Wednesday, March 19, 2014
From My Inbox
I can't think of many things that brighten my day more than a friend emailing me old pictures of our Jack. Here is today's bounty. He's a fine looking cub scout. I say that as a totally objective observer.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Outside the Box
On the first day of class with my students at the jail, I have them play a classic connect-the-dots game. To win, they have to connect all nine dots using only four straight lines without lifting their pencil off the paper.
The key is to think outside the box. And that is usually the takeaway from the game. But I push the lesson further and use it to introduce the idea of learning systems (the jail, probation, school, work, etc.) and figuring out how to use that knowledge to win at them, for real, not to just work them.
We talk about how the purpose of a system drives the written and unwritten rules and procedures. We talk about the ways to figure out those rules and procedures by asking, listening, observing, reading the handbook, and learning by experience. We talk about how important it is to use good judgment--you can't trust just anyone. We talk about how to handle it when we're called out for breaking rules we didn't know existed or for not properly following a procedure we're not familiar with. We talk about how systems are created by human beings, who are imperfect, which means the systems themselves are imperfect. We talk about not letting arbitrary things that result from that imperfection throw us off.
And then I go back to the first takeaway and we talk about how important it is for us to think outside the box. We can't forget the unique things we bring to the system and the fact that many of us don't fit neatly inside the dots. In fact, if we try to cram ourselves into the box of dots, we end up banging our heads against the sides of it. We not only risk losing the game when we do that. We may even lose ourselves.
----------------------
The older I get, it seems the less neatly I fit inside some of the places I'm expected to fit. Maybe the boxes are getting smaller. Or maybe I'm seeing the dots too clearly. Or maybe my bleeding heart is too swollen. Whatever it is, I've got to figure out how to draw my lines before I lose myself.
The key is to think outside the box. And that is usually the takeaway from the game. But I push the lesson further and use it to introduce the idea of learning systems (the jail, probation, school, work, etc.) and figuring out how to use that knowledge to win at them, for real, not to just work them.
We talk about how the purpose of a system drives the written and unwritten rules and procedures. We talk about the ways to figure out those rules and procedures by asking, listening, observing, reading the handbook, and learning by experience. We talk about how important it is to use good judgment--you can't trust just anyone. We talk about how to handle it when we're called out for breaking rules we didn't know existed or for not properly following a procedure we're not familiar with. We talk about how systems are created by human beings, who are imperfect, which means the systems themselves are imperfect. We talk about not letting arbitrary things that result from that imperfection throw us off.
And then I go back to the first takeaway and we talk about how important it is for us to think outside the box. We can't forget the unique things we bring to the system and the fact that many of us don't fit neatly inside the dots. In fact, if we try to cram ourselves into the box of dots, we end up banging our heads against the sides of it. We not only risk losing the game when we do that. We may even lose ourselves.
----------------------
The older I get, it seems the less neatly I fit inside some of the places I'm expected to fit. Maybe the boxes are getting smaller. Or maybe I'm seeing the dots too clearly. Or maybe my bleeding heart is too swollen. Whatever it is, I've got to figure out how to draw my lines before I lose myself.
Monday, March 17, 2014
Not So Ancient History
Yesterday I stole my post from someone else. Today I'm recycling (a slightly edited) part of an old post from 2006. Is that cheating? Eh, it's my blog. Jack was seven when this happened. Seems fitting to re-post it in light of several heated conversations I've been following on the internet lately (and in honor of Women's History Month).
--------------------
Jack and I went to see Roger in his new office today. He started his job at the BYU library yesterday and, except for the part where he has to wear a tie (!), we're all really excited for him. Everyone we met this afternoon is very happy he's on board.
On the way to campus, I explained to Jack that we needed to hurry a bit in order to meet Dad's boss because she was leaving at 4:00.
"She?" said Jack. "You mean Dad's boss is a girl?"
"Sure she is."
"But boys are supposed to be bosses, not girls."
I'm sorry, what??? How on earth did Jack get an idea like that? Especially since his very own mother (who happens to be a girl) has pretty much been a boss his entire life? (Though in his defense, we never actually used the word "boss" at the bookstore.)
Needless to say, we had a good little conversation.
--------------------
Jack and I went to see Roger in his new office today. He started his job at the BYU library yesterday and, except for the part where he has to wear a tie (!), we're all really excited for him. Everyone we met this afternoon is very happy he's on board.
On the way to campus, I explained to Jack that we needed to hurry a bit in order to meet Dad's boss because she was leaving at 4:00.
"She?" said Jack. "You mean Dad's boss is a girl?"
"Sure she is."
"But boys are supposed to be bosses, not girls."
I'm sorry, what??? How on earth did Jack get an idea like that? Especially since his very own mother (who happens to be a girl) has pretty much been a boss his entire life? (Though in his defense, we never actually used the word "boss" at the bookstore.)
Needless to say, we had a good little conversation.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
A Simple Miracle
I stole the following from a dear friend, written anonymously a few years ago. I think about it a lot.
Reflecting on the story of the loaves and fishes, I realized that the miracle of the story might be as simple as Jesus asking for help and finding one boy who was willing to share. Perhaps heaven didn't need to provide the bread and fish. Perhaps other people, who had food but were keeping it for themselves, watched the boy, felt the spirit and had a change of heart. Perhaps when they all shared--when they all took a moment to think about others' needs--there was more than enough food for everyone. Perhaps the lesson Jesus needed to teach was how we can solve our problems if we work together. With the fear and anger in our communities, perhaps the miracle we need most is the miracle of changing hearts.
Reflecting on the story of the loaves and fishes, I realized that the miracle of the story might be as simple as Jesus asking for help and finding one boy who was willing to share. Perhaps heaven didn't need to provide the bread and fish. Perhaps other people, who had food but were keeping it for themselves, watched the boy, felt the spirit and had a change of heart. Perhaps when they all shared--when they all took a moment to think about others' needs--there was more than enough food for everyone. Perhaps the lesson Jesus needed to teach was how we can solve our problems if we work together. With the fear and anger in our communities, perhaps the miracle we need most is the miracle of changing hearts.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
It Really Works!
Time for a helpful household hint, I think. I shared this one with someone earlier today.
To get the smell off your hands after slicing and dicing onions, rub your hands all over with a stainless steel spoon under cold running water. I believe there is some magical alchemy involved. Well, at least some basic chemistry. Anyway. It's supposed to work also with garlic and fish odors.
I do have a few domestic bones in my body. Not many, but there are some in there!
To get the smell off your hands after slicing and dicing onions, rub your hands all over with a stainless steel spoon under cold running water. I believe there is some magical alchemy involved. Well, at least some basic chemistry. Anyway. It's supposed to work also with garlic and fish odors.
I do have a few domestic bones in my body. Not many, but there are some in there!
Friday, March 14, 2014
The Way My Life Works in Five Acts
Prologue
When I do my work at the jail, I always try to strike a helpful balance between recognizing on the one hand that life is hard, especially when systems work against us, and on the other that we often have more power than we realize to choose how we move through this life.
Act One
A week ago, I meet with a woman who is getting released from jail the next day. She is divorcing her husband, who is also in jail, and has recently revoked her rights to be her son's mother. She's scared, but hopeful. "All my life," she says, "I have been totally dependent on my parents or my husband. I want to prove to myself that I can be independent. I want to be an independent woman." I share with her something I read recently that I've been chewing on: The moment you lose everything is the moment you can create anything. I'm not sure I buy into the "anything" part, but I do buy into the idea of someone who has lost so much emerging from the ashes with new strength, an independent woman.
Act Two
The next day, I'm teaching my class, and something an inmate says reminds me of the conversation I had with this woman. I share the story. One student enthusiastically asks me to repeat the idea I'd read somewhere so he can write it down. Another shakes his head and openly scoffs at the idea. In fact, he openly scoffs at several things we discuss that day.
Act Three
When it happens, I realize that I've long thought my students might see me as naive about their experiences, which I am, and therefore overly optimistic about their futures, but it does not quite prepare me for the open scoffing.
Act Four
As I reflect on it after class ends, I am glad for the reality check. I revisit the balance I work hard to strike. I will continue to openly acknowledge the many uphill struggles my students face. No sugar coating from me. But I will not give up my optimistic ways. They are the point of why I'm there.
Act Five
A few days later, I attend a department training meeting. Serendipitously, the guest speaker talks about being positive. He says that while things are what they are, we use our imagination to evaluate whether they could be better or worse (both are always true, by the way). Then we imagine whether things will get better or worse from there. Our response springs from that imagination. Key to creating positive action (as opposed to curling up and pulling the blanket over our head or worse) is being more aware of how we evaluate what is and how we imagine what can be. If we are aware of our thinking, we can shape it, and that, in turn, can shape what we do.
Epilogue
I figure out how to incorporate some of the ideas from the training meeting into my class to help shore up the balance I work so hard to strike.
When I do my work at the jail, I always try to strike a helpful balance between recognizing on the one hand that life is hard, especially when systems work against us, and on the other that we often have more power than we realize to choose how we move through this life.
Act One
A week ago, I meet with a woman who is getting released from jail the next day. She is divorcing her husband, who is also in jail, and has recently revoked her rights to be her son's mother. She's scared, but hopeful. "All my life," she says, "I have been totally dependent on my parents or my husband. I want to prove to myself that I can be independent. I want to be an independent woman." I share with her something I read recently that I've been chewing on: The moment you lose everything is the moment you can create anything. I'm not sure I buy into the "anything" part, but I do buy into the idea of someone who has lost so much emerging from the ashes with new strength, an independent woman.
Act Two
The next day, I'm teaching my class, and something an inmate says reminds me of the conversation I had with this woman. I share the story. One student enthusiastically asks me to repeat the idea I'd read somewhere so he can write it down. Another shakes his head and openly scoffs at the idea. In fact, he openly scoffs at several things we discuss that day.
Act Three
When it happens, I realize that I've long thought my students might see me as naive about their experiences, which I am, and therefore overly optimistic about their futures, but it does not quite prepare me for the open scoffing.
Act Four
As I reflect on it after class ends, I am glad for the reality check. I revisit the balance I work hard to strike. I will continue to openly acknowledge the many uphill struggles my students face. No sugar coating from me. But I will not give up my optimistic ways. They are the point of why I'm there.
Act Five
A few days later, I attend a department training meeting. Serendipitously, the guest speaker talks about being positive. He says that while things are what they are, we use our imagination to evaluate whether they could be better or worse (both are always true, by the way). Then we imagine whether things will get better or worse from there. Our response springs from that imagination. Key to creating positive action (as opposed to curling up and pulling the blanket over our head or worse) is being more aware of how we evaluate what is and how we imagine what can be. If we are aware of our thinking, we can shape it, and that, in turn, can shape what we do.
Epilogue
I figure out how to incorporate some of the ideas from the training meeting into my class to help shore up the balance I work so hard to strike.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Five Things Finished
The theme of my day. A good day. There's even a smile at the end :).
- This morning, I handed out certificates to the men who completed my two-week course at the jail. After "graduation" I usually treat them to a short, fun video (because I can't treat them to any actual treats). Click here to see the one we watched today. I've seen it a bunch of times and it still makes me laugh. I love that there are people like this in the world!
- After working the maximum numbers of hours I can report on a time card in one pay period, I "had to" leave work at 11:30 a.m. and I "have to" take tomorrow off. Oh, well!
- Roger and I went out to lunch with his sister Joan, who is in town from Missouri, and I ate my entire Slab Pizza order (though only half at the restaurant, then the other half at home later).
- After about 20 months, Jack got his second set of braces off! No more brackets and wires and rubber bands for that boy! Well, if he wears his retainers faithfully enough that is. His teeth are free until they arrive from the lab on Tuesday.
- Tonight was my last Springville City Library Board of Trustees meeting after six years as a board member (we're kicked off after two three-year terms). It's been a great ride! I started the assignment before the bond election to build a new library, served through the design, construction, and grand opening, and have enjoyed watching the ever-increasing circulation numbers and event attendance over the years. It truly is our community's living room.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Five Answers
I never know what useful information I might learn finding answers to questions from inmates at work. Here is just a sampling from the last few days:
- If you need to designate someone to collect your Social Security checks they can apply to be a "Representative Payee."
- If you need to get a drug assessment at the county, you have to come up with $80 (cash, check or money order). They don't accept credit cards.
- If you are in Utah and want help signing up for health insurance in the marketplace, you can go to takecareutah.org to find someone who is trained to help.
- The Utah State legislature killed the bill that would have raised the smoking age to 21.
- The only way to get from Utah Valley to Salt Lake City using public transportation on a Sunday in the late afternoon is get the 811 bus at 6:09 p.m. at the Timpanogos Transit Center east of the University Mall and take it to 11800 S. TRAX station where you can catch the Blue Line at 7:31 p.m. No Frontrunner service and no buses to get from downtown Provo to the University Mall. Not on a Sunday.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Tomorrow
Oh, wow. I'm even less inspired to write something than I was yesterday. Tomorrow. Tomorrow something brilliant will happen.
Monday, March 10, 2014
With Four Minutes to Spare
It is eight minutes to midnight, and I am utterly lacking inspiration to write my daily post. If we didn't just go on daylight savings time, I'd still have an hour and, now, seven minutes to come up with something.
Speaking of daylight savings time, when I suggested it was probably just a matter of time (no pun intended) before the legislature got rid of it, a coworker told me his theory about why we haven't abandoned it yet. Golfers. Golfers who want longer hours after work to play.
And where is there a large congregation of golfers and friends of golfers? The legislature.
PS: I am ambivalent about daylight savings time, I have friends and family I love who golf, and one day I might even be a golfer myself. I will, however, never be a legislator.
Speaking of daylight savings time, when I suggested it was probably just a matter of time (no pun intended) before the legislature got rid of it, a coworker told me his theory about why we haven't abandoned it yet. Golfers. Golfers who want longer hours after work to play.
And where is there a large congregation of golfers and friends of golfers? The legislature.
PS: I am ambivalent about daylight savings time, I have friends and family I love who golf, and one day I might even be a golfer myself. I will, however, never be a legislator.
Sunday, March 09, 2014
The Other Half
 |
| Brian Kershisnik, She Will Find What Is Lost |
This painting has been swimming around in my consciousness ever since I saw it hanging on a gallery wall at the Springville Museum of Art last year. It floats to the surface from time to time.
When I listen to a friend talk about feeling God's love fill her soul while she was in solitary confinement, grappling for a way to turn her life around. When I visit a friend whose daughter has been in the NICU for seven months, and I ache for her to feel sustained by so many of us who deeply care about her. When I hear a friend call out for someone to talk to when she was at the hospital late one night with her unconscious daughter, who had been hit by a car and left for dead, and I yearn to be with her in her pain so she doesn't have to bear it alone. When I read this post, written by a friend who had always felt the presence of God but inexplicably lost it for a time.
The painting goes straight to the heart of my often still fledgling spiritual journey. It is love that we give and receive that sustains us. It is love that connects us with the divine, in us and around us. The divine itself is light and love. And we are meant to draw on the light to see and the love to transcend.
While I have fervently believed in and have long striven for others to feel this sustenance of love, especially in all of their humanness we see in the light, I have come to the stark realization that I have never actually believed it is for me. I have never felt what I so earnestly hope others feel. I am missing an essential half.
Even though I have seen this Kershisnik painting many times, I didn't notice the title of it until today. She Will Find What Is Lost. Maybe one day I will see that she is me and I can be whole.
Saturday, March 08, 2014
A Long Shot
I think I might apply for this.
Over the next year, twenty-four emerging and established writers will be given round-trip train travel on a long-distance route, complete with private sleeping quarters with a desk and "a window to watch the countryside roll by for inspiration." And, hehehe, "applications will be accepted on a rolling basis."
Because trains. Because adventure.
Over the next year, twenty-four emerging and established writers will be given round-trip train travel on a long-distance route, complete with private sleeping quarters with a desk and "a window to watch the countryside roll by for inspiration." And, hehehe, "applications will be accepted on a rolling basis."
Because trains. Because adventure.
Friday, March 07, 2014
Details, Details
In addition to Jack introducing me to my first episode of Dr. Who the other night, I decided to check out another BBC show that I've heard a lot about: Sherlock. Also very entertaining.
While I was driving to work this morning, I was thinking about how Sherlock Holmes paid attention to every detail of every thing and how that is just not me. I pay attention to certain kinds of details, but I can be totally oblivious to others.
So I decided to pay more attention to details. Like businesses I've passed a hundred times and never seen. Like the way the willow trees have started turning green (actually, that is something I notice every year because my soul yearns for spring). Like the bird's nest in the tree right next to the back entrance at work. It looked neat against the blue sky. Neat enough to take a picture.
I mentioned it to the woman at the reception desk. She said, "Yeah? That bird's nest has been there for years."
Um, yeah? Hadn't noticed. Need to work on that.
While I was driving to work this morning, I was thinking about how Sherlock Holmes paid attention to every detail of every thing and how that is just not me. I pay attention to certain kinds of details, but I can be totally oblivious to others.
So I decided to pay more attention to details. Like businesses I've passed a hundred times and never seen. Like the way the willow trees have started turning green (actually, that is something I notice every year because my soul yearns for spring). Like the bird's nest in the tree right next to the back entrance at work. It looked neat against the blue sky. Neat enough to take a picture.
I mentioned it to the woman at the reception desk. She said, "Yeah? That bird's nest has been there for years."
Um, yeah? Hadn't noticed. Need to work on that.
Thursday, March 06, 2014
Remember
If there is life after death, one of my fondest hopes is that when I die, I will remember everything I ever learned. My brain is full of a lot of really good stuff, but I can't seem to access much of it at any given moment. Seems sad to think it all could be lost in there forever.
PS: I tell my writing students to avoid using vague expressions like "a lot" and "really" and "good." Looks like I didn't remember that advice when I wrote the above.
PS: I tell my writing students to avoid using vague expressions like "a lot" and "really" and "good." Looks like I didn't remember that advice when I wrote the above.
Wednesday, March 05, 2014
Who
Dr. Who, that is. Last night Jack and I had a date to watch Dr. Who. It was my very first time. I told Jack to select an episode he thought would make a good introduction for me.
He chose Planet of the Dead (2009). David Tennant. An entire London bus went through a wormhole and sucked me in, too. It was pretty entertaining! I think Jack and I will have to have some more Dr. Who dates.
He chose Planet of the Dead (2009). David Tennant. An entire London bus went through a wormhole and sucked me in, too. It was pretty entertaining! I think Jack and I will have to have some more Dr. Who dates.
Tuesday, March 04, 2014
The Kindness of Strangers (Or, Tuesdays with Jackie)
I was talking with my 90-year-old neighbor during my regular Tuesday night visit with her. She went out to lunch today with some of her high school friends, and while she was out she ran into another old friend.
"He's a year older than me," she said. "For the first time, I saw that he actually looked older. He'd never seemed to be aging before." She went on to tell me how his wife has Alzheimer's. She'd never really thought about what that meant for him on a day-to-day basis, living with someone who doesn't remember who he is. He hired a woman to help his wife get dressed every morning and get ready for bed every night because, well, she doesn't remember him. He is a stranger to her.
My friend was struggling with this new insight and ached for her friend.
So I shared with her something I'd learned today: in two weeks one of my coworkers will be donating her kidney to another coworker. He's been in dialysis for nearly two years. About eight months ago she approached him with the idea, and it turned out she is a perfect match. Not a close family member, not a close friend, but a coworker. A relative stranger.
What people do for others they barely know. What people do for those they love who don't remember them at all.
It's astounding.
"He's a year older than me," she said. "For the first time, I saw that he actually looked older. He'd never seemed to be aging before." She went on to tell me how his wife has Alzheimer's. She'd never really thought about what that meant for him on a day-to-day basis, living with someone who doesn't remember who he is. He hired a woman to help his wife get dressed every morning and get ready for bed every night because, well, she doesn't remember him. He is a stranger to her.
My friend was struggling with this new insight and ached for her friend.
So I shared with her something I'd learned today: in two weeks one of my coworkers will be donating her kidney to another coworker. He's been in dialysis for nearly two years. About eight months ago she approached him with the idea, and it turned out she is a perfect match. Not a close family member, not a close friend, but a coworker. A relative stranger.
What people do for others they barely know. What people do for those they love who don't remember them at all.
It's astounding.
Monday, March 03, 2014
Indulgent
Is it too indulgent for a father to name a crater on Mars after his son? That happened today.
Sunday, March 02, 2014
Out of Time
No time to get a post written tonight. Jack and I just had to finish the last few chapters of the book we were reading, and now it is very late.
What book should we read next?
What book should we read next?
Saturday, March 01, 2014
Bullseye
The other day, Roger and Jack installed a dart board in the garage.
They decided to mount it on a panel to protect the wall, and since they
had to paint the panel, they decided to paint it with chalk board paint. It comes in handy for score keeping. And for making me feel loved when I come home late.
The most entertaining part of this new addition is that Jack and his friends don't just play darts. They pull out a table and chairs, bring out bottles of root beer and bowls filled with party snacks and have serious tournaments. It's like having a pub in the garage!
The most entertaining part of this new addition is that Jack and his friends don't just play darts. They pull out a table and chairs, bring out bottles of root beer and bowls filled with party snacks and have serious tournaments. It's like having a pub in the garage!
Friday, February 28, 2014
Don't Pin Me Down
Roger brought home pizza for dinner. I asked for one with all the veggies.
We started the researched argument project at school this week. My students will be working on it for the balance of the semester. They will be required to defend whatever answer they come up with to their research question, and that will require taking a position.
As I work with my students, I always try to remember this: I was basically a junior in college before I realized I owned an opinion about something--that I do prefer certain toppings on my pizza.
See it was always easier to go along to get along. I was a middle child. I had an opinionated older brother who always thought he was right. My dad's first reaction to any idea I expressed was usually contrary. I never thought I knew enough about any subject to sort out the complexities, especially when I could see merit in so many different points of view.
And, frankly, I came of age in the 70s. It was hard to pick clothes or figure out which songs I liked on the radio when disco came along and classic rock turned acid. The truth was, I thought most of the clothes during that era were ugly and ill fitting and I didn't really like the music. But I didn't know that at the time.
It's funny. I know more now, which means I realize I hardly know enough. Certainty makes me squirm, and yet I have more conviction about some things than I've ever had.
Mostly I like to stay open. And, yeah, I'll eat pepperoni on my pizza even though I don't really like it.
We started the researched argument project at school this week. My students will be working on it for the balance of the semester. They will be required to defend whatever answer they come up with to their research question, and that will require taking a position.
As I work with my students, I always try to remember this: I was basically a junior in college before I realized I owned an opinion about something--that I do prefer certain toppings on my pizza.
See it was always easier to go along to get along. I was a middle child. I had an opinionated older brother who always thought he was right. My dad's first reaction to any idea I expressed was usually contrary. I never thought I knew enough about any subject to sort out the complexities, especially when I could see merit in so many different points of view.
And, frankly, I came of age in the 70s. It was hard to pick clothes or figure out which songs I liked on the radio when disco came along and classic rock turned acid. The truth was, I thought most of the clothes during that era were ugly and ill fitting and I didn't really like the music. But I didn't know that at the time.
It's funny. I know more now, which means I realize I hardly know enough. Certainty makes me squirm, and yet I have more conviction about some things than I've ever had.
Mostly I like to stay open. And, yeah, I'll eat pepperoni on my pizza even though I don't really like it.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
The Bomb
This is my friend Judy. She hosted our book club meeting tonight. We read The Moons of Jupiter, a collection of short stories by Alice Munro. In one of the stories, "Labor Day Dinner," one of the characters brings a dessert called a raspberry bomb to the party.
This is my friend Judy cutting into the raspberry bomb she made for us. It involved many layers, she said. Cake and ice cream and brownies and raspberry jam and chocolate and berries and I'm sure I'm missing something. I wish that the picture accurately portrayed the sheer scale of the raspberry bomb. We estimated it weighed at least 20 pounds. It took several tries with the largest knives she had just to cut into it. Needless to say, the raspberry bomb will be going down in book club history.
This is my friend Judy. She's the bomb, too.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Getting It Done
I was in a meeting with two of my superiors this afternoon and got a green light for a project I've been dreaming up. What a difference it makes when the decision makers are in the room. Booyah!
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
All Are Alike
I bought extra tickets for the play I went to see tonight, thinking I'd get a group together. I Am Jane. The story of Jane Elizabeth Manning James, a woman of color who joined the Mormons in the early days before the pioneers crossed the plains. Everyone who thought they might use the extra tickets I bought couldn't go.
It is just as well.
It's an important play that I hope many people see. But even though it was, in the end, meant to be faith affirming after looking squarely at impossibly hard things, and even though I've long since known the basic story, I was so angry by the end of it I could barely breathe. I could barely breathe all the way home.
It was good I was alone.
God forgive us for all of the unjust things we have done and continue to do in his name.
It is just as well.
It's an important play that I hope many people see. But even though it was, in the end, meant to be faith affirming after looking squarely at impossibly hard things, and even though I've long since known the basic story, I was so angry by the end of it I could barely breathe. I could barely breathe all the way home.
It was good I was alone.
God forgive us for all of the unjust things we have done and continue to do in his name.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Imagine
A few months ago, my friend Laura, who is a member of the English faculty at UVU, was a guest presenter at our Springville Library "So You Want To Read" series. While I was preparing for that evening, I came across a short video interview she did in 2012.
At one point in the interview, she confesses she used to think that poetry could save the world. Not really, she knows, but she did ask a class once, "Wouldn't it be great if before we sent any troops to a foreign country for battle, those troops had to study the language for two years and read all of the great contemporary writers from the culture?"
One of her students, actually a veteran, vehemently objected, "That wouldn't work!"
"Why not?" she asked.
"No one would fight!"
Yep.
At one point in the interview, she confesses she used to think that poetry could save the world. Not really, she knows, but she did ask a class once, "Wouldn't it be great if before we sent any troops to a foreign country for battle, those troops had to study the language for two years and read all of the great contemporary writers from the culture?"
One of her students, actually a veteran, vehemently objected, "That wouldn't work!"
"Why not?" she asked.
"No one would fight!"
Yep.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Beautiful Life
Some Sunday afternoons, I go in to work to meet with inmates who have jobs and take classes during the week. The last thing I did before I left my office was message one who had been having a real tough couple of days. "Sending positive thoughts," I wrote.
Then, as I walked down the long, long main hall to the exit, I passed by a sergeant's station and heard a song playing.
When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore!
I stopped and smiled at the sergeant, and then as I continued to walk, he turned the volume way up. Music filled the air, transforming the whole place. My heart suddenly felt light!
When you dance down the street with a cloud at your feet, you're in love
And then I walked out the door to this.
Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling ting-a-ling-a-ling and you'll sing, "Vita Bella"
Then, as I walked down the long, long main hall to the exit, I passed by a sergeant's station and heard a song playing.
When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore!
I stopped and smiled at the sergeant, and then as I continued to walk, he turned the volume way up. Music filled the air, transforming the whole place. My heart suddenly felt light!
When you dance down the street with a cloud at your feet, you're in love
And then I walked out the door to this.
Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling ting-a-ling-a-ling and you'll sing, "Vita Bella"
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Making a Plan
I put together a very simple worksheet that I give to inmates at the jail to help them plan for their release.
One side has a list of general categories for them to think about and space to write down things they need to do. The other side provides slots for them to put their to do list into a basic time frame, with a heavy emphasis on the first 48 hours, because how they spend that time can make or break them. There are also slots for things they need to do, but not straightaway. That, hopefully, can help them feel a little less intimidated by it all.
Some of the inmates are going back home, and just need to figure out how to find a job. Many, though, face rebuilding major parts of their lives from scratch. I am always relieved when I hear that they will be picked up by someone supportive. Or that they have a place to stay even if it's temporary. Or that they have a bit of money saved up. Each of those things can make a huge difference.
Imagine, though, having only the clothes you were wearing at the time of your arrest, no money, only your jail release paper for ID, and having no place to go and no one to call (except maybe your old drug dealer) when the transport van drops you off downtown, late in the afternoon when everything is closing up. Or worse, on a Sunday.
Then figure out all this:
Overwhelmed yet?
One side has a list of general categories for them to think about and space to write down things they need to do. The other side provides slots for them to put their to do list into a basic time frame, with a heavy emphasis on the first 48 hours, because how they spend that time can make or break them. There are also slots for things they need to do, but not straightaway. That, hopefully, can help them feel a little less intimidated by it all.
Some of the inmates are going back home, and just need to figure out how to find a job. Many, though, face rebuilding major parts of their lives from scratch. I am always relieved when I hear that they will be picked up by someone supportive. Or that they have a place to stay even if it's temporary. Or that they have a bit of money saved up. Each of those things can make a huge difference.
Imagine, though, having only the clothes you were wearing at the time of your arrest, no money, only your jail release paper for ID, and having no place to go and no one to call (except maybe your old drug dealer) when the transport van drops you off downtown, late in the afternoon when everything is closing up. Or worse, on a Sunday.
Then figure out all this:
- Housing
- Food
- Clothing
- Transportation
- Identification
- Court orders/probation
- Sobriety
- Health/medication
- Work
- School
- Debt
- Relationships
- Other
Overwhelmed yet?
Friday, February 21, 2014
Synthesis
syn·the·sisnoun \ˈsin(t)-thə-səs\
: something that is made by combining different things (such as ideas, styles, etc.)
My college writing students are finishing up what is called a synthesis paper, in which they are required to put multiple sources in conversation with one another, exposing not only their disagreements but, hopefully, discovering common ground and creating new insight.
Believe it or not, I'm actually excited to read what they come up with.
Last semester as I was giving this assignment to my class, I suddenly flashed back to a test in one of my high school English classes, and had a major brain wave about an alternate way for them to do the paper. I stopped (mid-sentence, I'm sure, as I'm inclined to do) and described it.
It was in Mr. Buswick's 20th Century Drama class. Over the course of the semester we read maybe 20 plays, all by different playwrights. For our final exam, he had us pick three playwrights and write a dialogue in which they argue about the purpose of theater. I remember one student wrote something exceedingly humorous (he was in the drama club, so he had skills) and Mr. Buswick staged a reading of it for the class. Loved it!
So, I told my students, instead of writing a standard, dry, thesis-driven essay (which usually turns into a summary of each source and a weak conclusion tying them together rather than an actual synthesis of ideas), they had the option of writing a dialogue among the sources instead--an actual conversation. They could be as creative as they wanted as long as their characters dug into some substance.
Five students took me up on it, including one of my truly struggling students. He absolutely glowed when he told me what he'd done, and it may have been the only paper he turned in on time all semester.
The crazy part of the story is this: The morning after Mr. Buswick made an appearance in my head to plant the idea, a picture of him showed up in my Facebook feed. And not just any picture. It was a picture that had been posted by a friend three years prior. And not just any friend. A friend who had been dead for two years.
What?!
I suddenly became obsessed with finding Mr. Buswick. Had he died himself? I wondered. Was he now traveling the globe in spirit form, inspiring his old students everywhere? I googled to see if I could track him down.
I found, thankfully, not an obituary, but rather an email address at a college where he teaches classes about the value of the humanities in the cold, hard, logical world of business. I emailed him to thank him for inspiring me. He emailed me back, pleased to know he made a difference. We exchanged a few ideas about our work. Synthesis.
My college writing students are finishing up what is called a synthesis paper, in which they are required to put multiple sources in conversation with one another, exposing not only their disagreements but, hopefully, discovering common ground and creating new insight.
Believe it or not, I'm actually excited to read what they come up with.
Last semester as I was giving this assignment to my class, I suddenly flashed back to a test in one of my high school English classes, and had a major brain wave about an alternate way for them to do the paper. I stopped (mid-sentence, I'm sure, as I'm inclined to do) and described it.
It was in Mr. Buswick's 20th Century Drama class. Over the course of the semester we read maybe 20 plays, all by different playwrights. For our final exam, he had us pick three playwrights and write a dialogue in which they argue about the purpose of theater. I remember one student wrote something exceedingly humorous (he was in the drama club, so he had skills) and Mr. Buswick staged a reading of it for the class. Loved it!
So, I told my students, instead of writing a standard, dry, thesis-driven essay (which usually turns into a summary of each source and a weak conclusion tying them together rather than an actual synthesis of ideas), they had the option of writing a dialogue among the sources instead--an actual conversation. They could be as creative as they wanted as long as their characters dug into some substance.
Five students took me up on it, including one of my truly struggling students. He absolutely glowed when he told me what he'd done, and it may have been the only paper he turned in on time all semester.
The crazy part of the story is this: The morning after Mr. Buswick made an appearance in my head to plant the idea, a picture of him showed up in my Facebook feed. And not just any picture. It was a picture that had been posted by a friend three years prior. And not just any friend. A friend who had been dead for two years.
What?!
I suddenly became obsessed with finding Mr. Buswick. Had he died himself? I wondered. Was he now traveling the globe in spirit form, inspiring his old students everywhere? I googled to see if I could track him down.
I found, thankfully, not an obituary, but rather an email address at a college where he teaches classes about the value of the humanities in the cold, hard, logical world of business. I emailed him to thank him for inspiring me. He emailed me back, pleased to know he made a difference. We exchanged a few ideas about our work. Synthesis.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Better Than Okay
Roger, Jack, and I spent the afternoon in the junior high school gym meeting with all of Jack's teachers for parent teacher conferences. I have mentioned this at other times and other places, but thought I would put it in the record here that I am so impressed with all of them.
They know Jack, they love the subjects they teach, they are very pleasant and professional. As we left I asked Jack if they are the same way in the classroom and he said yes.
When Jack was younger, I used to come up with schemes to get him out of school during his junior high years. Let's buy an RV and homeschool on the road! Or let's get one of those round-the-world airline tickets and give him some global perspective! Or let's buy a boat and navigate the intercoastal waterways! Surely the internet will provide everything we need!
When it became evident that Jack would be an only child, those dreams fell by the wayside. Can you imagine how tortuous it would be to have to put up with your parents that long without siblings for respite?
But it turns out that junior high has actually been okay for Jack. Great teachers, good friends, playing saxophone with the band and singing in the choir.
It's actually been better than okay.
They know Jack, they love the subjects they teach, they are very pleasant and professional. As we left I asked Jack if they are the same way in the classroom and he said yes.
When Jack was younger, I used to come up with schemes to get him out of school during his junior high years. Let's buy an RV and homeschool on the road! Or let's get one of those round-the-world airline tickets and give him some global perspective! Or let's buy a boat and navigate the intercoastal waterways! Surely the internet will provide everything we need!
When it became evident that Jack would be an only child, those dreams fell by the wayside. Can you imagine how tortuous it would be to have to put up with your parents that long without siblings for respite?
But it turns out that junior high has actually been okay for Jack. Great teachers, good friends, playing saxophone with the band and singing in the choir.
It's actually been better than okay.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Discovering Privilege
Yesterday morning as I drove Jack to school, we had the car radio tuned to a talk show. The conversation was focused on the recent, mixed-message verdict in the Michael Dunn (aka "Loud Music") trial. A man called in, and with deep emotion, he talked about how he feels compelled to tell his 14-year-old black son not to wear his hood when they go into the city, fearing for his safety.
I looked over at the passenger seat. My son, 14 years old and in a hoodie, was listening to the man and looking at me with eyes wide.
I looked over at the passenger seat. My son, 14 years old and in a hoodie, was listening to the man and looking at me with eyes wide.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
A Little Romance
Jack and I recently started reading a new book together. It's mostly a fabulous adventure story that has us totally sucked in, but there is a bit of, um, romance in it. Long stares into each others' eyes. That sort of thing.
"Well?" I think. Some of our best conversations are sparked when we read together. We'll see what comes of it. I am ever hopeful!
"Well?" I think. Some of our best conversations are sparked when we read together. We'll see what comes of it. I am ever hopeful!
Monday, February 17, 2014
Eventually They Realize
Late last night when I should have been sleeping, I took one of those quizzes that gets passed around online telling you what famous person you are like. This one was a Downton Abbey quiz. According to the deeply probing questions, I am most like Lady Edith.
This was part of the description: "You don't mind if you're not the first person on anyone's list, because you're just fine by yourself and you know that eventually they will realize you are more than you appear to be."
Funnily enough, that's (mostly) true. And I can pin point exactly when I realized it: my last semester in college.
My friend Becky and I had just returned from a semester in Washington, D.C., and roomed together in an apartment complex where we didn't know anyone else. Becky (who is now a city mayor!), was a go-getter. Our very first Fast Sunday at church, for example, she made a point of getting up and introducing herself during testimony meeting.
She's beautiful and she's got a lot on the ball. I was envious of her ability to put herself out there.
It dawned on me, though, that I may not make a splash, but I do tend to sneak up on people slowly. I'm not flashy. I'm not the kind of person people gravitate to socially or invite out a lot. I'm not a beautiful person (in the high school cliquey kind of way, or in the "hot" factor on Rate My Professor kind of way, or, for that matter, in a Lady Mary or Lady Sybil kind of way).
But I'm real. And I think about lots of different things. And I care about people. And I love to laugh. And I believe those who know me ultimately appreciate me for it.
This was part of the description: "You don't mind if you're not the first person on anyone's list, because you're just fine by yourself and you know that eventually they will realize you are more than you appear to be."
Funnily enough, that's (mostly) true. And I can pin point exactly when I realized it: my last semester in college.
My friend Becky and I had just returned from a semester in Washington, D.C., and roomed together in an apartment complex where we didn't know anyone else. Becky (who is now a city mayor!), was a go-getter. Our very first Fast Sunday at church, for example, she made a point of getting up and introducing herself during testimony meeting.
She's beautiful and she's got a lot on the ball. I was envious of her ability to put herself out there.
It dawned on me, though, that I may not make a splash, but I do tend to sneak up on people slowly. I'm not flashy. I'm not the kind of person people gravitate to socially or invite out a lot. I'm not a beautiful person (in the high school cliquey kind of way, or in the "hot" factor on Rate My Professor kind of way, or, for that matter, in a Lady Mary or Lady Sybil kind of way).
But I'm real. And I think about lots of different things. And I care about people. And I love to laugh. And I believe those who know me ultimately appreciate me for it.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
The Tactile World
I made a point of folding laundry and hand washing some sweaters while I listened to an On Being interview with artist Ann Hamilton--who often uses textiles in her work--because I find that it's altogether too easy for me to disconnect from the physical world. Especially during the winter, I disproportionately live in my head.
It's not only detrimental to my physical health, it's also hard on my emotional and spiritual health.
Unless, for some reason rooted deeply in my soul, water is involved (I like doing dishes!), necessary tasks that require working with my hands tend to feel like a burden, an irritation. One of my goals in life is to fundamentally shift my perspective, to not just stop gritting my teeth through those tasks, but to find transcendence.
When my friend Shelley went immediately from finishing a masters degree in art history to having twin daughters, I remember her talking about how satisfying it was to suddenly be immersed in a tactile world after living in such a cerebral one. (Now, by the way, with four children under the age of five, she works to maintain her sanity by dipping herself back into the cerebral world whenever she has the chance.)
Tactile immersion probably isn't the answer for me with everything else I have going on. But making a consistent, conscious effort to dip in might help. (And I'm sort of liking the mental image that creates. Because water.)
So I folded the laundry, then washed the sweaters in the sink. As I laid them out on towels, trying to arrange the stubborn things into their proper shapes, I stopped to breathe through my annoyance.
This will take practice.
It's not only detrimental to my physical health, it's also hard on my emotional and spiritual health.
Unless, for some reason rooted deeply in my soul, water is involved (I like doing dishes!), necessary tasks that require working with my hands tend to feel like a burden, an irritation. One of my goals in life is to fundamentally shift my perspective, to not just stop gritting my teeth through those tasks, but to find transcendence.
When my friend Shelley went immediately from finishing a masters degree in art history to having twin daughters, I remember her talking about how satisfying it was to suddenly be immersed in a tactile world after living in such a cerebral one. (Now, by the way, with four children under the age of five, she works to maintain her sanity by dipping herself back into the cerebral world whenever she has the chance.)
Tactile immersion probably isn't the answer for me with everything else I have going on. But making a consistent, conscious effort to dip in might help. (And I'm sort of liking the mental image that creates. Because water.)
So I folded the laundry, then washed the sweaters in the sink. As I laid them out on towels, trying to arrange the stubborn things into their proper shapes, I stopped to breathe through my annoyance.
This will take practice.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Naturally
I stayed up very late last night, listening to the soft southern accents of Sue Monk Kidd and her daughter Ann read the memoir they wrote together about traveling through places like Greece and France. I am mesmerized by the striking and meaningful coincidences they experience and the details they notice in the places they visit, threading together insights that help guide them through key life transitions.
The feeling of their writing stuck with me as Roger, Dad, Jack and I drove up to Salt Lake to visit the Natural History Museum of Utah this afternoon. What will I see that will make me think? I experience lots of coincidences, but will I experience any that are full of meaning?
As we walked up the front steps, I said to Dad, "I'm usually more interested in the design of the building than the items on display in a museum." I flashed back to other memorable museums I'd visited, including the Musée Rodin in Paris during the summer of 1982. I was entranced by the setting, an 18th century hotel and gardens where Rodin had set up a studio. When my sister and I were in Paris the summer before last, I wanted to revisit the museum. I was sorely disappointed to find all of his major sculptures that had been beautifully displayed in the old hotel instead crammed into a small, ugly modern annex.
No sooner had we bought our tickets today, then we ran into a guide in search of an audience for an architectural tour. We opted out of the full-hour tour, but since he had no other takers, he offered to give us a 10-minute overview of the structure. The museum is designed to echo the natural world it represents. Walls create canyons, suspended walkways are sandstone bridges. Floor to ceiling expanses of windows are carefully situated to frame the views the exhibits explain. It is seismically sound. It is gold-level LEEDS certified. It did not disappoint.
As we moved through the exhibits, I tried to commit myself to a level of awareness inspired by Sue and Ann's writing. Thing is, I am often overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information and items in museums. Sensory overload. Most of it I'd rather take into my brain by curling up with a book.
So, details. I studied the text panels and as many artifacts as I could handle. I learned about our our fault lines and how this corner of our world evolved over billions of years. I learned about species and ecosystems and archeological digs. I laughed when I saw that every stuffed rodent in a glass case had been carefully shaped into a superhero flying position, front paws stretched forward, legs and tail straight out behind them. I reveled in the neat rows of carefully restored moccasins made out of animal skins. I mused about the photographed diorama backdrop of otherwise pristine wilderness that included a pickup truck parked on a road cut into the side of a mountain. I didn't, however, take advantage of the buttons one could push to catch a whiff of a dinosaur's slaughtered dinner or its fetid forest habitat.
At one point, I realized I was looking at much of it through the lens of the recent Ham/Nye debate about creationism and evolution. With all of this evidence, I wondered, how on earth can someone believe that the world was created in seven literal days or that it (and the humans who inhabit it) have been around less than 7,000 years?
Good, I thought as we left the museum. I was engaged. I was aware. I made connections. But what I hadn't experienced was the kind of striking coincidence full of meaning that seems to be routine for Sue and Ann.
At least not until we were back in the car.
During the drive home, I read from a collection of essays I'd downloaded to my phone. I finished up one, then turned the page to the next one, which was written by Dr. William Bradshaw. He happens to teach--of all things--evolutionary biology at BYU. Then at one point in the essay, he wrote about the time he publicly decried BYU's decision to censor several of Rodin's sculptures, including The Kiss, when they hosted an exhibition of his work in 1997.
I will have to be patient and let the mystery unfold naturally. Hopefully, though, it will happen within a Genesis rather than Darwinian time frame. I'm not that patient.
The feeling of their writing stuck with me as Roger, Dad, Jack and I drove up to Salt Lake to visit the Natural History Museum of Utah this afternoon. What will I see that will make me think? I experience lots of coincidences, but will I experience any that are full of meaning?
As we walked up the front steps, I said to Dad, "I'm usually more interested in the design of the building than the items on display in a museum." I flashed back to other memorable museums I'd visited, including the Musée Rodin in Paris during the summer of 1982. I was entranced by the setting, an 18th century hotel and gardens where Rodin had set up a studio. When my sister and I were in Paris the summer before last, I wanted to revisit the museum. I was sorely disappointed to find all of his major sculptures that had been beautifully displayed in the old hotel instead crammed into a small, ugly modern annex.
No sooner had we bought our tickets today, then we ran into a guide in search of an audience for an architectural tour. We opted out of the full-hour tour, but since he had no other takers, he offered to give us a 10-minute overview of the structure. The museum is designed to echo the natural world it represents. Walls create canyons, suspended walkways are sandstone bridges. Floor to ceiling expanses of windows are carefully situated to frame the views the exhibits explain. It is seismically sound. It is gold-level LEEDS certified. It did not disappoint.
As we moved through the exhibits, I tried to commit myself to a level of awareness inspired by Sue and Ann's writing. Thing is, I am often overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information and items in museums. Sensory overload. Most of it I'd rather take into my brain by curling up with a book.
So, details. I studied the text panels and as many artifacts as I could handle. I learned about our our fault lines and how this corner of our world evolved over billions of years. I learned about species and ecosystems and archeological digs. I laughed when I saw that every stuffed rodent in a glass case had been carefully shaped into a superhero flying position, front paws stretched forward, legs and tail straight out behind them. I reveled in the neat rows of carefully restored moccasins made out of animal skins. I mused about the photographed diorama backdrop of otherwise pristine wilderness that included a pickup truck parked on a road cut into the side of a mountain. I didn't, however, take advantage of the buttons one could push to catch a whiff of a dinosaur's slaughtered dinner or its fetid forest habitat.
At one point, I realized I was looking at much of it through the lens of the recent Ham/Nye debate about creationism and evolution. With all of this evidence, I wondered, how on earth can someone believe that the world was created in seven literal days or that it (and the humans who inhabit it) have been around less than 7,000 years?
Good, I thought as we left the museum. I was engaged. I was aware. I made connections. But what I hadn't experienced was the kind of striking coincidence full of meaning that seems to be routine for Sue and Ann.
At least not until we were back in the car.
During the drive home, I read from a collection of essays I'd downloaded to my phone. I finished up one, then turned the page to the next one, which was written by Dr. William Bradshaw. He happens to teach--of all things--evolutionary biology at BYU. Then at one point in the essay, he wrote about the time he publicly decried BYU's decision to censor several of Rodin's sculptures, including The Kiss, when they hosted an exhibition of his work in 1997.
Now that should qualify as a
striking coincidence. Except I'm not sure what it is meant to reveal
to me, what insight I should glean. Then I
remembered that it often took Sue and Ann months, even years, to figure
out the meaning of the coincidences they experienced.
A selfie with Rodin's The Kiss, Paris, Summer 2012
Friday, February 14, 2014
Awakening
Nearly every day a book comes into my life that I want to read--or listen to as it happened today. Late this afternoon, a friend knocked on my door and dropped off the audiobook she's just finished, thinking I'd be interested in it as well.
Traveling with Pomegranates by Sue Monk Kidd and her daughter Anne Kidd Taylor.
"Oh, yes please," I said, and almost immediately put the first disk in my laptop to start listening.
I've enjoyed other books by Sue Monk Kidd. In both her fiction and memoir writing, she is a seeker of the feminine divine. Over the past few years, and in part through her writing, I've discovered that I am, too.
Traveling with Pomegranates by Sue Monk Kidd and her daughter Anne Kidd Taylor.
"Oh, yes please," I said, and almost immediately put the first disk in my laptop to start listening.
I've enjoyed other books by Sue Monk Kidd. In both her fiction and memoir writing, she is a seeker of the feminine divine. Over the past few years, and in part through her writing, I've discovered that I am, too.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
:)
It took a good while this morning to get going after feeling so lousy yesterday, but by 11:45 I was out the door and by 1:00 I was in the classroom doing my song and dance.
After dinner and a library board meeting, I headed into work at the jail to meet with a couple of people who are getting released tomorrow, and while we were chatting, the first one said, "You are energetic tonight!" And I laughed when I realized just how much better I was feeling.
Crazy what a little fever does to my outlook on life!
After dinner and a library board meeting, I headed into work at the jail to meet with a couple of people who are getting released tomorrow, and while we were chatting, the first one said, "You are energetic tonight!" And I laughed when I realized just how much better I was feeling.
Crazy what a little fever does to my outlook on life!
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
TMI
From time to time, when I am using a restroom at either of my places of employment--one a state facility, one a county--I think about how I am thankful for taxpayer-funded disposable seat covers.
I'm convinced that money spent on seat covers saves money. And not just because happier employees are likely more productive employees. If someone conducted a study (and maybe someone has?), I believe we'd prove that seat covers help keep restrooms cleaner, thereby reducing the expenses involved in cleaning them.
Regardless, thank you, Utah taxpayers.
I'm convinced that money spent on seat covers saves money. And not just because happier employees are likely more productive employees. If someone conducted a study (and maybe someone has?), I believe we'd prove that seat covers help keep restrooms cleaner, thereby reducing the expenses involved in cleaning them.
Regardless, thank you, Utah taxpayers.
Monday, February 10, 2014
A Little Adventure
One of my very favorite things is to step out of the routine of daily life and go on an adventure. Today I had a little one.
After I got off the train, I walked a few blocks to where my dad was parked and we drove to 15th and 15th, one of my favorite corners of the city, to have dinner at Fresco. I ordered agnolotti. Which was delicious. Also exotic enough that I had to google it on my phone to figure out what it was.
And another chance to step out of the routine of daily life and go on a little adventure.
After I got home from work and Jack got home from school, I drove to the train station in Provo, hopped on Frontrunner, our commuter rail, and headed to Salt Lake City to meet my dad, who had driven up in his little rented Fiat earlier in the day. Taking a train to the city is far more exciting than taking the interstate. I don't think I'm alone in feeling that way.
After I got off the train, I walked a few blocks to where my dad was parked and we drove to 15th and 15th, one of my favorite corners of the city, to have dinner at Fresco. I ordered agnolotti. Which was delicious. Also exotic enough that I had to google it on my phone to figure out what it was.
After dinner, we went to a reading at The King's English, a beloved bookshop. Melissa Dalton-Bradford, author of a memoir called Global Mom, spoke about her family's joyful and challenging experiences living abroad and how everything changed when their oldest son died in a tragic accident at 18. I was already looking forward to reading her book. Now that I've heard part of her story first hand, it is a top priority.
And another chance to step out of the routine of daily life and go on a little adventure.
Sunday, February 09, 2014
Lucky in Love
When we got out of the car to go into church this morning, I said to Jack that I hoped we would hear about love today. It's a message that gets lost so easily.
Boom. All three talks and a congregational hymn that emphasized love.
Can't ask for more than that.
Boom. All three talks and a congregational hymn that emphasized love.
Can't ask for more than that.
Saturday, February 08, 2014
Poster Child
The other day, I wrote about some pending Utah legislation (see post here). Since then, I've had a great e-mail exchange with the sponsor of the bill, which is designed to protect people who call for help when they think a friend is overdosing.
I have a deeper respect now for the gap between the English we can all understand and legislative language. The sponsor assures me that the bill actually will provide good samaritans with immunity from arrest for drug possession and use--not just special consideration in court after being arrested.
"I agree that the language does sound as though a person could be prosecuted and then claim an affirmative defense," she wrote, kindly making me feel better about my misunderstanding. "Legal language frequently baffles me when I, as a longtime high school English teacher, would have written it in a more clear and simple way."
So it sounds like the legislation does have real potential to make a big difference after all. We truly need it. Utah apparently has the "eighth highest drug overdose mortality rate in the United States." Not okay. I am looking forward to spreading the word. It's already passed unanimously in the House; I can't imagine it won't pass in the Senate. Then the law will be go into effect as soon as the governor signs it.
And I am looking forward to the followup discussion I will have with my university students next week about digging deep enough to get to the bottom of something. I will humbly hold myself up as a poster child.
I have a deeper respect now for the gap between the English we can all understand and legislative language. The sponsor assures me that the bill actually will provide good samaritans with immunity from arrest for drug possession and use--not just special consideration in court after being arrested.
"I agree that the language does sound as though a person could be prosecuted and then claim an affirmative defense," she wrote, kindly making me feel better about my misunderstanding. "Legal language frequently baffles me when I, as a longtime high school English teacher, would have written it in a more clear and simple way."
So it sounds like the legislation does have real potential to make a big difference after all. We truly need it. Utah apparently has the "eighth highest drug overdose mortality rate in the United States." Not okay. I am looking forward to spreading the word. It's already passed unanimously in the House; I can't imagine it won't pass in the Senate. Then the law will be go into effect as soon as the governor signs it.
And I am looking forward to the followup discussion I will have with my university students next week about digging deep enough to get to the bottom of something. I will humbly hold myself up as a poster child.
Friday, February 07, 2014
A Night Away
Roger and I are taking advantage of Gramps tonight. He's going to hang out with Jack at home, and we are going to head off on an adventure. It will be an urban adventure as we are combining it with a work project for Roger that involves visiting independent and used bookstores in Salt Lake City. It's a rough life, I know.
Back tomorrow!
Back tomorrow!
Thursday, February 06, 2014
Helpless?
I've got my English class reading and watching sources that explore the relationship between our environment and the choices we make. It's always nice when an object lesson presents itself.
The last few class periods, we had construction workers right outside our classroom window. Last week, they were using a jackhammer to break up the sidewalk, but apparently it wasn't enough. On Tuesday they brought in a digger and banged the excavator bucket against the cement. It was louder than the jackhammer, but it still seemed futile. Something eventually worked, though. Today we watched the digger haul away a great mass that had been buried in the earth. We also watched the digger inadvertently slide sideways down the grassy hill and stop when it hit a tree. We wondered if the driver knew he had an audience.
We couldn't help but be distracted. Or could we?
Wednesday, February 05, 2014
Remembering
I did go today to Sergeant Cory Wride's funeral. It slowly dawned on me that I had met him once. I believe he was in charge of my background check when I got hired by the sheriff's office a few years ago. I remember that he was friendly and kind and set me at ease about the process.
The event was overwhelming on many levels, not the least of which was the sheer number of law enforcement officers from all over the state and beyond who were there to honor a brother.
But two small things stood out to me in particular. Small, but deeply significant.
First, the story a deputy shared about his discovery that after transporting the perpetrator in a particularly difficult domestic violence case to jail, Sergeant Wride had quietly gone back to the house where the arrest took place with bags full of groceries to stock up the family's bare kitchen. Seeing. Serving.
Second, as the bagpiper led the recessional after the service, the cord and tassel on his bagpipes swung back and forth in rhythm to the music and his steps. We could hear the music long after they left. Tradition. Comfort.
In death, we can remember to live.
Tuesday, February 04, 2014
Nightmare Within a Nightmare
It's been a long, long time since I've had one of those nightmares that I'm registered for a class I don't know about, then discover it the day of the final exam.
Well, the other night I had one again, but with an insidious twist. Per usual, I didn't discover I was registered for a class until the day of the final exam. Then I found out that I had actually been attending all semester without realizing it.
What? What does that mean?!
Well, the other night I had one again, but with an insidious twist. Per usual, I didn't discover I was registered for a class until the day of the final exam. Then I found out that I had actually been attending all semester without realizing it.
What? What does that mean?!
Monday, February 03, 2014
Watch
A friend of mine just went to Paris this past week and that, of course, reminded me of Paris.
The summer before last, I went to Paris with my sister.
Since I am no longer accumulating too many things in life, I only want to buy truly useful souvenirs. I had recently lost my watch and needed a new one for the trip and for both of my jobs, where I must keep careful track of time but am often without a reliable clock or cell phone. Paris would be a fabulous place to buy a new watch!
On our first day there, we wanted to stay up until night time to beat jet lag. So we walked and walked and walked to stay awake. It was rainy, but we didn't let that deter us. We just ducked inside where it was dry anytime something piqued our interest. Cafés, museum shops, the Ferris Wheel in the Jardins des Tuileries, old churches.
And the Swatch store on the Champs Elysées, where I bought this beauty. Classic and understated. Not crazy expensive. It suits me parfaitement. I wear it tous les jours et je pense à Paris.
The summer before last, I went to Paris with my sister.
Since I am no longer accumulating too many things in life, I only want to buy truly useful souvenirs. I had recently lost my watch and needed a new one for the trip and for both of my jobs, where I must keep careful track of time but am often without a reliable clock or cell phone. Paris would be a fabulous place to buy a new watch!
On our first day there, we wanted to stay up until night time to beat jet lag. So we walked and walked and walked to stay awake. It was rainy, but we didn't let that deter us. We just ducked inside where it was dry anytime something piqued our interest. Cafés, museum shops, the Ferris Wheel in the Jardins des Tuileries, old churches.
And the Swatch store on the Champs Elysées, where I bought this beauty. Classic and understated. Not crazy expensive. It suits me parfaitement. I wear it tous les jours et je pense à Paris.
Sunday, February 02, 2014
Setting Things Right
When I was 17, my elderly neighbor had surgery and hired me to help out each morning for a month or so while she convalesced. So every morning I went over to her house to put everything in order for the day.
I gathered up all of the dishes from around the house, washed them and straightened the kitchen. I emptied her husband's ashtrays and picked up newspapers and dirty socks. I wiped the bathroom sink down, made beds and checked on the levels of essential supplies in the cupboards and fridge.
Actually it was a very satisfying job.
Why isn't it like that when I'm cleaning up my own mess?
I gathered up all of the dishes from around the house, washed them and straightened the kitchen. I emptied her husband's ashtrays and picked up newspapers and dirty socks. I wiped the bathroom sink down, made beds and checked on the levels of essential supplies in the cupboards and fridge.
Actually it was a very satisfying job.
Why isn't it like that when I'm cleaning up my own mess?
Saturday, February 01, 2014
Let's Not
I didn't know the Utah County Sheriff's deputy who was killed in the line of duty a few days ago, but I'm thinking about going to his funeral this week. I'd like to show my support for his family and his fellow law enforcement officers.
Jack and I were talking about this tragedy as the news unfolded. The officer had stopped to help someone by the side of the road and they shot him.
"When this kind of thing happens," I told Jack, "No matter how rare it is, it has a chilling effect on our society. We lose trust in the goodness of others. Of course, we have to have our wits about us, but we can't stop helping people when they are in need."
What I didn't tell Jack was just how little trust we have in one another these days. How often we assume the worst of people. We don't have much more to lose.
Fear and suspicion will destroy us if we let it. Please, let's not.
Jack and I were talking about this tragedy as the news unfolded. The officer had stopped to help someone by the side of the road and they shot him.
"When this kind of thing happens," I told Jack, "No matter how rare it is, it has a chilling effect on our society. We lose trust in the goodness of others. Of course, we have to have our wits about us, but we can't stop helping people when they are in need."
What I didn't tell Jack was just how little trust we have in one another these days. How often we assume the worst of people. We don't have much more to lose.
Fear and suspicion will destroy us if we let it. Please, let's not.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Spotlight
Literally.
If you were in the area tonight and happened to see the spotlight drawing people to an event at BYU, just wanted to let you know it was Roger's doing. He has a Very Serious Job, promoting all kinds of fun programs and events. Like BYU Night at the Museums, a progressive dinner sponsored by four of the museums on campus. Initially they were hoping for 200, but more than 2,000 people came!
If you were in the area tonight and happened to see the spotlight drawing people to an event at BYU, just wanted to let you know it was Roger's doing. He has a Very Serious Job, promoting all kinds of fun programs and events. Like BYU Night at the Museums, a progressive dinner sponsored by four of the museums on campus. Initially they were hoping for 200, but more than 2,000 people came!
Thursday, January 30, 2014
When Lives Are at Stake
Wonk that I am, it's exciting when something is currently happening in the real world that I can use in the classroom. And in this case I got a two for one!
Our legislative season just started here in Utah. One of the bills I am following is HB 11 Overdose Reporting Amendments, which is intended to encourage people to get medical help if they believe a friend has overdosed. All too often, people don't do that out of fear that they will get in trouble for illicit activity themselves. Thing is, lives are at stake.
Here's the carrot per the bill as it stands today: Calling for help, remaining with the person who may have overdosed, and cooperating with responders will be taken into consideration when it comes to prosecution.
I brought it up with my students at the jail this morning while we were discussing how the political system directly affects them and how paying attention to it can empower them, and I brought it up with my students in my university class this afternoon while we were discussing how to construct arguments to effect change.
The consensus of all of my students, both at the jail and at the university, was that as long as the "good Samaritans" are still subject to arrest, most will not call for help. The bill as written falls short. Not good enough when lives are at stake.
Some of my students were particularly insightful, and I asked them to write up their ideas for me so I can quote them in a letter I'm writing to the sponsor of the legislation.
Can I just say how utterly satisfying it is to employ the rhetorical technique of using input from two of the main target audiences of the legislation (known drug users and college students) and then turn around and use that as an example to illustrate a useful rhetorical technique in a writing class? And can I just say how utterly satisfying it is to not just encourage people caught up in the criminal justice system to get involved, but to actually use their voices?
Yeah, I'm wonky.
Our legislative season just started here in Utah. One of the bills I am following is HB 11 Overdose Reporting Amendments, which is intended to encourage people to get medical help if they believe a friend has overdosed. All too often, people don't do that out of fear that they will get in trouble for illicit activity themselves. Thing is, lives are at stake.
Here's the carrot per the bill as it stands today: Calling for help, remaining with the person who may have overdosed, and cooperating with responders will be taken into consideration when it comes to prosecution.
I brought it up with my students at the jail this morning while we were discussing how the political system directly affects them and how paying attention to it can empower them, and I brought it up with my students in my university class this afternoon while we were discussing how to construct arguments to effect change.
The consensus of all of my students, both at the jail and at the university, was that as long as the "good Samaritans" are still subject to arrest, most will not call for help. The bill as written falls short. Not good enough when lives are at stake.
Some of my students were particularly insightful, and I asked them to write up their ideas for me so I can quote them in a letter I'm writing to the sponsor of the legislation.
Can I just say how utterly satisfying it is to employ the rhetorical technique of using input from two of the main target audiences of the legislation (known drug users and college students) and then turn around and use that as an example to illustrate a useful rhetorical technique in a writing class? And can I just say how utterly satisfying it is to not just encourage people caught up in the criminal justice system to get involved, but to actually use their voices?
Yeah, I'm wonky.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Made Up
Jack's friend Gracie sent me these old pictures today. I remember the day Jack came home from her house covered in makeup. He thought it was funny until we had to scrub his face!
Does anyone else miss the old versions of their kids as much as I do?
Does anyone else miss the old versions of their kids as much as I do?
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Rabble Rousers
I just came home from visiting with a 90-year-old neighbor who is determined to live in her own house as long as she can. Tuesday is my night to take off her pressure stockings, one of the few things she can't manage on her own. Mostly, it's a good excuse to hear her stories. She grew up the daughter of the couple who owned the local pool hall and knew everyone in town.
Another neighbor had taken her to spend the afternoon in the Springville High School gym watching the girls' basketball team play. She gushed and gushed about how much fun she had, how many friends she saw, and then reminisced about her years at Springville High.
She had played clarinet in the band, but was tapped to twirl the baton by a new drum major, fresh in from California. The drum major dressed the twirlers in short pleated skirts and cowboy boots, creating quite a stir up and down the Wasatch Front.
She also told me about her late husband who had played the trumpet in school and then well into his adult years, traveling around with dance bands. Sometimes he'd play in Carbon County, through the canyons southeast of Springville. She said it was against the law for bands to play and people to dance on Sundays in Utah then. That meant things were supposed to shut down at midnight on Saturday. But Carbon County, she said, made up their own laws, and people there danced into the wee hours.
I love our neighborhood.
Another neighbor had taken her to spend the afternoon in the Springville High School gym watching the girls' basketball team play. She gushed and gushed about how much fun she had, how many friends she saw, and then reminisced about her years at Springville High.
She had played clarinet in the band, but was tapped to twirl the baton by a new drum major, fresh in from California. The drum major dressed the twirlers in short pleated skirts and cowboy boots, creating quite a stir up and down the Wasatch Front.
She also told me about her late husband who had played the trumpet in school and then well into his adult years, traveling around with dance bands. Sometimes he'd play in Carbon County, through the canyons southeast of Springville. She said it was against the law for bands to play and people to dance on Sundays in Utah then. That meant things were supposed to shut down at midnight on Saturday. But Carbon County, she said, made up their own laws, and people there danced into the wee hours.
I love our neighborhood.
Monday, January 27, 2014
My Wish Today
I wish that everyone who has fought so hard to undermine the implementation of the ACA's private health insurance exchanges could be in the room with me when an inmate at the jail asks about how to sign up. Usually they are dealing with some pre-existing physical condition like diabetes or, more often, an ongoing mental health issue. I pull up the website and start to demystify Utah's marketplace and the options they have now that individuals are part of a bigger risk pool. I watch them become more hopeful as they realize a piece of their intractable puzzle could be within reach.
That is all.
That is all.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Just Like Tonight
Tonight, I went to Facebook to ask my friends for suggestions on something to write about in this post. All of the topics swirling in my head are complicated and serious, and I don't have the mental energy to think them through right now.
One of my friends suggested writing about the best part of owning an independent bookstore.
As you can imagine, it's impossible to come up with one best part. Something that I especially loved, though, was the stream of people who came in and the conversations we had. I picked up all sorts of news and information and ideas, and often passed them along to other customers.
I went through some serious withdrawal after we closed up. I teetered on the edge of depression for a long time, struggling to find my balance. Feeling so disconnected was one of the challenges I faced.
Something that helped save me? Totally not kidding: Facebook. My friends there are my virtual stream of people full of new and information and ideas that I pick up and often pass on.
Just like tonight.
One of my friends suggested writing about the best part of owning an independent bookstore.
As you can imagine, it's impossible to come up with one best part. Something that I especially loved, though, was the stream of people who came in and the conversations we had. I picked up all sorts of news and information and ideas, and often passed them along to other customers.
I went through some serious withdrawal after we closed up. I teetered on the edge of depression for a long time, struggling to find my balance. Feeling so disconnected was one of the challenges I faced.
Something that helped save me? Totally not kidding: Facebook. My friends there are my virtual stream of people full of new and information and ideas that I pick up and often pass on.
Just like tonight.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Carpe Diem, Part Two
I stayed up late last night watching Dead Poets Society to the end. I'm still not sure what moved my friend to tears--there are many possibilities--but I do know what was especially moving to me, watching it at this point in my life.
(Spoiler alert.) A student at an elite private school tragically ends his own life. After an inquiry that doesn't uncover the truth, some of his classmates are told to sign a document that puts the blame on their beloved poetry teacher or risk expulsion. They sign it. Then in the last scene, the teacher comes to the classroom on last time to collect his things, and one of the students, who is painfully shy, stands up to defend him, defying the headmaster, bravely proclaiming the truth as he saw it.
Synchronistically, I decided to read the full text of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "Letter from Birmingham Jail" today and came across these passages:
"I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's greatest stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Councilor or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice . . . I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that the present tension in the South is a necessary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative peace, in which the Negro passively accepted his unjust plight, to a substantive and positive peace, in which all men will respect the dignity and worth of human personality . . . We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people."
Sometimes I use my voice in the face of injustice, but I fear it is only when the risk seems minimal or nonexistent. I need to use it more often. Carpe diem.
(Spoiler alert.) A student at an elite private school tragically ends his own life. After an inquiry that doesn't uncover the truth, some of his classmates are told to sign a document that puts the blame on their beloved poetry teacher or risk expulsion. They sign it. Then in the last scene, the teacher comes to the classroom on last time to collect his things, and one of the students, who is painfully shy, stands up to defend him, defying the headmaster, bravely proclaiming the truth as he saw it.
Synchronistically, I decided to read the full text of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "Letter from Birmingham Jail" today and came across these passages:
"I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's greatest stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Councilor or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice . . . I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that the present tension in the South is a necessary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative peace, in which the Negro passively accepted his unjust plight, to a substantive and positive peace, in which all men will respect the dignity and worth of human personality . . . We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people."
Sometimes I use my voice in the face of injustice, but I fear it is only when the risk seems minimal or nonexistent. I need to use it more often. Carpe diem.
Friday, January 24, 2014
Carpe Diem
Curled up under a blanket watching Dead Poets Society tonight. I've only seen it once before, when I was in my 20s. I went with a friend who cried as he watched it, and not at the points that made sense to me to cry. He never said a word about it afterward, and I didn't know him well enough to ask.
I have no idea why he cried. Now that I'm re-watching it, older and wiser, maybe I'll understand something new.
And now back to the show . . .
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Inextricably Linked
I'm teaching in the Sparks Automotive building this semester at UVU. The school tucks required English classes into pretty much every corner of campus because they have to offer so many sections.
This is my path from the parking lot to the building. On the left, I pass by the entrance bays to the automotive shop where students work on diesel engines and auto body repair. On the right, I pass by campus security and all of its associated vehicles, including one ominous looking tactical incident response truck.
It's awesome that the trades and the humanities are inextricably linked in this space. Because they are in the real world, too. More than people realize, I think.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Out to Lunch
It's very nice to go out to lunch with friends. I do it sometimes. I should do it more often.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Seeing Red
I could share a photo of the bloody knee I got when I stumbled down some uneven cement steps in the dark tonight. But what arrived in the mail today for Jack (bought with Christmas money after months and months of wishing), is way more fun to look at.
We've got a Dr. Who fan on our hands, my friends.
We've got a Dr. Who fan on our hands, my friends.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Themes
For my freshman composition classes at Utah Valley University:
I would not give a fig for the simplicity on this side of complexity, but I would give my life for the simplicity on the other side of complexity. - Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.
For my transition skills classes at the county jail:
The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any. - Alice Walker
I would not give a fig for the simplicity on this side of complexity, but I would give my life for the simplicity on the other side of complexity. - Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.
For my transition skills classes at the county jail:
The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any. - Alice Walker
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Una necesidad no sólo una falta
My sister just recently moved to Coyoacan, Mexico, where my grandmother lived as a child. When I was a junior in high school, my parents, my grandmother, and my aunt Mary went to Mexico. Dad recently dug up some of his slides of our trip to send to my sister.
Here we are in Coyoacan (left to right: Mom, Grandma Jan, Aunt Mary and me). I believe this may be the place my great grandparents taught school.
I need to buy a plane ticket and go visit my sister.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Better Him Than Me
Of his own volition, Jack went camping up the canyon with the scouts last night. Roger and I went out to dinner and a movie with a friend. After the show, we drove up the canyon to see what the thermometer in the car said. At 10:00 p.m. it was in the low 20s and dropping. We drove home and bundled under warm blankets for the night.
Sorry, Jack. Glad it was you and not me up there on the cold, hard ground in a tent full of teenage boys.
Sorry, Jack. Glad it was you and not me up there on the cold, hard ground in a tent full of teenage boys.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Bright Lines
When I arrived at work this morning, I learned about a tragic family murder/suicide involving a former colleague with the sheriff's department. I didn't know him. At most, I crossed paths with him a few times.
Last night, our presenter at the library spoke about the shift in early detective fiction from an assumption that crime is rooted in societal ills to a depiction of criminals being inherently evil. Did the shift result from our wanting to believe that we are always fully capable of rising above our circumstances? That we are not capable of committing a heinous act, only others are?
I call false choice. Isn't it usually some combination of the two? If we put all the blame on individuals, we risk losing our capacity to empathize. If we put all the blame on society, we risk becoming disempowered as individuals.
When a case like this happens--when a law enforcement officer who is held in high esteem by his peers becomes a most heinous law breaker--what do we make of it? Do we draw a bright line and say we are not him? He likely had drawn that very line for himself when he worked with inmates at the jail. And yet, in the blink of an eye, he crossed it.
Last night, our presenter at the library spoke about the shift in early detective fiction from an assumption that crime is rooted in societal ills to a depiction of criminals being inherently evil. Did the shift result from our wanting to believe that we are always fully capable of rising above our circumstances? That we are not capable of committing a heinous act, only others are?
I call false choice. Isn't it usually some combination of the two? If we put all the blame on individuals, we risk losing our capacity to empathize. If we put all the blame on society, we risk becoming disempowered as individuals.
When a case like this happens--when a law enforcement officer who is held in high esteem by his peers becomes a most heinous law breaker--what do we make of it? Do we draw a bright line and say we are not him? He likely had drawn that very line for himself when he worked with inmates at the jail. And yet, in the blink of an eye, he crossed it.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Raising the Bar
Tonight at the ongoing "So You Want To Read" series at our local library, we hosted a BYU visiting lecturer who talked about the genesis and progression of classic detective fiction. She did an excellent job, but one of her friends set a new standard for the series. She made party favor "Evidence Bags" to hand out, stamped--not even ironically--with a detective's mustache.
Inside the bags:
- A little red notebook with a fortune cookie and a tag that reads "Red - In honor of the Chinese New Year - Brings good luck - Thus, it is elementary a great detective elude the misfortune of bad luck."
- A couple of gumballs with a tag that reads "What kind of gumshoe are you anyway?"
- A little bag full of Swedish fish with a tag that reads "This is fishy!"
- A bag with black and white candy with a tag that reads "It's not always black and white."
- A little bag full of cashews with a tag that reads "Our thief may be crazy! You know . . . nuts!"
Bless the people who are not Pinterest impaired!
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Fractured
Just before Christmas on an icy walk home from school, Jack slipped and landed on the corner of his saxophone case. His rib hurt. We told him to keep us posted, but even if it was broken he'd just have to wait it out. The last few days it started to hurt a bit more so I took him to the doctor today. Fractured. And, of course, nothing to do but wait. At least there's an official record now.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
In the Morning
Since Winter Solstice the days are getting longer, but the sun still isn't up until after I take Jack to school. This is what we see in the mornings these days: the eastern tip of the highest peak in our view bathed in light, all the rest in the shadow of the mountains.
Monday, January 13, 2014
Tell Us About Yourself
I spent the entire day on a panel interviewing people for a job opening in our community. It's amazing how much stamina that takes. Phew!
Anyway, we started out each interview with the classic open-ended "Tell us about yourself" to see what kinds of things applicants focused on when left to their own devices.
A few years ago when I was putting together the transition skills course I teach at the jail, I went to my then 95-year-old neighbor for some advice. She had spent her entire working life in human resources, and one of her main tasks was to conduct job interviews.
I asked her, "How did people typically blow their interviews with you?"
Without hesitation, she replied, "I hated rambling. On and on and on. Ugh. If I asked people to tell me about themselves and 45 minutes later they were still talking, they didn't have a chance in hell of getting hired."
I can see that.
Anyway, we started out each interview with the classic open-ended "Tell us about yourself" to see what kinds of things applicants focused on when left to their own devices.
A few years ago when I was putting together the transition skills course I teach at the jail, I went to my then 95-year-old neighbor for some advice. She had spent her entire working life in human resources, and one of her main tasks was to conduct job interviews.
I asked her, "How did people typically blow their interviews with you?"
Without hesitation, she replied, "I hated rambling. On and on and on. Ugh. If I asked people to tell me about themselves and 45 minutes later they were still talking, they didn't have a chance in hell of getting hired."
I can see that.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood
This picture that I posted on Facebook a few years ago just resurfaced today when one of Jack's friends found it and tagged it. The neighborhood kids are taking a break from a water balloon fight on a summer day.
When Roger and I got married, I told him that I wanted to live in a house in a neighborhood so that our kids would have days like this. I had missed that growing up on Main Street, not being able to ride my bike with the heavy traffic until I was older and always having to depend on someone to get a ride to a friend's house.
It's worked out just the way I hoped.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Discoveries
What I discovered on the way to work: The most awesome life size window displays at a plumbing supply store on frontage road.
What I discovered at work: What a "lumper" is. I was meeting with an inmate and showing him the online job search feature on the Workforce Services website. One of the job listings was for a lumper. I said, "I've got to click on that one to find out what it is." He said, "Oh, it's a mover. Loads and unloads trucks. I know because I had that job once."
Every day, something new. It's one of my favorite things about life.
Friday, January 10, 2014
A Plug
The Springville Library presents
an
ongoing
series for adventurous readers
So You Want to Read
Classic Detective Fiction
Classic Detective Fiction
Thursday,
16 January 2014, 7-8 pm
with
BYU’s Liz Christianson
So
You Want to Read
Nobel Prize Winner Alice Munro
Nobel Prize Winner Alice Munro
Thursday,
20 February 2014, 7-8 pm
with
BYU’s Bruce Jorgensen
So
You Want to Read
(Not Your Paul
Bunyan) Folklore
Thursday,
20 March 2014, 7-8 pm
with
UVU’s Ronda Walker Weaver
So
You Want to Read Hemingway
Thursday,
17 April 2014, 7-8 pm
with
UVU’s Mark Pepper
Each
month we explore
genres, authors or specific works
you may be thinking about diving into.
genres, authors or specific works
you may be thinking about diving into.
Let
us convince you to go for it!
Thursday, January 09, 2014
Poetry and Pose
Fog
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Last night, our house was enveloped in fog. Roger bribed our cat Doublestuff with treats to pose for this picture to send to Jess.
Wednesday, January 08, 2014
A Milestone
Last night's post was my 1,000th post on this blog!
I googled "1,000" to see if there was anything clever to say about it and discovered that Wikipedia actually says this: "1000 or 1,000 (one thousand) is the natural number following 999 and preceding 1001."
As if that would help clarify things for someone who isn't exactly sure what 1,000 is.
I googled "1,000" to see if there was anything clever to say about it and discovered that Wikipedia actually says this: "1000 or 1,000 (one thousand) is the natural number following 999 and preceding 1001."
As if that would help clarify things for someone who isn't exactly sure what 1,000 is.
Tuesday, January 07, 2014
Good Omens
After spending the past two days scrambling to deal with some unexpected and aggravating logistical problems with my classes and schedule at UVU, I jumped in the car and drove to The King's English Bookshop in Salt Lake City for a nice change of pace.
My cousin Tracey and her husband Josh are literary agents (Adams Literary), and Josh had decided at the last minute to fly west to help Sara B. Larson, one of their authors, celebrate the release of her first YA novel, Defy. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see Josh and meet Sara.
On the way, I realized that while I'd brought my purse, I'd forgotten my wallet, which was still in my school bag at home. Then I remembered that earlier, I'd noticed a $20 bill had fallen out of my wallet into my purse. It was still there! Which meant that I could buy a copy of Sara's book. With tax, the total came to $19 and some change. Serious serendipity.
I'll tell you, though, it was a bit hellish hanging out in that fabulous bookshop without being able to buy anything else. What is it with me and books? Where did that visceral need come from?
Anyhow, Sara gave a lovely and funny presentation in the art gallery a few doors down. I asked her later if she had intentionally color coordinated her outfit with the cover of the book. She did.
And thanks for the fun, unexpected treat tonight! I'm looking forward to reading Sara's new book, bought with a $20 bill I was darn lucky to have with me. Good omens all around.
My cousin Tracey and her husband Josh are literary agents (Adams Literary), and Josh had decided at the last minute to fly west to help Sara B. Larson, one of their authors, celebrate the release of her first YA novel, Defy. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see Josh and meet Sara.
On the way, I realized that while I'd brought my purse, I'd forgotten my wallet, which was still in my school bag at home. Then I remembered that earlier, I'd noticed a $20 bill had fallen out of my wallet into my purse. It was still there! Which meant that I could buy a copy of Sara's book. With tax, the total came to $19 and some change. Serious serendipity.
I'll tell you, though, it was a bit hellish hanging out in that fabulous bookshop without being able to buy anything else. What is it with me and books? Where did that visceral need come from?
Anyhow, Sara gave a lovely and funny presentation in the art gallery a few doors down. I asked her later if she had intentionally color coordinated her outfit with the cover of the book. She did.
During her presentation she talked about how the genesis of her book was rooted in the illness and death of her cousin's husband. I thought to myself, "I am sitting next to my cousin's husband." But he looks pretty good, no? I choose to take it as a good omen. Here's to a long, healthy life, Josh!
And thanks for the fun, unexpected treat tonight! I'm looking forward to reading Sara's new book, bought with a $20 bill I was darn lucky to have with me. Good omens all around.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)