Drinks Anyone?

Even though we had to drive there in our car with a roof, we had a nice family outing to try a new place for treats. One of Roger's colleagues and his wife recently opened a place called Sip-N Spot in Payson, wisely located right by the high school and junior high.

It's a new trend here in the valley, where the predominant culture doesn't have a habit of hanging out in coffee shops and bars: A place for special drinks like Italian cream sodas and Cokes spiked with coconut or lime and snacks like pastries and onion rings. With couches for lounging.

Roger had an orange soda float, I had a peach-pear-apricot smoothie, and Jack had a Fresca spiked with strawberry, vanilla and cream.

I think we need a place like this in Springville. Anyone up for opening one?

Please Send Positive Thoughts

I got a call today from Roger, who needed me to rescue him when our beloved Jeep Wrangler wouldn't start. Luckily she was in his mom's driveway and we were able to push her into the garage to protect her from the sprinklers.

We bought her new 20 years ago. She's a member of the family, really.

And, boo, it's Saturday tomorrow, it's supposed to reach 80 degrees, and her roof is off. Hopes of adventure are dashed.

Goldilocks and the Three Weddings

We went to our third wedding celebration in less than a week tonight! A neighbor married a real-life fire fighter, and they glamorously rode off on the back of a fire engine to start their new life together.

You can't really tell from the picture, but the bride is over six feet tall. And she's not the tallest one in the family. I made the mistake of wearing flats and felt dwarfed.

Contrast that with our nephew's wedding last Saturday. I am quite a bit taller than many in Roger's family. Some are under five feet tall. I made the mistake of wearing heels and felt like I towered over them.

The wedding party in between? I don't remember what shoes I wore. I felt just right.

Dust to Dust

Someone recently tore down an old mortuary in town that I've driven by thousands of times in the past 20 years. It's so strange to see the empty space left behind.

I stopped to take a picture on the way to work today and discovered something I'd never noticed before because the building had always blocked the view.

The yellow sign in the background? Reads "Dead End."

No Soliciting

I got a call today from a real estate person asking about a rental property. I said he must have the wrong number and asked him what number he called. It was ours. "Oh," he said, "It must be a bad number. Hey, while I've got you, do you have any real estate needs?"

Was the whole wrong number bit a ruse for a cold call?

Tricky if it was. But maybe that was okay. I was able to tell him "no" without feeling the least bit put upon.

Normally, solicitors make me squirm. Truly. I don't like dealing with them at all, no matter how nice they are. Even if they are trying to sell me on something I might actually want.

Bewildered

So I made Roger take this picture the other day at the grocery store because the product placement made me laugh.

Jack was looking at the pictures on Roger's phone--in church no less--when he came across it and looked at us both in confusion.

"We'll explain later," we whispered.

Three Good Things

Every night Roger asks Jack to tell him three good things about his day. Here are mine:

• Roger and Jack made an outstanding banana bread. Between us, I think we ate the entire thing.
• On the way home from a party to celebrate a cousin's wedding, we saw a rainbow. It was pointing us straight home.
• I am now bundled up under two thick quilts listening to the rain on the roof.

Chemistry

Enjoyed celebrating our nephew's wedding with family and friends. Brought home clever wedding favors (test tubes filled with candy) to remember a special day for the bride and groom, who both graduated from college this week with degrees in chemistry. Congratulations, Brian and Samantha!

Mud Bath

I'm not sure exactly what happened with the weather tonight but when I left work to come home, I discovered my car was absolutely covered with mud. I had to wash my windshield in order to see where I was going.

We will have to wash it in the morning, because we're going to a family wedding tomorrow and we've all got to look our best!

Learning to Float

I thought I'd share the following passage from a novel I'm reading called Benediction by Kent Haruf just because I think it's beautiful and because it reminds me of what we are doing here in our world when we are at our best: having the courage to figure things out and being there for one another. 

To set the scene, three women and a girl called Alice are skinny dipping on a hot day in a stock tank for cattle on the Colorado range.

Then Lorraine said, Alice, do you know how to swim? 

No. 

Can you float?

I don't know how.

It's time to learn. Come out here in the middle. Alene, will you help?

The two women held her as she lay back. 

Now just breathe. And spread your arms out.

When she began to sink they lifted her up, and after a while she was able to stay up and they stepped back and she lay out on the water, half-submerged, her blue eyes open to the blue sky.

Arms Race?

I honor of my record three students writing about gun control this semester, I thought I'd post the following essay I wrote a while ago:

Shortly after the Utah State Legislature passed a law that made it legal for people with concealed weapons permits to carry guns on public college campuses, I had two students who wanted to write about it.

A few weeks into his research, one of my students came to me, dismayed.

"I thought I'd turn up more data than not to support my opinion that having guns in the hands of law-abiding citizens will make us more safe," he said. "But I'm finding it's a bit of a draw." (Okay, so that last bit wasn't his exact phrasing, but I'd have laughed at the pun if he'd said it that way.)

According to his findings, sometimes people are safer if someone has a gun and sometimes people are in more danger. It can go either way, and there aren't enough instances of public shootings or attempted shootings to make a definitive claim one way or the other.

We talked about what his options could be as the data he was turning up were inconclusive. Ultimately, he proposed a thesis that stated if that is the case, we must err on the side of the Second Amendment. His position was sane and well reasoned, and, because he had learned about situations that flew in the face of his original opinion, he was not afraid to address legitimate safety concerns. While he argued that people with concealed weapons permits should be free to carry a gun on campus, he also argued that the process involved in issuing concealed weapons permits should be wisely regulated.

At the end of the semester, I had to ask him if he ever carried on campus. Turns out he did. Every single day.

Personally, I told him, I would not choose to carry a weapon like that. I would not want to live with an ever present reminder of a threat that would most likely never materialize. It would make me more fearful, less free. I think he felt empowered. I would feel imprisoned. I'd rather take my chances. 

The Closest Thing I Have to a Mission Statement

Apparently, there has been some debate about whether it was Ralph Waldo Emerson who actually said the following, but it has guided me for many years.

"To laugh often and much, to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch . . . to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded."

Prompts

Once again, all of the things I can think to write about are all too much to tackle at this late hour. So I'm going to go check Facebook and then write something about the first thing that pops up on my feed. 

Here goes . . .

And I am in luck! My friend posted a picture of her husband doing a little whale watching on a recent trip they took to California. 

First, I am envious. 

Second, it reminds me of the time Roger, my sister Maryann, and I went whale watching in the middle of nowhere in Baja California about 20 years ago. We were in a tiny little fishing boat and the whales were gigantic. Perhaps we are lucky to be alive.

Third, I am excited to be in the market for airplane tickets to take Jack to visit my sister Maryann in Mexico when school lets out. We may go to the coast while we're there. I don't think we'll see whales that time of year, but perhaps we'll see dolphins?

Okay, I'm less envious now. It's good to remember I'm living a life, too.

Happy Day

Nothing says family get together like gearing up for battle. Thanks for entertaining the little ones this afternoon, Jack! (And please note the irrefutable evidence of a mother's love: bookshelf space has been sacrificed to create nerf gun lockers.)

Dealing With It

Made the mistake of starting to listen to a Radio West podcast on minimalism while I was cleaning the house this morning. When I realized it was making me grumpy because our house is TOO BIG and TOO FULL of stuff, I turned it off.

Finished listening to it tonight, sitting in my clean, organized living room. Which is full of a crazy number of chachkies, like jars full of rocks and shells from adventures we've had and things built out of Lego. But I love the people I share space with and I love the memories we've made together, so, in between breakdowns about it, I will deal with it.

PS: If you listen the podcast, caller Shelley from Springville is a good friend of mine. She's not kidding when she says she has four children under the age of five.

Modernism, Postmodernism, Now What?

A week ago Thursday, I went to a faculty meeting that included a presentation by one of "writing study's leading composition theorists" who talked about "pedagogy for a postcomposition world." That's how he and his talk were pitched. Scintillating, eh? Actually, he was an interesting guy and it was a useful presentation.

During the Q&A portion, someone asked him what his thoughts were on letting students use cell phones in the classroom. After saying that he thinks it's up to college age students to police themselves when it comes to paying attention in class (is being distracted by checking text messages really any different than studying notes for different class?), he said that today, it makes total sense for a student to use a phone to snap shots of lecture slides instead of writing it all down by hand. As an added bonus, it enables them to pay more attention to what the instructor is saying.

Exactly a week later, I was hosting a talk on modernist writer Ernest Hemingway at our library and wanted to remember the titles of four short stories the presenter recommended. Pulled out my phone and boom. Got it all and didn't miss a word he said. Like the fact that he only included Old Man and the Sea on the reading list because it seemed he should, not because he enjoyed it. Because he didn't. Which is good to know. Or is at least entertaining coming from a guy who likes Hemingway so much that he literally has a Hemingway quote tattooed on his forearm (which is how I came to invite him to speak). But not a quote from Old Man and the Sea.

I love picking up a hot tip and using it straightaway. Makes me feel like I'm keeping up with the times.

Coincidence?

Today was comma day in class. Always thrilling for everyone involved, I'm sure. I started off easy with commas in dates and places, and the examples I used were sentences that describe Jack being born on May 17, 1999, in Provo, Utah, and Roger being born on 17 May 1963 in Provo, Utah.

I told my students it's a true story, and one of them asked, "Were they delivered by the same doctor?"

LOL, no. But Jack was actually delivered by the very doctor I had gone to several years previously in an attempt to figure out why I wasn't getting pregnant. The fertility gods move in mysterious ways.

Notorious

I don't think I will ever quite get used to working in an environment where I regularly encounter people that I read about in the news. It can be especially disconcerting to know them as students in my class, then see their faces plastered on my screen.

That said, I always appreciate being reminded that they are all three-dimensional human beings, not one-dimensional headlines.

Brain Dump

Spent much of the day neck deep in my students' research projects, grading annotated bibliographies and holding consultations. Maybe if I list all the topics here, I can clear my mind for a while and think about something else.

• Main stream medical establishment acceptance of chiropractics
• Controlling emotions for peak athletic performance
• Encouraging responsible gun ownership without compromising second amendment rights
• Concealed weapons permits
• Ban on assault weapons
• (Yes, I have a record three students writing about guns)
• Brain death and life support
• Requiring U.S. students to study languages other than English
• Stem cell research
• Ayn Rand's theories of Egoism and Objectivism
• Influence of media on self-perception, particularly in men
• K-12 teacher tenure
• Child rearing by same-sex parents
• Censorship of books in schools
• Parental rights and the role of the state in protecting the rights of children
• Title IX and college sports
• Influence of video games
• Steroids and baseball
• Arranged marriages 
• Art as a viable career choice
• Free tuition for higher education

There. My brain is empty until their next assignment is due.

Broken Stones

Criminal justice debt drags people further away from reintegration with civil society. A person's life can spiral out of their control when interest, late fees, revocation of a driver's license and ineligibility for public assistance, mean that unpaid criminal justice debt snowballs. You can't get blood from a stone but if you try, you can break the stone. ("Debtors' Prison for Failure to Pay for Your Own Trial")

In the past few years I've met many broken stones.

I've been surprised to learn how many inmates at the county jail are there for failure to pay fines and how many of them have lost their jobs due to incarceration for failure to pay fines. I was also surprised to learn that people who are serving sentences for misdemeanor charges are required to pay to stay. If they have no resources, they can be thousands of dollars in debt to the community when they are released.

Besides saving taxpayer money, the thinking behind our local pay-to-stay program is that it will encourage people to stop committing crimes. I get that, and it may be true for some. But based on my experience, I suspect it is a predominantly counterproductive idea, and I was glad to read in the news yesterday that it could be on its way to becoming a thing of the past.

Sure inmates are in a bind because of their own choices. I do believe we all need to face the consequences when we screw up. But most of them are already paying for their choices in a multitude of ways. And they will be paying for their choices long after they've served their sentences. If we want them to choose a legitimate path, it doesn't make sense to me to marginalize them even more by pushing them further into debt. It also wouldn't surprise me if the pay-to-stay program actually ends up costing taxpayers more money than it brings in because it can keep people revolving in and out of jail longer.

What does make sense--from both a public safety standpoint (politically feasible) and a humanitarian standpoint (which seems to be less politically feasible these days)--is to do what we can to draw people in from the margins of society.

Not So Sure Anymore

One time my Grandma Jan, who was a good hearted woman but not known for her tact, announced to my husband that he looked more like Winston Churchill ever time she saw him.

We were like, "What?!"

Then in the past couple of weeks, the following two pictures came my way, one in my email inbox and the other on my Facebook feed. I don't know what to think now.

Listen

This afternoon we went to Jack's saxophone teacher Ben's senior recital, which was held in a great old lecture hall in the oldest building on BYU's campus. Roger and I reminisced about the one class we took together in college and which was held in that same room.

After half an hour of classical and more technical pieces on the flute, clarinet and sax that I think were required for his recital, we listened to another half hour of Ben playing in his true element: jazz. Even though it was 4:00 in the afternoon, the quartet played like it was midnight at the club.

I mentioned to Ben's mom afterwards that Roger and I had taken a class together in the same room. She said, "I'll bet it was a lot quieter than this was." Roger and I laughed. The class was a mock constitutional convention. Deliberating, caucusing, arguing, jockeying for position, delivering rousing speeches, celebrating every point won. It was anything but quiet!

During the concert, I reflected on something I'd heard earlier today about how we so readily focus on competition in politics at the expense of other methods of working together, and that is part of the reason we aren't so good at sorting through our differences.

It's mesmerizing watching musicians improvise together. It's true collaboration. Giving each other the floor to riff, listening carefully for cues, covering for each other when they have to adjust their instruments, operating within the constraints of rhythm and key that paradoxically enable individual voices to come together to create something unique and interesting and worth listening to.

We should take note.

Trip Envy

My Facebook feed is full of happy and gorgeous pictures that friends are posting while they are on vacation. Moab, southern Utah, Disneyland, Santa Barbara, Hawaii. All happy and gorgeous. It's been spring break in our school district. But it's not school break for me, so we are home.

It is what it is. I'm glad for my friends. Even the friends who got to hang out with dolphins and palm trees.

And at least I didn't have to set an alarm all week.

Was Today Real?

I had a hard time leaving campus today. College helps keeps me young and curious and hopeful. Especially in the spring time.

Eden

Earlier today, I listened to a podcast about synchronicity, and on that podcast, my friend Zina made a comment that reminded me of something I wrote last year. So I decided to continue a theme from yesterday, revising the following and posting it here. Because synchronicity.

-----------

The story of Adam and Eve can be read as a metaphor for the development of human consciousness, when we shifted from operating on instinct to becoming sentient beings who began to understand our world on a whole new level. We became aware of our actions and the actions of others. We became aware of the impact of all of those actions, for both good and evil. We became children of God.

I think that on some level, to our detriment, we've been trying to create the illusion of the Garden of Eden ever since.

It can manifest itself in different and multiple ways for different people. We resist commitment (to people, to ideas, to meaningful work). We search out and cling to pat answers. We don't face hard things straight on. We create dogmatic checklists of rules that lull us into believing we're doing enough good when we follow them. We numb ourselves with addictions. We refuse to listen to people who don't see things the way we do. We whitewash history (of our faith, of our nation, of ourselves) because that is more soothing than owning up to and learning from mistakes. We use what we earn not just to sustain us, but to make ourselves comfortable. We ignore things that make us uncomfortable. We separate ourselves from people we view as sinners. Or from people who are poor. Or from people who are different from us for whatever reason.

It seems we fear knowledge, the fruit of the tree. Instead of following the admonition to live in the world, but not of the world, we want the safety of living on the world, but not in the world.

Engaging is painful and messy and dangerous and hard work.

Here's the rub: We think we are protecting ourselves. Perhaps we think creating a bubble will enable us to get through this life unscathed and on to the next. But instead we miss out on true growth. Growth that comes from knowledge and engagement in the world. And as children of God we are meant to grow up.

Swallowing Whales

Not long enough ago, I had an epiphany:

My attempt to embrace all of the very specifically defined and literal beliefs that surround me in my faith community was actually preventing me from believing in much of anything. While I'm open to possibility, I am challenged by certainty. I'm a skeptic by nature, tending to reserve judgment until I can see or experience things for myself. Many times that works for me, but sometimes it gets in my way.

I had to find a way to move forward in my spiritual journey that would, well, keep me moving forward. With a new approach, I was able to plant seeds of faith in much more fertile ground. Spiritual understanding began to blossom.

I realized, for example, that it didn't matter if I believed Jonah had been swallowed by an actual whale. Or that, perhaps, Jonah had been swallowed by a metaphorical whale of pride or fear. Or even that Jonah existed at all.

What mattered was that I grasped how we can hold ourselves back from doing what we are inspired to do. That it is possible to overcome what holds us back. And that when we follow through on our inspiration, the results may not be what we expect and may involve a new lesson we need to learn.

If someday I happen to meet a man named Jonah in a place called heaven and he tells me about the time he was literally swallowed by a whale, I will think, "Well, I'll be."

The Heights and Depths

I know that I whine too much about grading student papers, but I have reached new heights in my aversion to it.

Honestly, I don't mind reading the papers. I don't mind giving feedback. I just really, really don't like assigning grades.

I know that the actual grading is what I stew about because when I give assignments that aren't graded (points for completion), I have no problem getting right on it.

Gah. I need a new strategy. The holes I am digging for myself by procrastinating are getting deeper and deeper.

Day Dreaming

Time out from our regularly scheduled programming to bring you this memory from Long Island last summer.

Complicated

Yesterday, I wrote about how maybe I'm fine with the idea of being part of a liminal, unnamed generation. I actually don't care for being labeled. People tend to brush with broad strokes when labeling is involved.

I remember being very glad when I filled in for a secretary on maternity leave the summer I graduated from college and heard my boss tell someone I was "not just a secretary." While I have tremendous respect for the work secretaries do--seriously, good secretaries can hold a place together in amazing ways--I didn't want to be defined by the label. I didn't want people to assume I couldn't do something simply because of my job title.

Truly, I don't like people to make assumptions about me. To think they can surmise everything about me (my views, my abilities, my beliefs, my interests, my motives) because they know something about me. Gosh, as a work in progress, I don't even begin to know everything about me.

I am far more complicated than I appear on the surface.

Aren't we all?

On the Cusp

On my way home from work today, I stopped to talk to a couple of friends who were out for a walk on this fine Spring day. One was born the same year I was (in fact we met each other in the dorms our freshman year of college), and the other was born two years later.

We discovered that we all three feel left out of the named generations. Even though we are sometimes counted at the tail end of the Baby Boomers, we're really too young. And even though we are sometimes counted as the beginning of Generation X, we're really too old.

What should we call our liminal generation, we wondered? (And, if you can believe it, just after I typed that sentence, I discovered that someone on Yahoo Voices nailed the issue in this post and believes we should actually be called the Liminal Generation.)

I think my neighbors and I came up with a much happier name.

We were born in the 60s, so of course it should follow that we are Love Children or part of the Love Generation. Even though, technically, none of the three of us were born to hippies. And even though, technically, all of our parents were married when they had us and would thus be mortified at the various implications those names hold.

So, um, okay, maybe not. We'll just have to float along in our liminality. On the cusp. Undefined. Unnamed. Which actually suits me. I don't like to be labeled.

Unforced Error

In my writing classes, I award extra credit points when students find errors in any of my work (presentations, assignments, email messages, etc). I figure it (1) helps them better swallow the critiques I make of their work and (2) gives them an incentive to pay closer attention to details in writing.

It's especially fun and satisfying when someone points out a mistake I've made in the middle of class.

Usually students find proofreading level errors, but today, a student found an error of some substance. I had inadvertently credited Shakespeare's "All the world loves a lover" to Emerson, who actually said "All mankind loves a lover." Technically, I had borrowed the syllogism the quote was in from someone else. A good reminder not to trust sources to have everything right.

Well played, attentive student with an iPhone and access to a database of quotes. Well played. I served; you won the point.

Logical

One of my favorite topics to discuss in the writing class I teach at UVU is basic principles of logic. Especially because we start class with this classic clip:



Throwing one starfish at a time into the sea in an attempt to elevate the level of dialogue on the Internet and the quality of our memes.

So, I'm Pregnant

With possibility, that is!

My friend Jerry asked me at work this morning if I'm good at April Fool's Day jokes. Actually, not so much. While I can be good at and enjoy fishing people, I'm not very good at coming up with brilliantly deceptive plans on demand.

So, I'm pretty safe to be around on April 1, but best beware of me the other 364 days of the year! Bwahahahaha!

Mom Points

I get major mom points for spending three hours in a car with three teenage boys this afternoon.

Took cans to the recycling place to help raise cash.

Spent a crazy long time at an understaffed McDonald's where the boys ordered the Pony Pal happy meals. (May I say how proud I am that they were secure enough in their soon-to-be-manhood to order the girl happy meals?) (And may I say how shortsighted it was of McDonald's to assign a gender to the Pony Pal happy meals? Haven't they heard of Bronies?) (And may I say how sad it is that in 2014, boys are still shamed for liking something that is "supposed to be for girls"?)

Stopped at Deseret Industries (a local thrift store) where the boys looked for trench coats. No luck. Then went to Savers (another local thrift store). Pay dirt. Jack nabbed a basically brand new Christian Dior trench coat for $17.99. One step closer to being Dr. Who, he is.

Seriously, major mom points.

Replay

Five movies I always get sucked into watching again and again. Make of it what you will.

Joe vs. the Volcano



Enchanted April

 

So I Married an Axe Murderer




The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel



 
Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Taxing Thoughts

On my mind this time of year, and for a good part of my day today:

• It is both aggravating and satisfying to work out thorny problems with financial records. 
• I consider myself inordinately lucky that for most of my adult life I've had a computer to help me keep track of finances.
• I find a silver lining in being required to file a tax return once a year: it requires me keep our financial records in order. Yeah, I depend on outside pressure.
• In my head, the taxes we pay go directly to the things I care about and not a penny goes toward things I don't care about or downright disagree with.

Magic

As were driving home from a night on the town tonight, Roger noticed this tree house just off Center Street in Provo, warmly lit with fairy lights and filled with dancing shadows of happy people.

Truly this world is filled with magic, created by the talent and imagination of amazing human beings. I'm lucky to come across so much of it!

Range of (E)Motion

Today was crammed full. But in a good way. This isn't even all of it.

Morning: Class prep. Graded papers. A new class at the jail. A good group, and we're off to a good start. Scrambled to find lunch on the way to campus, but ran out of time. Relieved to find in my purse part of Snickers bar left over from the other night when I was running late between an adjunct staff meeting and meeting Roger and Jack for a concert. Ate it on I-15 (the candy bar, that is).

Afternoon: Talked about thesis statements in my writing class. Consulted with a couple of students on their research. Arrived home at the same moment as Jack and three of his friends. Realized we had an appointment to get our hair cut. Loaded all the boys in the car. Jack's friends roamed the streets downtown while he had his hair cut. He went to find them while I had my hair cut. Then I went to find them, loaded them back in the car, and headed home. Showered. Read over a graduate school application essay for a friend. Took a little break.

Evening: Hung out with my friend Shelley to give her an extra hand with her four little girls while her husband worked late. Held her littlest one for the very first time. She stuck her tongue out for me. I was honored. Ran to the jail to meet with someone who is getting out tomorrow. Headed to book club at 9:30, but the discussion was still going strong. Rejuvenated. Home in time to read to Jack. Now sleep. Yes. Sleep.

Refined

All of a sudden this week has become jam packed with cultural activities:

• A BYU Jazz Ensemble concert to see Jack's saxophone teacher Ben play a couple of awesome solos.
• Jack's choir concert at the junior high.
• A "So You Want To Read" presentation about elements of folklore in contemporary literature given at our city library given by my friend Ronda.
• A book club discussion about Galileo's Daughter by Dava Sobel.
• The premier of a new play written by our niece's husband Mahonri called Jimmy Stewart Goes to Hollywood.

We're usually not this good at making plans! It helps to know people who are doing interesting things.

Gas Tank's Empty

Today I planned my entire class at UVU around the fact that I was tired of hearing myself speak. That feeling is spilling over into writing this as well.

On days like today, I'd much rather be quiet and listen to other people.

No Answer

We decided to shut down voice mail on our home phone after discovering that no one in the family ever remembered to check it. There is no flashing light to remind us! And we usually use our cell phones to make calls so we never hear the funny dial tone that alerts us that we have messages!

Our sincerest apologies to anyone who left us a message that we never responded to. You'll have a much easier time reaching us on our cells. Or emailing us. Or sending us a PM on Facebook.

I'm betting this means we are one step closer to abandoning our land line.

Lean Not

Starting with an early ward leadership meeting, a recurring theme at church today was the Old Testament scripture Proverbs 3:5. Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.

One of the challenges I face more than I'd like in my religious community, and in the larger Christian community, is feeling at odds with some of the voices I hear--voices that insist their points of view, their cultural traditions, their politics, or their interpretations of the gospel are, well, gospel.

While I daily witness amazing acts of human goodness, some of the things I hear coming out of the mouths of some followers of Christ make my heart ache.

Instead of listening to and trying to understand people who are in spiritual or emotional pain or who are at the margins (either in the church or in our society), some openly make assumptions about them, swoop in with religious certainty, and tell them they are to blame or that they are unequivocally wrong for feeling what they feel, being who they are, or thinking what they think.

Instead of loving the ones, some scapegoat them and circle the wagons around the 99s, ostensibly for all of our sakes. But is it really? Or is it about controlling the herd?

Instead of being open to further light when we don't actually know why something is the way it is, or even if it should be the way it is, some fill the vacuum with reasoning that has no real basis, including, sometimes, claiming that it is what God wants (click here for a case in point).

To be clear: I know that I am often wrong about things, both small and large. Even though I am well into my middle age, I am a neophyte when it comes to faith and believing. So I wonder, am I the one who is wrong when my heart aches? And, honestly, if I am, geez, do I want to be a part of it all?

I took a drive after church to untangle some of my thoughts. This kind of wide open view can help with that.

My gradual epiphany over the course of the day (well, really over the course of my life): The passage in Proverbs admonishes us to trust in God. It does not admonish us to lean unto the understanding of other people (their own understanding). In fact, there are scriptures that specifically tell us not to do that. Sometimes people are right. But sometimes they are not. Just because a person in authority says something, or a majority of sincerely faithful people believes something, or people we look up to agree about something, it does not make it so.

For followers of Christ, perhaps the hardest truth of all to discern is truth that contradicts the things that sometimes come out of the mouths of people who are otherwise following Christ.

At least for now, and likely forever, I'm going to keep working at it. With all my heart. An open heart. Which sometimes aches. And is sometimes right and sometimes wrong.

Practice

Jack made a goal to practice his upcoming solo with the jr. high jazz band 100 times. Almost half way there!

Because Karma

After making him wait several months to be sure it's what he really wanted, we finally let Jack use some of his money to buy an expensive Dr. Who Sonic Screwdriver. It arrived and was everything he hoped it would be. He enjoyed it for a while. Then, sadly, it malfunctioned.

He decided all on his own to send an email to the manufacturer to see if he could get it repaired or replaced. By the next day, he received a charming email from Andrew, who works for The Wand Company in the U.K.

"Hi Jack," it read. "Many thanks for getting in touch and I'm very sorry to hear about the button issue on the Tenth Doctor's Sonic Screwdriver. It definitely sounds as it if is faulty so please return it to us for repair/replacement."

He goes on to give the shipping instructions (including "please package it up carefully" and "we're happy to refund" the "postage costs"), then closed his message with, "Apologies for this hassle with your Sonic and we'll get you a working one as quickly as possible. Best regards."

After we shipped the package, I told Jack that we'd most likely eat the "postage costs" because they responded so quickly and treated him with such kindness and respect. Thank you, Andrew and The Wand Company, for setting such a good example of true customer service for my heartbroken son.

Shifting

A few things have been weighing heavily on my mind lately. 

But I found this on the car radio to listen to on the way home from work tonight. Music makes things better. Especially Bach. And especially while driving a six-speed.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

Tomorrow

Oh, wow. I'm even less inspired to write something than I was yesterday. Tomorrow. Tomorrow something brilliant will happen.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Indulgent

Is it too indulgent for a father to name a crater on Mars after his son? That happened today.

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?

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!

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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"

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:

• Housing
• Food 
• Clothing
• Transportation
• Identification
• Court orders/probation
• Sobriety
• Health/medication
• Work
• School
• Debt
• Relationships
• Other

Overwhelmed yet?

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.