Beatles of Generation X. During the spring of my senior year, my friends and I watched Rattle and Hum at least once a week and we all had a crush on some member of the band. (Being prone to crushes on muscled blond men, I was a Larry Mullin Jr. fan.) The old Hastings at five points in Ogden, now a dollar store, used to bring in a limited number of imports. It was there that I found the single CD, "All I Want Is You." There are two versions of the song on the CD as well as B-side covers of "Unchained Melody" and "Everlasting Love." It was remarkable to find an oasis of actual love songs in a genre too often about sex and lust and fleeting encounters. Bono croons, "Need you by my side/Come and be my bride/You'll never be denied everlasting love." Mr. Darcy, eat your heart out.

Track #5 "Everlasting Love" by U2

But if I loved U2, I was obsessed with Midnight Oil. When I first heard this band from Down Under, I realized that music didn't just have to tell a story or be about breakups or falling in love. Music could teach, make you angry, and inspire you to act. It was through listening to Midnight Oil that I became conscious of the environment, indigenous cultures and causes worth taking a stand about. In the 9th grade, they released an album called Blue Sky Mining that is easily one of my favorite albums of all time. Every track is perfect. I cried my eyes out when my older brother told me I was too young to come with him and his (cute) friends to their 1990 concert. I cried more when he came home and gave me the play by play of their night up at Park City and their stop at The Pie pizzaria in Salt Lake City afterward. I later met the band when I saw them play at Saltair a few years later. Lead singer Peter Garrett told me that my name was short and sweet. I hunted bargain racks at record stores for years to collect their albums from the late 70's onward. My selection here is actually from the album "Red Sails in the Sunset" which came out in the mid-80's. The cover of this album shows what Sydney would look like after a nuclear holocaust. Midnight Oil's activist efforts helped encourage government leaders to keep Australia a nuclear-free country. Peter Garrett is now the environment minister in the current government. This choice is pure Oils: pounding, relentless, lyrics rooted firmly in the land and its people. My love of this band got me in more than one door on my mission.

Track #6: "Kosciuosko" by Midnight Oil

Modern Music wasn't the only influence I had during those years. I did a lot of theater at our high school and loved the big, noisy, classic American musicals. But it was when I did a theater tour in London and saw Les Miserable, Phantom of the Opera and Miss Saigon that I saw the modern musical as something really meaningful, that the genre had moved beyond feel-good production numbers without ever quite adopting the self-importance of opera. I cried through the entire second act of Les Miserable, but my favorite piece was a mere 20 minutes into the show. In a song so heartrendingly beautiful as to be the climax in a lesser show, Fantine's solo teaches us about music's power to help us understand in a moment what tragedy is. "But the tigers come at night/with their voices soft as thunder/As they tear your hope apart/As they turn your dream to shame/And still I dream he'll come to me/That we will live the years together/But there are dreams that cannot be/And there are storms we cannot weather . . . "

Track #7 "I Dreamed A Dream" from Les Miserable

After this, there was a terrible black hole in my ability to hear new music. I moved to Logan where there are two radio stations--the first is a country station that considers anything recorded after 1982 to be "new" country. The second is a "pop" station that is probably better described as a cross between adult contemporary and elevator. I had a roommate who had ten year's worth of EFY tapes as the funkiest in her collection of LDS music. As much as I loved her, I just could never love the music. Another roommate had a greatest hits album by Gordon Lightfoot. Really. But it was during these few years that I fell in love with Trisha Yearwood. Okay, her music, I've never met Trisha, though I'm sure she is quite lovely. I think she could probably sing the menu from McDonalds and make it sound like a tender and heartbreaking ballad. She continues to record new music, but it is only a really devoted group of fans that remains interested. For all her remarkable talent, she doesn't have the live and entertaining stage presence of other singers, and her newest stuff hardly gets any play time on the radio. Curse the establishment. Anyway, of all the songs I could have chosen from her, I picked one about a break-up. Shocker; it is country music after all. This particular song, however, tells the strange phenomenon of seeing your ex everywhere in the aftermath of a breakup. The singer travels to various parts of the country--St. Cloud, New Orleans, New York, Los Angeles--and yet she thinks she sees this person in each spot. "You chase me like a shadow/and you haunt me like a ghost/and I love you so/and I hate you so/but I miss you most." Who hasn't been there?

Track #8 "On a Bus to St. Cloud Minnesota" by Trisha Yearwood

The same roommate with the love of all things LDS-culture wanted a Grand Am. Do you remember the Pontiac Grand Ams that were everywhere in the mid-nineties? Bright blue and green with all kinds of a body details? Awful. Anyway, dear Pam thought her life would be complete with a Grand Am. So her parents bought one for her. The problem was that Pam's Grand Am was the circa 1985 model and was gold. GOLD. We named her Goldie; Pam treated her like an sweet and senile grandmother. Anyway . . . when I would go running (very occasionally), my roommates had a habit of finding me along my way, driving alongside me very slowly in Goldie, and blasting Journey's or Survivor's Greatest Hits out the window. Good times.

Track #9 "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor

Then I went on a mission. I still sometimes hear a song that I think is new and my husband informs me with a laugh that, no, it is from mid-nineties. This happens with movies occasionally too. I returned home and found that while most of the alternative music I had once loved had gone very grungy, there was a new rock sound. It was as though all the bands I had once loved had grown up--the sound was more mainstream but still edgy enough for my mother not to like it. The rock sound of the late 90's dropped the synthesizer and went back to its guitar and drum roots. Bands like Hootie and the Blowfish, Blues Traveler, Third Eye Blind and the Counting Crows became popular. It was also during this time period that I went through a break-up that would become THE break-up; you know; the worst (and maybe best!) one you've ever had, but it is only later that you can see that. This next song got so much play time on the radio in the spring and summer of 1998 that it became a bit of a mantra. Women everywhere related to it for the pathos and symbolism in each lyric. Men loved it for the gorgeous Natalie Imbruglia (a former soap star from Down Under) reminding them over and over again that she was naked. Stupid boys.

Track #10 "Torn" by Natalie Imbruglia

The other band I came to love at this time was Matchbox 20. My younger brother and some friends lip-synced and danced to some of the boy-band music from the late 90's. As entertaining as they were, the music made me crazy. Though he was seven year my junior, Matchbox 20 was the one band we could agree on. One of the most fun things I did that spring was go to a concert with my brother. Matchbox 20 came with Semisonic and the dreadlocked singer of "Runaway Train." (Hm . . . . super famous song, but what WAS the name of that band?) We had a blast; one of the only grown up fun things we ever did together--he was finally 18 and I wasn't yet married. Oh, and I thought Rob Thomas was (is) gorgeous. Again, another band that it is hard to pick a single song from, but I'll defer to one of the more obscure tracks on that very first album.

Track #11 "Hang" by Matchbox 20

Then marriage happened and a change to a new city. Once again, country music seemed to be our main choice, followed closely by hip-hop stations and Latin rock. Then one night, probably in early 2005, we happened to catch an episode of Austin City Limits, and watched a singer-songwriter by the name of Keith Urban bring down the house. I realized that I recognized a song or two--songs I actually had not been that crazy about from his first album--but that his stuff from his latest album (Golden Road) was really quite incredible. Plantboy really liked it, which is a major concession about any country artist by my dear, rock-loving husband. I bought the album within a few weeks, hoping to find another singer that gave us that rare, common ground when it came to musical taste. I love nearly all of this man's music, but the selection here is based on a memory. When Plantboy and I left HoustonTexas for the last time, heading straight west and then north, we listened to this music over and over again. "I got no money in my pocket/I've got a hole in my jeans/Had a job and I lost it/But it won't get to me/Cause I'm ridin with my baby/And its a brand new day/We're on the Wings of an angel flying away. . . And the sun is shinin/and this road's still windin' . . . . I'm alive and I'm free/Who wouldn't want to be me?" It is a song of such optimism and faith. The perfect background music as we headed toward a new life filled with possibility.

Track #12 "Who Wouldn't Want to Be Me?" by Keith Urban

I know this was lengthy, but it was a wonderful exercise. I think I'm off to create my playlist on iTunes. It is raining today and the house needs cleaned, what better time to blast my favorite songs throughout the house, subtly teaching my children about who else I am besides mother. I might need to leave off "Peek-A-Boo."

So what songs make your playlist/life soundtrack? Either leave comments here, or take this exercise as your own. I hope you find it as pleasantly nostalgic as I did.

When Did THAT Happen?

My oldest will be eight tomorrow. This milestone birthday has me feeling very tender-hearted today.Where did the years go?

I Just Love Technology--Except When I Don't

Last week we had another one of those perfect days. We drove to Portland, where a friend watched our kids so that Plantboy and I could go to the temple. It is the first time we have been together to the temple in nearly a year. The weather was looking a bit awful in the morning, but by the time we got back to pick up the kids, it had cleared beautifully.

The zoo was our next stop. And, despite having left the directions at home (with a list on the back about all the things not to forget on our day-trip), we did not get lost on the way to the zoo. We had two awesome hours to roam around, which was just about enough for the age of my kids. It was easily the best trip we've ever taken to the zoo.

We haven't been to the zoo since Houston, when Jedi Knight was far more interested in the train and the Padawan was just a baby who always seemed in need of a nap when we went to see the animals. Though the Youngling is just a few months older than two, he rarely naps any more and loves animals. At each stop, he jumped out of the stroller, ran right up to the animal pens and tried to spot what we were looking at. As he doesn't exactly talk yet, it was completely hilarious and charming to watch him "describe" what we were looking at using a combination of his limited language and creative signing.

Even days later when I brought up going to the zoo, the Youngling's memory was accurate. I said, "Do you remember the bats?" (There was a wonderful indoor display of fruit bats in the semi-darkness, so that the bats were extremely active.) The Youngling nodded and blurted, "Bat!" He then wrinkled up his nose and sniffed and said, "Poop! Bat poop." He then flapped his arms around and said, "Banananananna," while sticking out his tongue. He was entirely accurate: the bats were flying, pooping and eating bananas. It is almost as adorable to watch him describe the zoo's baby elephant, which rivals my own kidlets in hairy perfection.

So why all of this pleasant description and none of Plantboy's wonderful pictures of our whole family dressed in matchy clothes so the pictures would be extra cute? Where is the hilarious picture I took just for ChrisW because I was standing next to the big sign leading into the re-created subterranean niche of the Naked Mole Rat? What about the kids eating elephant ear scones as big as their heads? Alas . . . I went to load the pictures today and all seemed to be going according to plan for the 130 pictures on the camera. When the last picture loaded, an error message came up saying that for whatever reason, the pictures would not load and that I should try again. Okay, no problem.

Only when I went to try again, the error message THIS time tells me that there are actually NO pictures on my camera. It must have deleted the photos during the first attempt at downloading, as we have directed it to erase the pictures after loading them. I didn't realize that I had to create a separate designation in case the camera was of a mind to thwart my plans by just deleting photos willy-nilly that it had no intention of actually adding to my computer.

Yesterday, Doreen posted a hilarious bit from the Conan O'Brien show on her Facebook page. The tagline on the clips says, "Everything is amazing and nobody is happy." The comic being hosted by O'Brien is talking about all of our modern conveniences and just how little we actually appreciate any of it, and how all this convenience hasn't served to make us better people.

So in an effort to demonstrate that my bum camera doesn't have the power to take away my appreciation for the wonderful and real things in life, here are some joy-giving daily moments that have little to do with modern convenience:

* We watched Herbie the Love Bug for Family Movie Night on Friday. I wasn't sure if the kids would like it, but I was gladly mistaken. There were parts where they were, quite literally, falling off the couch with their giggles. During the montage bits with the silly-Disney-music-in-all-of-their-movies-from-the-1960's, the kids got up and danced around. Jedi Knight very closely resembled Elaine from Seinfeld when he was dancing, at which point Plantboy and I fell off the couch with our giggles.

* During family home evening we were talking about the flu and its symptoms. I talked about glands and where they were and how they might feel if one of the kids got the flu. When I pointed to the general groin area for glands, Padawan said, "In my weenie! There's glands in my weenie?" This is even funnier when I point out that we have never actually used the word "weenie" in our family. Oh, we aren't so uptight, we have plenty of our own euphemisms, but this one never made the lexicon. More uncontrolled laughter.

* I talked Padawan through his part for the Primary Program just twice (It is a five-sentence paragraph) and then he did the entire thing, word for word, from memory. He was able to do the whole thing from memory even several days later. In a related story, Jedi Knight is actually going to read his talk this year.

*I keep catching Jedi Knight trying to stay up late to read Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. It is impossible for me to get after him in these moments. In fact, it makes me want to weep for joy when I gently remind him about bedtime. When will his suddenly wildfire reading get so commonplace that it ceases to delight my heart? I hope never.

*The Youngling sings the clean up song. "Eanup. Eanup." It is a nice edition to the "oh, oh's" he knows during the Cold Play song, Viva la Vida and the similar lyrics in Beyonce's Single Ladies. Not to worry, the adorable aspects of his personality are entirely balanced by his desire to always play the part of Darth Maul ("Arf Ma") in the boys' Star Wars games.

* This morning I had a particularly violent sneeze and Padawan said to me, "You and dad do really enormous sneezes, and it kind of FREAKS me out."

Good grief they are cute.

STOOPID camera.

Better Than a Bag of Skunks

Sunday we ended up taking two cars to church. I will spare you that long and boring story and what it tells you about my terrible lack of Saturday organization. (Saturday IS a special day: it is the day I work and work all day long only to still not be ready for Sunday.) Suffice it to say, when it came time to go home, the kids were loaded up and Plantboy and I stood debating who would drive the van and who would take the quieter journey in the Civic.

We put it to the kids. Who, like they always do, yelled, "Mom!" Le sigh.

Even Plantboy felt the smart of such preferential treatment this time and said, with mock incredulity, "You guys stink!"

To which Jedi Knight replied, "That's okay, Dad. Mom is used to that little boy smell."

Uh, yeah, I guess I am.

I don't think I'll ever get used to big boy smell, though. In a few years I have no doubt that Febreeze, open windows and Speed Stick will be my best friends.

I Thought the Reward Would Be in Heaven

I have a dear friend who just lives two doors up from us. I am not going to go into all that this dear sister has done for us, but suffice it to say that my kids call her "Grandma Goody." Grandma Goody did another favor for me last conference Sunday, and while I was at her house, she told me about a dinner that the stake Relief Society had been asked to put on.

But what a dinner.

Apparently they were asked to make a sit down dinner for a stake president training which our stake was hosting. Stake presidents from Medford to Seattle were invited and both general and area authorities were present (one from Alaska). Grandma Goody isn't in the Stake RS, but the president and first counselor are in our ward and recruited heavily from within our ranks to get the help needed to put on the dinner--centerpieces, china, crystal, silver, three courses, all homemade food--the works. This event came on the heels of a few other major activities Grandma Goody was involved in and I could see that she was very overwhelmed. I volunteered to help with dishes on Saturday night.

I have to say, I didn't volunteer for the leadership, my thoughts were all on my friend. In fact, I went into the service with the attitude that the whole sit-down, fancy dinner thing seemed more than a bit over the top. After all, General Authorities are just men, and are probably the first to say that no special treatment is in order. When I arrived at the church, there seemed to be no shortage of help: Besides the RS presidency and a committee, there were several spouses and half a dozen young single adults who volunteered to do the serving. My attitude didn't improve when I found out the meeting was running nearly an hour behind, and the dishwashing that was supposed to start at seven was actually still dinner being served.

Grumble. Grumble. Grumble.

The funny part about the whole thing is that for the first hour I really did little more than get in the way of a very well-oiled machine of getting hot food out to the tables, and yet several different sisters said really sweet things to me like, "Are you the one who volunteered to do dishes?" The whole time I'm thinking, "Aren't you ALL volunteers? And haven't most of you been here all day? And if you knew how much I just wanted to be home in bed, you wouldn't think I was nice. AT. ALL." I smiled very sweetly instead.

Because the group was being served in the RS Room right next to the kitchen, no dishes were to be done DURING the meeting portion of the night, which started after eight.

The grumbling at this point sounded more like murmuring.

Then, perhaps recognizing that we would just be outside waiting for the meeting to finish, they invited us to come inside and join them. They waited while we arranged chairs around the edge of the room, and I was feeling exceptionally glad that I'd dressed up. The man conducting the meeting was Elder Whitney Clayton, a member of the presidency of the seventy. He talked briefly about the purpose of such meetings, and how it allows him to get around to eventually meet all of the stake presidents in the 230 + stakes for which he is responsible. He told us that if you ever get an opportunity to see a member of the Quorum of the Twelve at a Stake Conference, you must take advantage of it because it will be 29 more years before it happens again. Assuming, of course, that no new stakes are added in that same time.

Then, without any more formal remarks, he opened up the floor to spontaneous questions. I've never been in a church meeting quite like that. It was interesting that so many of the questions involved specific administration questions, but that the answers were often spiritual in nature, with Elder Clayton and other members of the leadership sharing both scriptures and personal experiences. The Spirit was strong and I felt blessed above all measure to be there. And certainly blessed above the rotten attitude I'd walked into the room with. I suddenly saw the dinner as a chance for a group of very over-worked and underpaid (or UNpaid) men to be treated to the best we had to offer. What a difference the spirit can make!

There were three things especially that stood out to me from this singular event:

1) One particular brother asked about how to make the receipt of the Priesthood a more sacred and understood thing for someone recently converted to the church. Elder Clayton asked four others to respond before he did and they all said the same thing: if a man is worthy for baptism, he is likewise worthy to be ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. That it is important to remember that the Aaronic Priesthood, by definition, is a preparatory state. To require too much preparation ahead of time can be very intimidating for a new convert, just as it would be for a twelve year-old boy who had been raised in the church.

When Elder Clayton's turn came for the question, he turned to Alma 27. (Well, first he turned to his iPhone but after a moment said, "I'm so unused to this, does anybody actually have any scriptures?) He read about how the Anti-Nephi-Lehis, fearful of their life in the Lamanite lands, agreed to follow Ammon and his brethren up to the land of the Zarahemla and put themselves at the mercy of the Nephites, even to be their slaves just so that they could save their lives. Ammon contradicts the king saying, "It is against the law of our brethren, which was established by my father, that there should be any slaves among them; therefore let us go down and rely upon the mercies of our brethren."

Elder Clayton used these verses to point out that when people join the LDS Church, they are essentially doing as the Ammonites did here--they are leaving the traditions of their fathers behind along with the only life they've ever known. Sometimes they leave family and friends behind. They need our love and kindness above all else, and yet, we make it so hard for them to fully integrate. Elder Clayton accused church members generally of not allowing new members into their cliques, using specialized vocabulary that makes no sense to anyone outside our culture and in short, putting these tender converts through some kind of gauntlet to see if they are tough enough to make it. He basically issued a cease and desist order on all such conduct and challenged each in the room to shepherd new converts from baptism to temple and beyond.

2) When asked about easing burdens on those in leadership positions time-wise, particularly bishops, Elder Clayton said, "The gospel is simple, and Church administration can be simple." A better explanation of the second half of that statement is in my third point, but what I liked about this basic statement was the clear distinction between the gospel of Jesus Christ and the temporal running of the church. It reminds me that all we do in the church is to help bring people closer to Christ, and that the Church is not about the administration of programs but about ministering to individuals. When our programs cease to facilitate personal growth and increase spirituality they have failed.

3) Elder Clayton clarified what he meant about the potential for Church administration to be simple. Speaking specifically to the stake presidents in the room he told them that there was NO WAY they could ever hold enough meetings or counsel often enough with individuals or even delegate enough to ever solve all the problems in their stake. But, he said, "The Lord can." To this end, the main advice he gave to stake presidents was this:

1--Read and study the scriptures every day.
2--Set aside time for meaningful prayer.
3--Do all you can to keep perfect harmony with your spouse.

Why? Because these three things will keep signals from the Spirit crystal clear. He said that if our meetings and counsels were filled with the quiet whisperings of revelation then they could be shorter, more productive and truly helpful to individuals. He obliquely referenced the story of Mary and Martha reminding us that we had to be careful in getting too caught up in the work of the kingdom that we didn't take time to seek the higher things of true religion. I think this three-fold advice is going to be helpful to me in the months to come. Is it anything new? No, not really, particularly the first two, but when Elder Clayton connected such preparation to more effectively channeling what the Lord would have us do, it was a mini-revelation for me.

And a final note on revelation. Elder Clayton bore powerful testimony as he closed the meeting about his knowledge of living prophets and apostles, and particularly ongoing revelation. "Is this a Church of revelation? As surely as I stand here. Evey day, every hour, the good men and women of this Church receive revelation for how to keep it moving forward. Do good and be good, and all will work out in the end."

Wow. The gospel is simple.

It's Called GOING OUT, People!

I remember my parents going out on dates regularly when we were kids. When I was younger we had sitters, when we were older we WERE the sitters. We did a great job too, I can tell you. One time, my sister and I in a frenzy of fighting, chasing, yelling and screaming slammed a door so hard that the mirror on the back of it fell to the ground and shattered in approximately 4.3 billion pieces. We bawled, apologized to one another and cleaned up the mess. The whole rest of the time my sister and I lived under the same roof, my parents weren't able to keep a door- hanging mirror more than a year or two--each one of them broke at the slightest bump. The point is, that regardless of what was going on at home, my parents took the time to regularly go out.

My sharpest memories of the going out are those that involve my mom getting "gussied up" to leave the house. My parents very seldom veered from two or three restaraunt picks, and their dates were nearly always either going to the temple or going out to dinner. Still, Mom always took pains to dress up. After putting on her prettiest clothes, she sprayed her neck with Beautiful by Estee Lauder--my dad's favorite scent and the one he gives her nearly every year for Christmas. She would spend time on her hair and make-up and clothes. Going out meant going all out.

When I was a little bit older, my parents occasionally took us out with them. This was a great treat. We usually went to Maddox steak house in Brigham City after especially good report cards. It was a huge event for us; my sister and always always followed Mom's cue in getting decked out to go out, primping right up until the moment that dad was growling for us to get in the car. During the winter of my junior year in high school I spent a week and a half in London. I was shocked to go to the theatre and find people in jeans and tee shirts. I was more shocked when some of our group, after a week of theatre-going deteriorated into the same sloppy dress. I had not come that many thousand miles to wear trainers and a parka to Miss Saigon, thank you very much.

I don't really consider myself a high maintenance person. Many days, "combing my hair" consists of putting it in a ponytail without the benefit of a brush. Make-up manages to catch me every third or fourth day. Jeans and tee shirts are the clothing choice as soon as I remember to switch from flannel pants some time in the mid-morning. But when it is time to go out . . . .

Friday we went to Outback. I'm not a big fan of paying $25 for a plate of meat and vegetables werein "vegetables" consist of onions. (I also think Outback is entirely ridiculous as there isn't a single actual Australian thing on the menu other than Foster's Beer. But that is beside the point.) Still, we had a gift card and a volunteer babysitter so we would have been crazy to pass up the chance. I did wear jeans, but I also wore heels, an awesome orange jacket (partly awesome because it was a steal at $4 from the Goodwill), and a scarf. I actually curled my hair and wore eyeliner.

As we waited for a table, I noticed several families with children. The kids all looked so sloppy! One girl had on over-sized pink sweatpants and (just-shoot-me-now) Ugg boots take-offs that looked like sloppy slippers. Her hair was in a half pulled-through pony and she wore a ratty hoody and starlet sunglasses. Did she think she was J-Lo? Atrocious. Another kid was wearing ill-fitting gym clothes with long white socks and sandals. This unfortunate social butterfly also brought a 500 page fantasy novel with him. Apparently he had no plans for talking with his parents, or going out for expensive dinners is such a regular experience for him that he was completely indifferent to being "treated." Mom jeans and Hawaiian tee shirts seem to have made a comeback among the Friday-night-Outback-Steakhouse crowd.

It is true that there were a few groups of people who looked like they had taken pains to look their best; there was even a group of high school kids at one table who were probably on a Homecoming date. Either that or the girls had all just come from the lingerie store and run into a a group of friends leaving the Men's Wearhouse. (Don't get me started on THAT unfortunate spelling.)

The next mistake is my own. To be seated a few minutes faster we agreed to sit in the bar, where there were actually "tables." I use the term loosely because it was too small for all of our food and drinks at the same time. The chairs were so high that my feet couldn't quite reach the top rung. Of course, as soon as we sat, I realized there were four enormous televisions in the bar area. One in each corner. Plantboy knows how I feel about non-stop sports at restaurants, or anywhere else, and graciously volunteered to sit with his back to one, though it just meant he was full-on facing another. *sigh* Plantboy laughed at the situation, "You know this place is packed because of the meat-fest and the football. It might be the only way to get men out of the house."

But there were other annoyances, besides college football and sloppy clothes, that occupied my thoughts Friday night: the sound on the TV was entirely down, but between the motion and the scroll bar, there was plenty to keep the eyes busy. The radio was playing in the background, causing people at each table to raise their voices quite high. My meal was excellent, but the headache I took with my Chocolate Thunder From Down Under nearly ruined my meal.

Why is it so hard to find a nice, quiet, affordable place to go out? All of the chain restaurants are a cacophony of visual and auditory over-stimulation. In the past 18 months I've only been to two places that were a peaceful dining experience with unique food and a relaxed non-TV atmosphere. The bill at each spot nearly caused a gag reflex. Maybe it is worth it if we only go out every few months instead of trying to do something more regularly?

But I do know this: The most pleasant part of the entire evening was in the quiet of our car ride home. Plantboy and I held hands. We talked about covenants and sacrifice. We expressed with joy some of the love-lessons we've learned in the past decade. Maybe getting dressed up to go out is worth it after all.

Mansfield Park Lite, Or Is It Heavy?

I reread Mansfield Park this week. It got me to thinking about movie versions of this story, and how much I disliked Masterpiece Theatre's recent interpretation of it. It isn't fair, really. MT did a very credible job of telling the story, preserving much of Austen's original intention for the story, complete with a Fanny Price so bland as to be entirely forgettable.

Because she is. As much as like Austen's book for its tone, satire, wittiness and plot, I am not crazy about Fanny. I don't know why. She is friendly and kind. She is loyal to a fault. Her principles are impeccable and her judgment sound. Her patience is infinite. In short, she has exactly those attributes I find myself striving for.

Yet, isn't it possible to have all of these lovely traits while, at the same time, standing up for herself? Explaining herself fully? Acting like a woman instead of a mouse? Her fearful shyness is sometimes so annoying I found myself gritting my teeth with her. Austen herself was so Mary Crawford; where does this Fanny Price heroine fit with the Emmas and Elizabeths?

No doubt, someone here is going to write back that they did one of those Austen Facebook quizzes and were declared to be most like Fanny Price. I'm not concerned; if you are most like Fanny Price than nothing I can say will offend you. I can criticize your social standing, your parents, your financial situation and even your looks without so much as a quiet nod as you return to your needlework.

So, imagine my delight when I re-discovered the 1999 version of Mansfield Park on YouTube the other day. While most Austen adaptations that veer too much from the original are extremely distasteful to me, this one left me feeling just the opposite. The screenwriter dissected the original Austen, read between the lines for plot development, enhanced character motivation, and gave Fanny a backbone.

The result is a piece that is both dramatic and funny, romantic and satirical, literary and entertaining. It is a story that, with the benefit of a more modern sensibility, helps put Fanny's entire experience at Mansfield Park in the context of her time. Here follow some brief comparisons.

The actress who plays Fanny is quite wonderful and pretty too. She contains all of Fanny's better attributes without being as sickly and retiring as Austen's heroine. The 1999 Fanny is vivacious, strong and natural. She hears each cruel thing from her Aunt Norris and others of her ilk without ever really believing it. To keep household peace, she will hang her head and acquiesce without complaint, but she never sees herself as second to anyone. Even the sassy and sensual Miss Mary Crawford. She may not know how to compete with her, but she doesn't ever defer to her either.

The characterization all around in the 1999 version is remarkable. The feckless older brother, Tom, is not merely a drunken lout; instead he is deeply depressed over his father's involvement in the West Indian slave trade. Austen's book uses his father's "business in Antigua" as a major part of the story, but she is less than forthcoming about what, specifically, he did there. The movie gives Tom depth of character from the first few minutes he is introduced. His extreme guilt over a lifestyle paid for almost entirely from the buying and selling of slaves leads him to self-medicate with extreme alcoholism. Nor is he the only one. Austen tells us that Lady Bertram is constantly lethargic and uninterested in almost everything to the point of almost being a non-entity. This film helps us to see why this is the case: she is an opium addict. Something not at all uncommon in that day and age. True to Austen's original story which paints Fanny's mother and her Aunt Bertram as so much alike, this version casts the same actress in both parts. A brilliant juxtaposition. The slave trade is also used to help explain Lord Bertram's alternating bouts of indifference, interference, cruelty and interest in Fanny's concerns. This theme of slavery is a major point in the way he basically auctions off his daughters to the highest bidders, regardless of their feelings. Fanny's defiance to his orders matches her revulsion for his money-making schemes.

All is not entirely well with the screenplay: the deletion of Fanny's brother was a mistake, even if Fanny's character picks up a lot of his best attributes. The help and advancement Mr. Crawford lends him is Fanny's primary motivation for even considering his overtures toward her, though the 1999 Mr. Crawford is a good enough actor that I almost began to wonder what Fanny's scruples against him are exactly. Which takes us to the only major flaw, in my eyes, in this particular interpretation. Fanny, desperate in the life she has been punished back into and eager to help her family, tells the charming Henry that yes, indeed, she will marry him. It is true that her acceptance of him only lasts for a day, but Fanny's chief virtue is her unwavering constancy toward her best principles and her beloved Edmund. I think this screenplay could have taken us down the road of Fanny's serious consideration of Mr. Crawford's advances without her actually saying yes.

So now we must talk about the beloved Edmund, played perfectly by Johnny Lee Miller. (Who I loved in Eli Stone--a short-lived dramedy on television for about 18 months.) Imagine my surprise when I found out he was in the MT series as Emma's Mr. Knightly as well. I missed it because I was so disappointed in both Mansfield Park and A Room With a View that I couldn't even attempt another adaptation. Anyway, there is a moment near the end of the film where Fanny has just learned a series of shocking things about her adopted family. She is sitting near Tom's sickbed in her nightgown, her face a mask of shock and horror when Edmund comes to her to ask her if she is okay. He is comforting her and in the intense emotion of the moment he (ALMOST!) kisses her. This almost kiss is more beautiful than any movie kiss I've ever seen. I won't link it here because this same clip has a few pretty shocking moments in it; this version of Mansfield Park is daring thematically and is for grownups only.

I do love Austen. I think if you have only seen film adaptations or read books about Austen's work, then you have seriously missed out on the actual Austen experience. Her gifts are legion and her legacy much deserved. But I will say, in this case, there is actually some improvement on the original.

Homema . . . . Enrichme . . . . Relief Society?

Is it just me, or did anybody else only quit calling it “Homemaking” a few months ago? And what is the second counselor in Relief Society called now? The Sister Formerly Known as the Home Family and Personal Enrichment Counselor? And did I hear correctly? The Enrichment Leader is now the "Organizer?"

Still, all snark aside, Saturday night’s general Relief Society meeting was wonderful. It made me glad that I waited to post on the following comment from Caitlin:

“I have a question for you in regards to Relief Society and Young Women. We have both been Enrichment Leaders and 1st Councilor in YW, so I know you will understand where I am coming from. I think sometimes the RS sisters get a little frustrated with the YW leader attendance, or lack thereof, to Enrichment meetings. Those who haven't served with the youth often don't realize how often we are gone from our families. At minimum I am gone one night a week and it just goes up from there. Do you attend any of the group meetings, or do you just go quarterly? Also- do you have a hard time justifying to yourself or to your family, being gone an "extra" night during the week to attend a RS meeting? Just curious.”

There were a few insights I gained on Saturday night, and I had a bit of a paradigm shift about my role as a Relief Society member now that I am in the Young Women’s organization. Let me start by putting some of my experiences in context:

For the majority of the time that we lived in Houston, I served in the YW. I also ran a tutoring business from my home. Because I always had to clear my schedule for Wednesday nights, I pretty much worked every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday night. This was when those extra-Sunday meetings were held every month. My friend, Forecast Calls for Rain, was the Enrichment Leader for something like three years. Our ward was very committed, so she had a good committee who mostly didn’t have other callings, but it also meant that she had to plan for an average of about 50 at Enrichment night.

Very occasionally, I would be called by some very well-meaning sister on the food committee to bring a specific thing to Enrichment. This always presented a frustrating dilemma for me. I believed that saying “no” to such a request was contrary to me sustaining that person in their calling. Yet, at the same time, my own calling was so demanding! Also, because of my tutoring, I very rarely attended homemaking; or if I did, I went as the sisters were cleaning up and found some of the stragglers to chat with.

I was never sure if the food committee really wanted my food, or if they were using the request as a ploy to make me attend as they were blissfully ignorant of my reason for staying away. In the request, I always heard an accusation. So I would begrudgingly say “yes,” and bring my food to the church or a committee member earlier in the day, and still not attend. The following week when it was time to do an activity or to teach a lesson, I’d always feel a great urge to call somebody on the food committee and ask them to come and do a part of a my lesson or teach the girls to sew or wait at the church with them when their parents are an hour late coming to pick them up, or just listen to them gripe for thirty minutes.

I know, I know, the pioneers buried their babies walking across the plains in blistering heat and freezing cold and I’m grumbling about throwing together a cake mix AND THEN HAVING TO DRIVE IT FIVE MINUTES TO THE CHURCH TO DROP IT OFF.

It is just that the cake seems so irrelevant. How does such an act, particularly one I don’t want to do, build my faith?

Fast-forward to my three years working with the Enrichment Committee where we hustled like crazy to get the sisters to attend. We made a comprehensive effort to be sure all the sisters knew about our quarterly meetings—fliers in monthly newsletters with a name on the front of each, personal announcements in both Young Women’s and Primary, separate sign-up sheets in each auxiliary where there were women, weekly reminders for the upcoming week’s activities on a ¼ page handout nearly every week, personal phone calls before each quarterly enrichment—the women in our ward knew when each activity was and that they were needed, loved and welcome.

Our attendance ticked up slightly. Even after all that work, not to mention the work on the activity itself. I was very frustrated. In the last few months as Enrichment Leader I realized that I had to stop making the attendance thing about me. You know: Do they not like me? I worked so hard and now nobody will come! What could they have going that is possibly more important that this thing I spent so much time one? What is wrong with their husbands that they won’t watch the kids one night a month . . . .etc. etc.

Once again I find the shoe on the other foot, but this time I’ve come to a few conclusions, and Saturday night’s meeting really helped me with this.

The current design of the Home, Family and Personal Enrichment program was (and is) an effort to better suit the needs of the sisters. The quarterly meetings should benefit a broader base of sisters; the midweek and (usually) monthly activities should target more specific needs that benefit smaller groups. The key is understanding the needs of the sisters. (Sister Beck’s comments from a few years back on the sister’s needs are worth close scrutiny. I would leave the link here, but I'm having trouble finding the exact talk I'm looking for.)

There have been unintended downsides to this program—if a ward isn’t very careful, the midweek activities turn into cliques that are very hard for new members to integrate themselves into. If an activity is advertised in RS on Sunday, many of the women attach a certain set of expectations to it, which may or may not be reasonable. In my current ward it also meant that much creativity was dropped from Enrichment planning in exchange for the four activities seen as traditional: a March birthday party with a big meal; a mid-summer garden party with a big meal; a “Souper” Saturday wherein you sign up for pricey crafts or more stamped cards to make for yourself or give away as Christmas presents; the fourth quarterly activity is a Christmas party with, wait for it, a big buffet-style meal and a program. What about humanitarian activities? We can’t do that! Nobody will come.

Charity never faileth. Except when it does.

Don’t get me wrong: the ward I live in now is full of amazing people who do behind-the-scenes service all the time that has nothing to do with a calling. But I think the collective service we can offer as RS sisters is unifying and is a positive way for our church to make a mark on our community. Particularly in communities where the Church is unknown and/or unpopular.

Before I tangent too far from the original subject, here is the first thing that struck me so hard from Saturday night’s meeting: Sister Beck emphasized again and again the need for the RS presidencies to be prayerful about the needs of the sisters and then act accordingly. And yet, do I know what my OWN needs are in regards to this grand organization? In regards to my life? I get so practiced at going through the motions of daily living that I forget to stop and evaluate WHY exactly I am doing some of the things I am doing. What things are truly bringing me closer to Christ? And how do I define that for myself? As I approach my involvement with Relief Society activities from now on, that will be my first question—does this activity fill a need for me?

Two different talks, expressed this same basic concept, “You need Relief Society/Church and the RS/Church needs you!” Understanding my own needs will help me to define when a Relief Society meeting falls into that first category. For example, a woman I know stopped attending our RS book group about a year ago as it wasn't fulfilling her needs. She found too many of the book picks offensive and the discussion was not as uplifting as she had hoped--as perhaps it should have been. However, some dramatic changes in her life have caused her to think that she needs book group again—both as an evening out and as an “excuse to read.” (Yes, yes, apparently some people need excuses to read!) Same activity; different season. So, no Caitlin, if I truly believe it is an activity that I need, I never feel guilty for attending.

I think it is the “Church-needing-you-activities” that we have to be more careful about staying away from, regardless of our other callings or how enjoyable we think it will be. Jenny presented a beautiful post a few months back about a service opportunity her ward had taken at a local “shop” which provided gently-used clothing to the homeless. The turn-out from her ward was pitiful compared to the safe-dinners-at-the-meetinghouse type activities, but the lessons learned were invaluable and eternal. I think each person has to decide if a particular activity or task falls into this essential, second category; but if we are staying home from activities that give opportunity to perform meaningful service for someone truly in need, then we better make sure that what we put ahead of such service it is pretty darn important.

And no, I’m not sure that the Church needs me to bring canned peaches in orange Jell-O to an activity, so please don’t ask.

So, my first conclusion is that it is my responsibility to prayerfully figure out my needs; secondly that I should find time to attend activities that truly bring me closer to Christ and activities that give me meaningful service opportunities. Now for the last powerful thing I took away from Saturday’s meeting.

Before President Eyring’s talk, I hadn’t realized that it was the Relief Society that was the driving force behind the creation of the Young Women’s organization. And I had an epiphany. I think nearly every talk mentioned in some fashion that Relief Society was organized after the manner of the priesthood; even Joseph Smith acknowledged the incompleteness of the Church until the women were “thus organized.” Brother Joseph originally wanted the RS to be selective, allowing only members of a certain worthiness to participate—sounds a lot like the priesthood doesn’t it? Now, let’s look a little closer at the brother-organization of the Priesthood—Aaronic and Melchezidek—the preparatory and the higher law. Isn’t it possible that Young Women’s and Relief Society can also be seen as sister organizations? The lower in preparation for the higher? Young Women’s as a tutorial for a lifetime of service as a woman in the Church?

Now, taking this further, just as my husband always holds the priesthood regardless of his other callings, I need to hold the spirit of Relief Society in my heart, regardless of my other callings. Plantboy's callings are often priesthood callings. Can’t I also view my YW calling as a RS calling? I may not be able to attend Relief Society meetings (Sunday or otherwise) very often, but it doesn’t meant that I’m not fulfilling the mission of Relief Society in every particular by magnifying my calling to serve their daughters—to train the next generation of sisters. What did Sister Thompson say? For all of her cherished goals that didn’t come true, the most important one did—to stay true to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. THAT is the best gift we can give our young people. And valiant young people are the very best thing we can give to the Church.

This realization also helped me view my Young Women in a new light on Sunday. In just a few short years, these lovely “girls” will no longer be just the kids I teach. They will be my sisters in the Relief Society—they will be moms with young babies in need of connection to older generations, they will be young single adults navigating their place in the Church, they will be making decisions and having trials that will require a vast support-system of sister-love.

At the end of Elder Eyring’s excellent talk on the history of Relief Society, he explained that this legacy cannot just be told in words, but that it must be passed heart to heart. I have no daughters to give this gift too. So, for now, loving my Young Women wholeheartedly and committing my Church-time to them is the very best service I can give the Relief Society.

Oh, and visiting teaching.

Validation

Book group started badly.

I was a few minutes late myself, and when I got to our hostess' house, there was only one other guest, and the hostess was on the phone. I could tell from the conversation that three of our regulars were unable to come. Including the sister who was going to lead our discussion. And the person she had called to replace herself.

I sat on the couch feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute. You know in novels how they talk about people rearranging their features in order to mask their true emotions? I felt this sensation more acutely than I have in years. Relieved to not have to be the center of attention? Embarrassed that nobody was coming? Foolish for having thought this could be a good idea? Selfish for all the other things people scheduled in front of my agenda? You get the picture. Hardly a feeling passed through my brain in ten very uncomfortable minutes that was appropriate to express.

Four more trickled in--two who had read it; two who stopped coming to book group early last year because of serious criticism over book picks and the resulting discussions, and had not read the manuscript.

The study questions that the moderator and I had worked on together, and which she was going to present, were stored safely at home on my hard drive and I stared rather stupidly at MY book that I haven't read in its entirety for months. Rational thoughts flew out the window and I shared a little bit about the process of writing this story and the literal years and tears and hundreds of hours that went into it.

But I was also quick to acknowledge many sisters in the room with amazing talents, saying that any great skill that is worth showing off is often the result of much more than talent, some of it is just vast amounts of time and practice. I also wanted to help the sisters understand that this project is essentially a conversion story, and that each of us, just by being in that cozy living room last night had a conversion story that was worth telling. Like Alma tells Abish at the end of my story,

"The visit from that angel was seen by many as a miracle. But to me, the real miracle is what took place in my soul in the days that followed. I know God can snatch a man from the very jaws of Hell and redeem him if he will but decide to follow. The real story of the gospel is not a record of how many thousand men uttered Lamoni’s covenant and buried their weapons; it is one man who loves God so much he would risk all he has in faith to never again disobey the commandments."

While it is exciting and wonderful to think about the growth of the Church into so many countries and how far the Church has come since its origins, I think the real power of the gospel is in the lives of individuals and in the testimonies of its members.

I paraphrased the above and sort of ended with my words hanging. One sister in our group whom I will love forever and ever if only for the following comment, "I loved this book. It got right to the heart of how simple the gospel is. It made me want to live it better."

The tears that smarted this time were not the stupid self-pitying ones that started the evening, this time I felt so joyful. All of the time and effort and work that went into the novel was worth it for that alone. Maybe I DO have something to say that might help somebody else. For those many, many of you out there who have ever encouraged me in this frustrating journey, please know how much your lovely friendships have meant to me.

I don't know, and probably doubt, that my novel will ever be published, at least for some great number of years. Cedar Fort published this in April. Remembering my rejection letter from them almost 18 months ago made such a discovery bittersweet. But do I have the courage to find out that my very best effort rated a mere 3.83 out of five stars? And only got SIX reviews? Amazon's reviews were a little better--but there are only THREE reviews there. Friends of the author. I don't know about the picture they chose. I think Abish is too pretty, and she is wearing enough make up to make RuPaul blush.

But I do know this: writing Abish was worth every minute. It was worth it for the testimony I gained of the reality of the Book of Mormon. It was worth it for the boost and revitalization this story has given a few others. It was worth it if only to know that I could see something through to completion. As awesome as publishing would be, I think there are few things that could compare to the sweetness of the Spirit I felt in our book group last night when we talked about the beautiful simplicity of the gospel when so much church culture is stripped away and we ask ourselves what it really means to be born again.

Crabby

I came into September WAY over-committed, and sure enough, I was sick by the end of the first week. My baby started with the nursery cough just a few days into the month. (You know nursery cough--it is the illness that starts three days after Sunday.) He had no other symptoms, just a persistent cough. Less than a week later I caught it. A week after that Plantboy caught it. Then Jedi Master. Finally, Padawan came down with it a few days ago. But the BABY is still sick. I bought my fourth round of children's cough medicine this morning. I went to the doctor last week and thought I was kicking it, but then I spent most of yesterday coughing. Today started off better, but I'm now coughing up again. I cough so hard my head aches and I worry I'll wet my pants. Right, TMI.

I guess all of this explains the lack of blogging. My energy is low right now and my depression high. I would love nothing more than to crawl into bed for about three days and hope to wake up cured on the other side. But life goes on, and this month it certainly did. With a vengeance.

The first week of the month I helped our YW put on a modesty fashion show for all the girls in the stake. It turned out wonderful (forgot my camera) and was so much fun. I think we really helped to re-energize some girls on church and activity attendance and they felt like superstars. It was a really fun and positive way to approach modesty, which too often seems like a list of don'ts. If you are serving in YW right now and want details about this awesome activity, please feel free to email me. One of our girls completed her Choice and Accountability goal while helping, but I am sure we could have given two girls ten hours. Of course, all of this is retrospect. If you had asked me one month ago how this particular activity was going, I probably would have ripped out a big chunk of my hair and stuffed it down your throat.

The same week I finished making my parents' anniversary movie. It also turned out great, but it was not without a lot of blood sweat and tears. If you ever plan to do anything in Windows Movie Maker, first of all, DON'T. Secondly, if you DO, please contact me or one of any number of trouble shooting websites first. If your movie is going to be longer than about ten minutes and/or have music, some helpful pointers are in order. Otherwise, you'll find yourself at midnight the day before your deadline re-importing 500 pictures, desperately trying to find all the files and getting them in the correct order in time to your music, though you had already spent weeks doing this very thing. Another project that, in the end, I'm so glad I was a part of, but if you had asked me how it was going on September first, my response would have made the hairball down your throat thing seem downright appealing.

Oh, yeah, and that same week I spoke in Stake Conference. I tried to load the talk here, but it didn't want to cut and paste my footnotes and I didn't think it was worth entirely dismantling the talk in order to post it. Again, if you are interested, feel free to e-mail. And yes, thank you very much, I DO put footnotes on my talks.

And with all of these goings on, we still managed to recreate plenty this month. We started the month with pirate-Star Wars-dart guns. Yes, it is all the same game. Aren't my pirates adorable? I mean, really tough and scurvy?






On Labor Day, some friends invited us to go crabbing with them on the coast. Their dad owns a small fishing boat and this is one of their favorite past-times, especially when they have somebody new to take. Not a big fan of shellfish, but you can't live in Oregon and turn down an opportunity to go crabbing, right?



Crab in a net. He is a little bit tricky to see, but he is there in the bottom. The trap works by putting a bunch of meat in the bottom--we used chicken because other ocean creatures don't like it the way they do fish--lowering the trap, waiting fifteen minutes and then hoisting it up. It was a great day for crabbing and a gorgeous day for chilling on the beach.


Jedi spent a lot of time in the boat, usually riding shotgun and shouting directions. Here he is looking over the water at the sea lions we caught playing out in the bay. How cool is that?


This starfish came up in one of the nets. He is bigger than anything we were able to hold the day we went tide pooling. Isn't it cool?


Yo ho ho and a bucket o'crabs.


Bridge in Newport. There is a science center and a really great aquarium just under the bridge. Last year we also had great fish n' chips Newport. Fun spot. Less than two hours from home. When are you coming to visit us? (Bring the hand sanitizer and the face masks!)



Crabby, indeed. This part freaked out Padawan a little bit, but they move pretty slow and sideways. The males tended to be a lot more aggressive. We slowed them down by tipping them onto their backs. Then, in a move that just about made me a vegetarian, our resident crab fisherman placed them, shell side down, on the edge of the cleaning sink at the public docks and with a strategic thump, cracked their shells and killed them. The meat is mostly in the top of the legs, so the legs were ripped out with all the lumpy white crab meat on the top and put in the "keep" bucket. We (I use this pronoun very loosely) washed some of the shells out for the kids to take home and tossed the rest.






The little girl is our friends' daughter. She and Padawan are BFF. It is pretty cute actually. We all stopped at McDonald's on the way home. There is nothing like having no idea about the source of your meat to make it more palatable. Neither Plantboy or I were able to stomach the crab cakes too well. It was disappointing really--picking the bits of crab off the legs after boiling was arduous and extremely stinky work.


In classic Oregon tradition, school started the day after Labor Day. Here is Jedi in his Star Wars Lego shirt. And if I haven't mentioned it 85 times already, we DO love Star Wars Legos. He came home from school, filled with stories about all the kids who admired his shirt. "But mom, only half the girls did. The rest didn't even know about Star Wars." Poor little lasses.


Later that week, Jeff went fishing and caught this gorgeous salmon. He brought it home at 5:30 pm on ice, showed, changed his clothes, and we took off for Stake Conference. When I got home from dropping our babysitter at the stake dance (a condition of her employment), Jeff had this baby cut in half and the house smelling of the ocean for the second time in a week. I took one look at him and told him that if he planned on slaughtering a chicken or a cow in the backyard then I was done with meat for good. So many sea-creature guts and smells make beans very appetizing. I don't think I would have cut it as a pioneer.

Still, the salmon was quite a bit more palatable than the crab cakes and we had a delicious dinner on Sunday. We also found out on Sunday that one of our sister missionaries, who has been here about four months, was getting transferred. She has a larger-than-life, very fun personality and I have had several teaching opportunities with her. As a farewell present, I told her and her companion that for their last p-day we needed to tie-dye tee shirts as a real Eugene-thing. Her companion made a cool logo to commemorate her time on the Oregon "coast" and I bought computerized iron-ons and a tie-dye kit. My white Chipotle shirt was already getting a bit manky under the arms, so I dyed it. Here is the result:


Cool hey? The kit only had red, yellow and blue in it, but it was quite strategically placed I think. I've tie dyed a couple of times before, but this was probably my most psychedelic result. It was also a lot of fun. I think that I am going to do this with all of our future visitors. So Eugene.




The Youngling is cute in his little hat. He is our budding jock. He wants to carry around a ball of some type all day every day. And though he is starting to actually get some language, the word "ball" is still the first word he used and the plainest. We tried to get him to pose in these shots, but he was just too busy. His cuteness definitely translates better to movie.


We've had a few early autumn days of Indian summer this week. The warm weather allowed our late-in-the-ground corn time to ripen. The boys harvested this yesterday. Each ear was over a foot long, worm free and had amazingly sweet, tiny kernels. It might just be the best corn I've ever had. Ever. Really. (Padawan is wearing his tie-dyed shirt too. He tells me that he wants to wear it every day from now on. I'll have to hope for a growth spurt.) But the picture I'm going to leave you with is the ultimate late summer piece-de-resistance dish. These are four different colors of carrots from our garden--three different oranges, yellow and purple. I sauteed them in olive oil and butter just until tender, threw in a handful of pine nuts (not many, these puppies just shot from $12 to $17 per pound this month) and stir-fried just until toasted. I poured them into the white bowl and threw on some fresh basil. Oh, boy, were they fabulous. And SO pretty.


I like to think that October will slow down so that I can get better and not feel quite so crabby. But October brings an 8th birthday, out of town visitors, swimming lessons two nights each week, a baptism, Halloween and Young Women. Always Young Women. I love it. Really. Because most of our girls are Mia-Maids we only have a presidency, no advisors and we meet together for everything. This is both good and bad--I plan and execute every third activity and lesson, which is very doable. But you know how the youth program is! Besides the activities and lesson there are dances to chaperone, firesides every month, quarterly temple trips, service projects, monthly sleepovers, personal progress. . . . . it looks like the two year-old will nap today.

What do they say? Sleep when the baby sleeps.

Oh, and my book group is meeting tomorrow to discuss my book. I feel like I'm going to puke a little bit every time I think of it. I'll let you know how it goes.

I'll leave the word verification on for another week. I need another entry or two before ending the contest. (See last post.)

Balderdash!

What with three major projects completed and under my belt last week, the kids going back to school, and horrible cough that has been hounding me for two weeks, I'm feeling a bit less than creative, or thoughtful or interested. So instead, I'm going to test YOUR creativity. And give prizes.

For this post ONLY I've turned on that pesky (hm, useless!) word verification for the comments section. To enter the contest, you open the comments section and create a definition for the word verification word that shows up. I will award one prize at random (yes, even if your definition is totally lame you can still win a prize) and one prize for the one that gives me the biggest laugh-out-loud. Because, oh, yeah, I'm desperately in need of a laugh.

Contest ends when we hit forty comments; you can enter twice. Happy balderdashing.

And now I'm off to change a poopy diaper.

It's Fun to Stay at the YMCA

I used to watch the show Dharma and Greg regularly, or at least the re-runs. Like Seinfeld and The Ofice, it is another show that I didn't really catch the charms of until well-past the time the originals aired.

This post isn't really about the show, just a particular clip, but a little bit of background is in order so that it makes sense. Dharma and Greg is about a couple (coincidentally named Dharma and Greg) who pass each other on the street one day after both have just fallen out of very serious and deeply unsatisfying relationships. Greg is highly attracted to Dharma (and honestly, Jenna Elfman with the 90's haircut? who can blame the guy) and she senses some kind of cosmic connection-love-at-first-sight with him. He lets her pass by, but she tracks him down at his office. He is completely smitten, takes the rest of the day off and they spend the next 24 hours together, culminating in a wedding. This takes us to halfway through the first episode.

The gimmick in the show is what happens when two people who really don't know each other at all get married. Dharma's parents are hippies--not WERE hippies--are hippies. Greg's parents, on the other hand, are from one of the richest society families in San Fransisco. And while Dharma and Greg are not as extreme as mums and daddies, there is a lot of argument (and eventually give and take) about how things are "supposed" to be done, emphasizing that no marriage is made up of perfect people who have it all figured out.

During the second season Dharma and Greg decide to adopt a baby. Or rather, Dharma spontaneously tells the checkout girl at the market that she can live with them until the baby comes, delivers the baby at their apartment, then agrees to adopt the baby after the single teenage mother has a complete emotional breakdown. Greg is told about each AFTER it happens, and Dharma is a little bit confused about what his beef is.

So that is the background. When the baby moves in, any prior differences pale in comparison to their differences in parenting. Dharma's mother reminds her daughter that Dharma basically grew up in a commune because "it takes a village." When her mother and father show up to help, they bring a whole entourage of people with them--a spiritual advisor/storyteller, a feminist with a cooler full of breastmilk, an African shaman with a drum--you get the drill. The funniest clip in the episode is here, when we meet the village and see the way they take over the lives of this young couple. Ironically enough, though Greg doesn't understand the village concept and its importance to his mother-in-law, he himself had a nanny, a cook, a maid and various tutors. Later there was boarding school and lessons. Not Dharma's village, but a village nevertheless.

In a comment some time back Genjunky said "not that it takes a village . . . " when talking about raising kids. I think she means that we can't abdicate our responsibilities as parents to the community. We can't think that church or school or the government or whatever will parent for us. Yet, I'm not entirely convinced that it doesn't take a village.

Now, I'm not talking about a Dharma-style village here. But to some degree don't we all have stake in one another's welfare? For example, some of my earnest commitment to the young women in our ward right now is the idea that some day my boys will need scoutmasters who take their callings seriously. Yet, every minute I spend with those girls, is time spent away from my own family; which, I must admit is sometimes very frustrating. As a teacher I sometimes found myself spending a lot of extra time and energy on students, just trying to teach them basic skills that, in my mind, should have been taught at home. Also frustrating.

In Mr. Obama's health care speech this week he finished by quoting a letter from the late Senator Kennedy. Mr. Kennedy's letter makes it clear that he believed that making sure all Americans had access to health care was a litmus test of the American character. I think that Kennedy was saying that it takes a village.

I'm not sure. But I do know this: My brother and sister each had new babies in the past month. It is still a while to go before I see them, and I feel sad that I may not get to see them grow up. As my friends get older, we seem to have a much harder time connecting with one another in meaningful ways because we are so busy. I remember my peer groups in Texas and Utah (where we, incidentally, lived at "The Village") who were so close to one another. I had a ready list of women to call if we needed something, anything. I have a couple of friends here like that, but our ward is geographically spread out and there is very little spontaneous hanging out or stopping by. My parents and in-laws are wonderful people whom I wish had more regular interaction with my kids. Plantboy is headed to the temple tonight on his own because it is too hard to find a babysitter for a big chunk of the day so that we can go together. And while our local school is wonderful, there are no children younger than middle school on our entire street.

I don't want somebody else to raise my kids, of course not. But for all that we love about our current location I don't know if there is enough of a support system for us to raise our kids here--particularly though their turbulent teenage years. Maybe it doesn't take a village, but I'm not sure I'm strong enough without one.

He That Hath the Spirit of Contention Is Not of Me

My first title for this was, "Because, yeah, encouraging kids to work hard and stay in school is REALLY subversive." Then I realized that the whole point of writing this is that after the past few weeks I feel like I've had enough negativity to last a lifetime. So I've tried to eliminate all sarcasm and cutting from the following. If this makes me less entertaining, well, perhaps it makes me less offensive too. And, whatever else you may think, I have no wish to offend.

So let me start with a disclaimer: If you are going to pull your children from school on Tuesday so that they cannot be "brainwashed" by our president, that is your right, of course. I wanted to make that statement right off the bat as I was told on Facebook yesterday by a mother I didn't know that it was her God-given right to control everything her child learned. While I wish her luck with that, I bring up her comment to illustrate just how strongly people feel about this.

Now, if you are keeping your kids home Tuesday because you have studied what is available about the speech, or because you are disturbed by the lesson plan your child's teacher is planning on presenting with the speech, then I commend you for your research and the obvious concern you have for your child. I don't know if it is a God-given right to control each thing that enters your child's head or not (I'm not sure about the scriptural backing for this statement), but it certainly is your right to parent how you wish.

However, if you are pulling your child on Tuesday because of something you heard a television or news radio host say, or because you disagree with Mr. Obama's policies, or because you have been reading opinion columns, I would ask that you reconsider. Here is my reasoning:

1--There is a shocking lack of respect from children in this country for adults in general and particularly for people in positions of power. To teach your children that all respect must be "earned" by some arbitrary set of principles that involves others agreeing with all of your dearly held ideals is to deny the fact that each person is a child of God. Whether you agree with Mr. Obama or not, even in every particular, I am guessing that he has done nothing to offend you personally. I'm guessing that if he were invited to your house for dinner you would find him affable and friendly, optimistic, and eager to talk with great affection about his kids. Naturally, you would avoid politics and religion, but dignified acquaintance demands that these topics not be discussed anyway.

Using negative and incendiary language around your young children about local or national political leaders confuses and hurts them. After all, they are reprimanded severely if they use such language about children they know and interact with. You might think that you are merely passing on political ideaology to your children, but it is important to be very aware of what else you might be teaching them.

2--I believe that running negative talk radio shows or television in your home that involves hosts who shout, berate, belittle and constantly criticize drives the Spirit away. Even if the host of such programs is LDS. If you disagree with this, please find the titled reference in 3rd Nephi in the Savior's initial sermon to the Nephites. He is very plain about the source of the spirit of contention. Children are especially sensitive to the spirit of contention; indeed, it is the opposite of the Holy Ghost. There is nothing wrong with you listening in your car, or after bedtime with your spouse, particularly if such programs lead to mature discussion of ideals and principles that you either agree or disagree with. You wouldn't allow violent or rude cartoons into your home, how much more confusing and even scary is it for children who see and hear talk show hosts using almost violent terms as they urge people to "reclaim their country."

The thoughts expressed concerning Laura Schlessinger last week have really prompted me to think about these talking-head types who feel duty bound to tell the whole world what is wrong with everybody but them. These people, whomever they are, get paid, and well-paid, to set themselves up above others, to mix enough truth with lies that they sound credible, to shock, to divide, and to gain popularity and influence. If you have copy of Mormon Doctrine hanging around your house, look up the definition of "Priestcraft" and see if that doesn't match pretty closely. For how many generations have men been warned about the danger of following the "philosophy of men mingled with scripture." How many more times must we hear it to truly be on our guard?

Again, don't misunderstand, I'm certainly not against people profiting from their labors, intelligence, talents or ingenuity. I am against the preservation of people's right to profit above all other moral responsibility. I am against people using these same skills to incite normally sensible people to extreme anger and divisiveness without offering clear and positive alternatives. I am against people using their God-given gifts (and all good gifts are from God) to wreck and create enmity between people. Just so we are clear--I am not against their agency to do so. I just think they are selling their souls.

3--If your family disagrees with Mr. Obama that doesn't mean something cannot be learned from him. Last month, Bill O'Reilly wrote an article for a weekend circular magazine, Parade. Perhaps you saw it in your paper? Mr. O'Reilly is a Fox News journalist who has routinely been critical of Democrat-sponsored policies and Democrats in general. He is also a shrewd and talented newsman who holds people accountable for what they claim to know and be. His article details some very positive things that American children can learn from our commander-in-chief. Isn't it possible to help our children see, in a calm and rational manner, that there are positive things to learn from all kinds of people, even when we don't agree entirely with them?

I hope that no readers here take offense from what I've said. I have no idea exactly what you believe politically or where your information is coming from. My assumptions here are not aimed at anyone in general, but more at the mood prevailing in our country right now. And I'm deeply disturbed that the heart of such controversies is often in Utah. Gay marriage, which our prophet spoke plainly against is one thing, but to treat a classroom visit by the president as a very affront to all you hold dear, is to create a climate in which Mormons look not only foolish, but as a group that is only allowed to think a certain way by our leaders. Nothing could be further from the truth. I often think of Kennedy and Hatch, life-long friends, when I think of people whose opinions are generally diametrically opposed but managed to form a bond of brotherhood that is built on mutual respect and admiration, and not merely on shared opinion.

Yesterday a friend in Utah sent an e-mail with the following, "I have a friend in Arizona who is being almost bullied by her Mormon mom friends there who are telling her she can't send her kids to school that day, that she needs to send a clear message that she will not be brainwashed by 'that man.' " Of course you should keep your kids home from school if you ever worry for their safety or the appropriateness of what they are learning, but don't assume that because your friends are LDS that they feel the same way about it. And above all, don't judge their commitment to the gospel based on your own perception of politics.

In our "fight to save men's souls" (though I'm quite certain Mr. Obama's speech is not what our leaders have in mind when they use such terminology), let us no lose our own to anger, frustration, discord and ignorance.

Darn that Caller ID

We no longer have a landline. This doesn't make me hip or cool or young. It just makes me cheap. Mostly I like having just a cell phone, but it only identifies callers if they are already programmed into my phone. This is not an issue really: I only screen calls at meal time, after 8:00, when I'm watching a show I really like on TV, when I'm resolving an issue with the kids, doing housework, if I'm talking to someone on the other line, at the store, in the car, when my hands are full, or if I'm just not in the mood to talk. So, yeah, hardly ever.

Two Sundays ago, the phone rang while Plantboy was at meetings and I was in the throes of getting the Jedi off to church. Sunday morning phone calls are generally of two varieties: a missed newspaper customer or my mother. It was not my mother, and not recognizing the number I nearly changed my mind, figuring it was a disgruntled paper (non) recipient. I answered, trying to keep the note of world-weariness out of my voice.

It was not a paper customer.

It was a member of the Stake Presidency. I was surprised to learn that he actually knew me, though I've noticed in this stake that the members of the SP come out fairly regularly to visit the wards. You know how this goes--when anybody from the stake calls you immediately begin the following in your head: What-can-he-be-calling-about-we-just-got-new-callings-please-don't-be-taking-my-husband-away-for-more-hours. But he did not want to meet with me or Plantboy. Instead, he asked if I would speak at the adult session of Stake Conference next week.

I think people say yes to this sort of thing because it comes as such a shock. With some time and reflection, you might be able to give a definitive yes, or at least come up with an excellent excuse. My answer sounded more like a question, "Yes?"

Now for the reason I'm blogging about this rather ordinary event. The topic has me slightly out of sorts. He said that a few people had been asked to take 10 minutes each to share a favorite scripture--one that had influenced our life somehow. He then said the scripture should be centered on Christ and the atonement as much as possible. Seems more like seminary devotional material than adult-session stake conference doctrine.

I wasn't off the phone ten minutes when ideas began flooding 1 Nephi 3 or 8 . . . or 17 ; the last three or four chapters of 2nd Nephi, the first or last few chapters of Mosiah, and Alma! Where to even begin in Alma? 5, 17-26, 32 . . . I quickly realized my thoughts were only in the very first half of the Book of Mormon and there were so many other great ones! Half of the third Nephi, verse 11 of 4th Nephi would make a fantastic talk, not to mention most of Mormon, Ether or Moroni. There are several incredible and influential scriptures in the Doctrine and Covenants too. In Sunday School this summer I think we spent an entire month on just half of section 121. And while not a lot from the Old Testament stood out (Abraham's sacrifice and obedience/Esther's sense of destiny being notable exceptions), there are parts of the New Testament I just love. John 8. Acts 1-10 . . . . excerpts from all the epistles. The entire book of James.

Okay, you definitely get the picture. No doubt with just a minute's reflection you could come up with a similar list. It has really hit me that I don't think I have a favorite scripture. I have passages, stories, chapters that I really love. But a favorite? It's like picking a favorite kid. It just depends on the day, or even the moment.

Now, after some better focused reflection, I'm getting the start of an idea. But as I've been writing the talk, the tendency to sermonize and not just travelogue keeps creeping in. Does that make sense? I don't just want to tell a story; I want to teach a principle. But maybe the assignment just calls for the first? I'm not sure.

So what is YOUR favorite scripture? Either ever or at this moment, I'm not picky, but please give us a reason that you love it. I'm also not going to steal one of yours. I lamented some weeks back about how all of this social networking with a group of such remarkable, like-minded women, kept me from getting on my knees and taking my problems to the Lord. It is not my intention here to do so. Maybe it is that for about fifty un-named reasons this has been a Jonah-week* and I'm in need of some serious uplift. Help me out here, girls.

*Bragging rights to whomever can place the Jonah-week reference!