December 20th On our way home...

You don't really appreciate the torture of coach until you've flown in first class. Doug and I are taking turns flying coach. I would much rather just stay together. So I wrote him a poem about it:

Upgrade

I'd rather not sit in a first class seat
if it means to sit alone
Surrounded by persons who may very well
be made of solid stone
Give me a seat that is by your side
wherever that may be
In coach or in a crowded car
or a sailboat on a sea
Or maybe the buckboard of a simple
solid covered wagon
or on the back of a motor bike with
a rack to tie my bag on
Give me a place beside you while
we push our own handcart
I'll lean into it, do my best to
help and do my part
But do not put me in first class
while you are back in coach
It makes me feel as selfish and as
lonely as a roach
and don't sit me in coach while you
are flying in first class
sit beside me. Be my lad and I will
be your lass
I will follow you wherever
you think we should go
through the winds and rain and ice and
blowing flakes of snow
All I ask is that we both arrive there
safe, together
Stepping close and standing strong
no matter what the weather
When we travel, be my presh
remember this one thing
when you treat me like a queen
you'll always be my king

December 15th...Still in Puerto Rico

Only ten days left 'til Christmas. No stress here. I'm sitting in my bathing suit and a sun dress in a rain forest being eaten by bugs. Doug is hiking up waterfalls and swimming in leech-filled pools beneath them. He gets out of the pools and pulls of the leeches. Ya. Loads of fun. I would rather read.

So far on this trip, I've read nine books. More like gobbled them up. It is SOOOOOOOOOOOOO much more fun to read regular books after months of textbooks. I read:

The Last Lecture
The Yellow Star
Certain Girls
Sunshine
Cross Creek
The Burn Journals
The Book Thief
What Would Barbara Do
Fried Green Tomaotes at the Whistle Stop Cafe

I love getting lost in the pages. They fold in on me like sheets and cozy quilts.
There is a lecturer on board from Texas A&M. He has a monotone voice but the actual message is fairly interesting.
Did you know that Charles Darwin was the firt to come up with the theory that coral reefs evolve? He wrote a paper on the evolution of islands. Speaking of which...
Okay. I have a question. Does the girth of the earth increase with all of the life, (plant and animal), that is born and grows and dies and returns to the earth?

Just wondering.

December 13th in Puerto Rico

Did you know Puerto Rico literally means, "Rich Port"? Me niether. It is so lovely here, but hot. Doug and I missed church. We had celestial plans that didn't work out in a telestial world. We are sitting on the deck of an amazing cruise ship. He is reading the Ensign while I'm listening to a book on CD. "Three Cups of Tea" by Greg Mortensen. I have time to think on a cruise ship. Time to think and write. I'm not so sure thinking is always a good thing. Last night I sat in our room just looking in the mirror and wondering about my life. Who I am. Where I am. Sometimes I'm not really sure of it all. I've reached goals I've set for myself but honestly, I haven't set them very high.
Greg Mortensen talks about the reservations he has of building a bridge and bringing the negative aspects of a modern culture to a people who are isolated from the evils of the world. He observes that the sense of community these people share is what the rest of us look for in our cell phoned, media driven, gasoline powered lives.

Christmas time
deck the halls
kids drive me
up the walls
out of school
for two weeks
eggnog cup
springing leaks
reindeer's nose
lost its glow
six below
still no snow
angel broke
her left wing
has sore throat
cannot sing
Santa's beard
is a fake
what's the point
goodness sake
I'd rather
just escape
leave home su-
per mom cape
sit on deck
of cruise ship
glass in hand
take a sip
soak up sun
read a book
scenery
take a look
eat a meal
not prepared
by myself
none is shared
then again
neither is
all the fun
so pop quiz
who do I
whish was here
having fun
without beer
if you think
like I did
I miss all
seven kids!

Mormons, Appetites and Messiah Music

Tonight at the Messiah, I shed tears when I heard the music and the lyrics to He Shall be Revealed. Those words spoke very powerfully to me. The message is powerful. He shall be revealed. Every knee will bend and every tongue will confess that He is the Christ. It won’t be a hidden idea. Everyone will know.

The lies will be brought into the light.

It got me thinking about my Gospel Doctrine lesson today. I’m the teacher. It is the calling I’ve had more than any other. I was first called my freshman year at college at age 17. I know. That was one desperate bishop. I taught a class full of returned missionaries. I used humor. I studied my scriptures more that year than all my classes put together.

I dressed up like Bo Peep to teach a lesson on finding lost sheep.

But that was then, this is now...

One man in my class is very opinionated. We were talking about the proclamation to the world on the Family. I told the story of a Methodist friend telling me our prophet is really a prophet to put out the proclamation when he did. I was tap dancing around the gay issue. I really didn’t want to go there. I know there are likely people in the room who have a loved one who is gay. But this man wanted to go there. He did vehemently. I did what I could to get him back on track…to talk about loving the individual. Here’s what I wish I would have said,

“What if we thought about people with same sex attraction the same way we think of people who are obese? I don’t mean to minimize the serious nature of sexual sin but aren’t they both about appetite? We don’t look at an obese person and think they are going to hell. But aren’t they messing with life? They know it is bad for them, even dangerous, to continue to live a lifestyle that is about giving in to base desires. But isn’t it as bad to judge them?”

I don’t know. I’m still working on it.

I hate that I belong to a church that appeals to a certain type of individual more than it does to others. Masculine men and feminine women do best as Mormons. But that is the culture of Mormonism, not the doctrine. The doctrine is about love.
There was a woman in the back row who had tears in her eyes throughout the entire lesson.

I wonder who she loves that is caught up in giving in to appetites.

If you think about the culture surrounding homosexuality, it is similar to the culture surrounding fast food. Or at least, that is what the media and higher education is going for. Happy clowns selling fattening food. Happy Gay men only showing the light humor of a dark lifestyle. An obese lifestyle often ends with lonliness. A life that doesn't seem to value living. I think of an older homosexual man in a bar alone late at night...when he is no longer wanted.

Christ still loves him. Even when others don't.

He shall be revealed.

Delta Utah - Hub of the Universe

My dad always said Delta, Utah is the hub of the universe. I agree.

I find it perfectly reasonable to love Delta, love people there, love that I grew up there but also realize I shouldn't be there. Hubs are great places, but exploring the rest of the wheel, wagon, road, planet, universe is good too. Staying in the hub may mean only spinning in circles and watching the world go by instead of actually taking part.

Dismal Dreary December

help. holiday depression is setting in. could I please just find a hole to crawl into? I miss the escape television was. voices. information at the touch of a button without effort on my part. people without responsibility. no dental appointments for kids. no housework. everything magically clean, cooked and in order.

Can I please live with the Brady Bunch?

Taking the Cult out of Cultural

Mormons are the new Jews. I feel like I'm wearing a scarlett "M" on my chest in my Cultural Competency Class. Perhaps it should be made into an armband. Key part of the word "cultural" is "cult". If I speak up for my values I'm told I shouldn't force them on others. Yet their values are being forced on me. At every turn I'm told good is evil and evil is good.

I'm told all values are valuable. Yet I'm reminded that if you think it is right to believe there is no right or wrong you are pushing your sense that it is right to think a certain way. If you believe there is no such thing as right or wrong you believe you are right about how you believe. The logic is flawed in this vogue thought process.

It is all so confusing. I can't help but wonder if those holding up the I'm discriminated against signs will eventually do a Sherem and admit they were on Satan's side.

I'll keep standing up for what I believe in. It doesn't make sense not to. If I'm wrong, I haven't lost anything. At death I will be dust and it wont matter. If I'm right, it will effect eternity and I will have won everything.

In educational psychology, Homosexuality is the new black and Mormon is the new Jew. I can't help but wonder how much longer I will be allowed to voice my opinion in print and not be slammed into a concentration camp.

Cultural Competency Continuum

Cultural Destructiveness
At the cultural destructive level, the attitudes, policies and practices which are evidence of cultural destruction are seen throughout history.
In Hawaii’s history, the Polynesians were worked literally to death on the pineapple plantations because they were not capable of the long hours required to work the fields having evolved as a people who didn’t have the need to work long hours as food was readily provided by the sea and lush climate of the islands (Michener, 1967). Chinese and Japanese were imported at a time when many wanted to migrate to other countries because of famine, over population and political problems in the Orient (Boose, 1995).
The evolution of the people in Hawaii includes the cultural destruction of several minority cultures. There are very few pure Hawaiians left. Thousands died of an epidemic of chicken pox that Hawaiians had not built up immunity to. White plantation owners encouraged Chinese, Japanese and Hawaiians to interbreed. The product of this combination of genes is a strong, beautiful people who have the physical capabilities of the Chinese and Japanese combined with the height of the Polynesian and the beautiful complexion of the combination. Government policies included the assumption that peoples not of caucasion descent were incapable of owning property and the distribution of land was to whites only.


Cultural Incapacity
Cultural Incapacity is illustrated in the popular novel The Memory Keeper’s Daughter. In this story a young doctor and father places his downs syndrome daughter in the care of a nurse with the direction to institutionalize the infant for life. He then tells his wife the child died.
A modern example of cultural incapacity is demonstrated in a present day experience of a substitute teacher. It was a classroom of first graders. Most of them were six-year-old and white. There were a few African-American children in the mix. The story is told from the perspective of the teacher:
“We did a few opening activities and the children were getting a little keyed up. One little boy raised his hand and asked if he could go to the bathroom. I said he could and became involved with some other children. A few moments later I noticed this little boy writing on the chalkboard. I angrily asked him what he was doing and did not wait to hear the answer but put him on “time out”. Several minutes later, another child informed me that the regular teacher had a rule that the children must put their name on the board before they left the room to go to the bathroom. I realized my mistake and asked the boy on time out if he was merely writing his name on the board. He angrily replied, “Yes”. I apologized to the little boy and expressed not only my remorse but also reflected his frustration at the substitute teacher’s ineptness.”
It wasn’t until much later the teacher realized she had responded in a racial way. If it had been a white girl who was writing on the board she may not have responded with the knee-jerk reaction of anger and expectation of disobedience. It helped her recognize the most prominent difference among the races is the cultural experience. Part of that experience, from this child’s perspective, was an expectation of misbehavior. Children of minority cultures may feel powerless within their culture and communities (Gordon, 2005).

Cultural Blindness
Cultural blindness is represented by the belief that there is no difference in race and skin color and culture does not matter. It entails the idea that all people are the same. Individuals of minority cultures are presumed to hold different behaviors and values because of lack of desire to achieve or a deficiency within them as people. Members of the most assimilated culture may not recognize the privilege that comes from being a member of the dominant group. Rather than assuming that all mankind behaves in similar ways, those among the majority must learn to respect the differences in members of minority races (Williams, Evans-Winters, 2005).
Examples of cultural blindness are found in everyday life. A mother expected her white daughter to play the role of Abraham Lincoln and recite the Gettysburg Address in a Black History Month celebration. When her daughter was denied a part in the assembly, her mother attempted to advocate for her. The African American committee in charge of the celebration denied the Caucasian girl a role in the event stating that the celebration was about honoring African Americans. It took several years for the mother to understand the cultural blindness she was exhibiting by desiring her daughter to play the role of a white leader at an event where children of a completely different and minority culture were attempting to honor their culture’s heroes.

Cultural Pre-Competence
In the desire to provide a more fair and equitable treatment of people of African descent, a high school drama director decides to produce the play Finian’s Rainbow in which the story of a small southern town’s prejudice behavior is portrayed. Because the high school has few if any individuals of the African American race, white students playing roles of black characters are painted with dark stage make-up. In the climactic scene of the play the white leader of the prejudice ideas is ‘turned’ into an African American and his skin is darkened.
The director feels he has made a difference within the community, however small, in spite of individuals playing African American roles depicting stereotypical behavior and making fun of the individuals they represent.

Cultural Competence
Cultural competence is represented by acceptance and respect for differences and continued self assessment of other cultures including your own. A high school teacher asks an exotic looking teenage girl what her nationality is. The girl bows her head and in an ashamed manner, explains that she is Mexican. The teacher takes the time to tell her that anciently her ancestors were a group of strong, beautiful people known as Aztecs. The history of these people are explained and the evolution of their culture is noted. Contributions of Latino culture was expounded on at a later teaching situation where the teacher chose to highlight many of the contributions of the ancient Aztec civilization as well as modern Latino culture.
This teacher demonstrated cultural competence by accepting and respecting the culture of the girl. Providing cultural knowledge and resources with an attitude of respect may begin to open a stronger self image and desire to better understand diverse cultural backgrounds in the girl and her friends and family. Providing information to further accommodate understanding of Hispanic society fosters greater understanding and may lead to adaptation of policy and practice.

Cultural Proficiency
This level of cultural understanding invites both dominant and subordinate group perspectives. To an individual who has achieved cultural proficiency, differences are not only respected, they are viewed as positives and valued as sources of strength. Removing barriors and ascuiring resourses including money, power, time, knowledge, access and influence are activities indicative of the culturally proficient individual. All forms of oppression are recognized as unhealthy and battled against with resistance by individuals who are proficient in multi-cultural living.
In the popular novel The Secret Life of Bees the author creates a complex character in a young caucasion girl runs away from her abusive father and lives with a family of African American women who without question take her in and treat her with love, kindness and acceptance. Her minority status as a female
The young girl becomes a member of the African American community around her. The strong women include a group of African American sisters among them, a sister who is mentally handicapped. This woman was respected for what she could contribute and was not expected to give beyond her personal ability.
The people I have known personally who have achieved cultural proficiency are often mentally handicapped in some way. My downs syndrome sister, my son with Asperger’s Syndrome and Forrest Gump. I love the scene from the movie where Forrest is singing in an all black choir and doesn’t seem to realize he doesn’t quite fit in. Because of his acceptance, he does fit. I know he is a character, but I find it ironic that an individual depicted as culturally proficient is also depicted as less than intelligent.
As a social worker with the goal of being culturally proficient, I have to fight against the objectification of any group of people. I I were to place myself on the scale I would probably be culturally pre-competent. I know I need to move past the feelings of being overwhelmed by the responsibility and the efforts needed to achieve cultural competence and someday, hopefully, cultural proficiency.

Going to Church with the No Moes in Delta

I went to church with my sister-in-law. It was a cute little building that looks more like a house of humans than a house of God. But hey, I understand how it is. I was one of the only moes in a town full of catholics in Illinois. So it made sense to me to go to church with my sis-in-law. She needs family right now. So we went. It was interesting. It is a Christian Community church. There was a woman a few rows ahead of us who was standing and waving her arms around to the Christian rock that was playing over the loud speaker with the words projected on the screen.

It was completely different than anything I had experienced - yet beautiful in its own way. The rock beat seemed out of place to me - yet I was touched by the message in the lyrics to the songs. There was a complete sense of worship in the first 20 minutes as we just sat and listened to the music and read the words on the giant screen about giving your life to Jesus and accepting him. Isn't that what I already believe anyway? There was truth there.

After a while the woman who was waving her arms gave the sermon. There were only six of us in the whole congregation after three of the adults took the kids to Sunday School. The kids consisted of mine and my sis-in-law's.

The sermon was about the apolistic church. The minister's understanding of the word seemed vague. The message was about being an apostle to Jesus and the responsibility we all have of leading in the church. I didn't necessarily agree with it all, but I found the bits of truth precious and interesting.

When I took my little 3-year-old niece to Sunday school, Christian was telling the teacher that he had never been to a Christian Church before. I couldn't believe he still didn't understand that Mormons are Christians but not all Christians are Mormons. We have had that chat on several occasions. I worried about the boys being taught rot about mormons, but not enough to not be there. I figured it would likely foster some interesting conversations and nelighten them toward their own faith. Which, of course, it did.

I felt mildly rebellious for being the granddaughter of one of the town founders and first Mormon Bishops and attending a community Christian Chruch. I wondered if Edward Leo Lyman Jr. was rolling in his grave. Let alone my Bishop brother, Ben, Dad, and other enthusiastic Moes. Somehow, I doubted any of the women would question my choice, knowing why I was there. It was out of love for my brother, his wife and their children. They are getting divorced. They need family support right now. Going to church, whichever church, is something that should be encouraged and perhaps participated in. I love my bro and his fam. I had to do something to show my love.

My fore-mothers wouldn't judge me for this. I don't question their faith in living plural marriage. It took amazing faith to do that. It has to take a truckload of faith for a minister to preach a sermon to six people. Or perhaps, a substancial paycheck. Yet, I 'get' her. She was obviously educated outside of Utah. She refers to Musllims and is rather vague about local issues.

Wow.

Can you imagine being raised in a bigger city in another state and the best job you are offered is in Delta, Utah? The town Robert Kirby refers to as "hell" incarnate? (Brother Kirby has obviously never been to Battle Mountain). Yet she makes statements like, "Becoming a follower of Christ is not about joining a church." So obviously she has done her homework.

It wasn't all that different from the Mo church. After all, we are all people.

Emerson and Black Friday in Zion

Today is the day after Thanksgiving. Wow. We hiked in Zion Canyon. It was beautiful. The fall colors contrast with the red cliffs and reminds me that all I have seen teaches me to trust the creator for all I have not seen. I know. Ralph Waldo Emerson said it way before me.

I wonder if he ever hiked in Zion.

The children are all so beautiful. As glorious in their own individuality as each mountain and majestic tree. I loved the trees. We didn't really get a fall in Montana this year. Jumped right from blazing hot to fridgid then went to mild for a while, but by then, the leaves were just dead. They haven't really fallen off the trees. They just sit there, dull green and limp.

I feel a little like that today.

No Black Friday fun at Walmart for me. Oh no. Had to hike with the fam. Couldn't believe how many others had the same idea. We all looked at each other as if we had nerve to be there in Zion. According to the television, we were all shopping at walmart getting the black friday deals! The traffic was hideous, but worth it for the views and the fun hike.

Philo, Mom and a tv free Thanksgiving...

Doug's alarm went off at five oclock this morning. I was SOOO not ready to be a person yet. In my dreams I was still a building. Seriously. Christian said when bad things happen he likes to be an antelope. For some reason, he thinks antelopes are very small. I guess subconsiosly I like to be an inantimate object that only moves when shaken around by tectonic shifting of the earth's crust. It sounds like I was dreaming I was a building being shook up by an earthquake doesn't it? This was my intent. I can't remember what I dreamed, but it was a good one, I can tell. It will likely come to me while I am preparing my famous stuffing.

Today is Thanksgiving. My mom died on Thanksgiving day 18 years ago. There is always something a little painful about today.

Sometimes, how much we love our families is painful. It physically hurts to lose someone you love to death. I wonder how my sis-in-law is doing without Ben this year. Yet many of us feel alone even in the crowd of our families.

Is that partly why I love television? I get to connect with stories of other lives without any of the sense of loss that comes with real live human interaction?

We are in a Hotel. The kids are in a connecting room. We have access to two televisions. I skipped around the channels and eventually landed on the discovery channel and a series about Hoarding disorder. I learned. What if television actually got to the point Philo Farnsworth had in mind? Education.

Do you know the story of Philo Farnsworth? He was the Idaho boy who invented television. His plan was for it to educate the world. Interestingly enough, it CAN serve that purpose in its present state but only if the viewer has the interest, motivation, and self mastery to allow that to happen.

Teen Flicks, Horror Movies and Family

While I'm traveling around the country over thanksgiving break, I'm stopping in on family members who have access to television. Since I quit watching it, I've noticed a few things about myself when I do watch it.

I'm so much more materialistic when I watch tv. Those commercials makers target me and I take the bait, hook, line and sinker. I sit there and believe that if I don't shop for Old Navy sweaters on black Friday my kids will suffer tremendous loss.

My stress load is increased when I watch tv because I believe I should look like the models and I should bake all the goodies that are advertised. It is not possible to do both, but television doesn't tell you that.

Last time I watched television on a regular basis, I don't remember comedians talking about beastiality. Plenty of other vices, but innocent animals were left out of it. When you watch TV regularly, your senses are dulled on an incremental basis. When you quit for a while and come back to it, you are shocked by the blatentness of it all. I remember when Gone With the Wind came to my home town when I was a kid and my Dad debated allowing me to see a movie with one swear word in it. I remember the thrill of the moment when Clark Gable actually said, "Frankly my dear I don't give...", You know the rest. Last night when the comedian brought up beastiality, my brother-in-law protested that usually this was such a good show. His actually words were, "It isn't THAT bad". I hate being the party pooper and it is even worse when others percieve me as "Holier Than Thou" but don't I have a right to shelter myself as much as others have a right to what they deem entertainment?

Currently, I'm at my brother Matt's house. My boys are glued to a skateboarding contest. Their cousin threatens them with Elmo. My vote it America's Funniest Home Videos. But you can only watch poor innocent men get hit in the crotch so many times before you change the channel.

I have to say, I bonded over a freaky teen flick with my little brother. All the teachers were aliens. We had to chase my innocent son from the room occasionally and eventually watching the worms under one teens skin was too gross to continue. I only watched 10 minutes of the movie and knew exactly how it would end. But I can't get that worm face out of my head. That is the problem with me. If I see something scary, gross or sexual, it stays in hy head forever. And it isn't pleasant. My little 14 year old niece told me how all she watches is horror movies. I seriously don't get the attraction.

Day 81 Without Television...but still have MOVIES!!!

Last night Doug and I were sitting on the couch. We weren't watching anything but our little boys running up and down the stairs in a frantic game of tag/hide-and-seek. I turned to him and said, "You realize if Sponge Bob still was in our home, we wouldn't be doing this."
He commented on how glad he was I agreed to it. I told him I have something to occupy my brain and it makes a difference. Most of our marriage I've been up to my ears in diapers, midnight feedings, and other brainless activity. Not that most tv isn't. And I really miss some things. Not enough to give up.

I've decided to rent and watch every version of A Christmas Carol ever made. So far I've watched Mr. Magoo's and the one from the fifties. Both were amazing. I'm starting to know the lines by heart. It is such a great story.

Planned Parenthood

I had another assignment, from another class, to go somewhere out of my comfort zone.

I was thinking about this assignment one day as I was driving past Planned Parenthood. Being the Molly Mormon Mom of 7, I don’t think I could get any further from my ‘comfort zone’ than that. I pulled into the empty parking lot and went up to the door. There was an entryway and another set of double doors. I walked into the waiting area and looked around. There was seating enough for about twenty and not a soul in sight. It was clean and neat. There were magazines and cushioned chairs.

I imagined what it would look like to a young teenage girl in trouble. It was very un-intimidating. The posters on the walls had little or nothing to do with abortion or pregnancy for that matter. I noticed a Plexiglas partitioned of area and a window. After a few minutes a young woman entered the partitioned area and appeared at the window. She didn’t acknowledge my presence in any way so I approached the window and greeted her. I told her about my assignment and told her I just wanted to ask her some questions. She was friendly and helpful and told me about the services they provide to the community. She said that on Wednesdays there was a demonstration out front and the people were not allowed to enter the parking lot or come within a certain number of yards from the building so they would march, carrying their signs at the corner.

She loaded me down with pamphlets. I smiled at the fact that while I was playing the role of social work grad student, in reality, the likelyhood of being outside holding a sign would fit better for me, personally.

She said that they offer much more than abortion services. One of their important services is birth control. She was pretty and young and confident that she was in the right place performing a needed service. My perspective toward Planned Parenthood changed just a little. People who work there really believe in what they are doing. My opinion is, they are only seeing a little slice of a much bigger picture.

Narrow view, broad path.
Broad view, narrow path.

I don't mean to sound judgemental. I don't judge her. Or them.

But I ache over it all.

Oh Rats!

One of my EFY lectures includes a powerpoint on how sneaky pornography is. But I don't tell the kids that is what it is about. Instead, I tell stories about the rats in Europe that spread disease (bubonic plague) around and they were so plentiful that children were playing with them in the streets. There was an edict to kill all of the cats and dogs so the rats had no more natural preditors. People thought cats and dogs spread the plague. (sound familiar? Aren't we experiencing the same thing in the good is evil and evil is good messages that abound in our day?)

Then I tell the story from the Other Side of Heaven of John Groberg getting the bottoms of his feet chewed off by rats because he didn't listen to his more experienced companion who told him to keep his feet covered at night.

Then I show gross pictures of rats...(my motto when it comes to teaching and reaching teens is to gross them out as much as possible, then when I have their full attention, give them a spiritual lesson), Finally I tell the kids about people who peddle porn. I tell a story about flying into the Vegas airport and stepping off the curb in the parking garage and seeing porn scattered everywhere.

Today, there are people who play with it like children played with rats, not knowing or understanding the spiritual disease it spreads. Of course, the whole idea came from President Hinckley's quote, "Avoid pornography as if it were the plague".

We talk about the plague and what it does to your body and compare the spiritual death people may experience to it.

Friday the 13th

18 years ago today my mom was hit by a car while walking across a busy street. She was in a comma for 2 weeks, we had to take her off life support and she died on Thanksgiving day.

I really hate Nov 13th.

I will now take myself to lunch, call my sisters and eat copious amounts of chocolate.

A Visit Outside of my Comfort Zone

I had an assignment for one of my classes to go to an institution that dealt with social work, a place that was outside of my comfort zone, and write about it.

I went to the Community Crisis Center with my classmate, Eve:

We were met in the parking lot by a man in uniform. He was obviously an officer. Eve asked if we came to the wrong door. He said, “There is no wrong door.”I thought that was a telling statement about the welcoming nature of this place. When we walked into the waiting area there was a young bearded man slumped over, asleep in a chair near the door. The officer seated himself at a desk and continued listening to Jeopardy. The relic of a television mounted on the wall had a blank screen but there was sound emitting from it. The officer answered the question out loud and was correct. Eve and I were duly impressed. We spoke to him about who we were and why we were there and he stepped out of the room to talk to the night nurse about our presence.

A tall man with ragged long hair came in with a large backpack. He sat in the chair right next to me. I assumed he would have a strong smell. He didn’t, but it was uncomfortable. I made every effort not to stiffen. I thought of my introduction to Sociology class. We had a lesson on the unspoken rules of space in public areas. This guy smashed those rules to pieces. I decided ‘turn about’ is fair play. Since he’d broken the unspoken rules of space, I could respond appropriately. I asked him where he was from. All he said was one word, “Crow”.

It was then I noticed two things. First of all, he was Native American. His face was deep red and pock marked with an obvious Native nose, (which reminded me of my mom), and other Native American features. The second thing I noticed was that he was bleeding profusely from somewhere; there was blood on his fingers. I stood up, went into “Mom” mode and said, “You’re bleeding”.

He motioned to his nose and I immediately looked around the room, spied a box of Kleenex and handed him several. A nurse came in and led him into another room to a sink where he could clean up. Another nurse came out into the waiting room and asked us to come back and speak to her. She explained that because of confidentiality policy, she couldn’t have students drop in without prior permission. We assured her we would go but asked if we could make an appointment to come back. She said that would be great.

Before we left she gave us a pile of information about the impact of the economy on the Community Center. These numbers were impressive, but they were only numbers. I thought of the man I had just helped with his bloody nose. The fact that his needs were in jeopardy, (not the tv show), is what mattered. We chatted with the nurse for 10 minutes and she was appreciative of what we were doing. As we left, the Native man looked up at me. I smiled. I still remember the proud, doubtful look on his face. I knew I had connected, in a small way.
We were escorted back outside by the officer. He waited in the parking lot while we got in our cars and watched us drive away. I turned up the heat and thought of my new friend and the cold autumn night.

Understanding

The more you know the more you realize what you don't know and could get overwhelmed by it if you didn't have faith that a loving God is in charge and that is, ultimately, all you need to know. It is painful to experience partial understanding. Complete understanding is sweet because it is the knowledge that our lives are not our own. Ultimate understanding brings humility and awe at He who understands and knows us better than we know ourselves.

God can and does. It is in His wisdom and love we all find strength for the difficulties ahead and peace for the knowledge that He is in charge."

Faith Verses Social Work: Can't They Be on the Same Side?

I had no idea social workers had religion so vehemently taught out of them. Check this out and tell me what you think:http://www.nacsw.org/Publications/Proceedings2008/HarrisTIntegrating.pdf

Monuments, Japanese Internment Camps in Delta and White Guilt

I spent the day in classes. I'm really getting tired. But I can do it. I'm not wasting as much time on television. Grad school should be a snap!

Here is some of what I learned today:

There was a monument put up to honor the firefighters of 9/11. It caused some controversy.

The tribute created to honor the firefighters who lost their lives in the 9/11/01 attack on the world trade center was thought to be more ‘politically correct’ than accurate. It was created to honor all of the fire fighters and meant to represent more than what was depicted in the photograph it was modeled after. I guess I can understand why there may be a few people who would be bothered by it. Particularly, the family members of the men whose picture it was modeled after. If my husband, brother or son was one of the white men who was left out, I suppose my 15 minutes of fame would be non-existent and I can understand why that could be bothersome,
However, the bigger picture seems to be more important. The uniting of a city and of many races seems to be more important than that. But something still irked me about it. So I looked up the story online. I found the following:

"I wouldn't blame those three firefighters if they felt a bit betrayed right now. Historically, firefighting has been regarded as primarily a male activity. Nonetheless, there have been numerous women who actively fought fire alongside their male counterparts. called forth from some bureaucrat's imagination to represent diversity. They did it. Three white guys. So the statue ought to reflect that fact. That it apparently won't says nothing about diversity and everything about political correctness. And frankly, blacks and Hispanics should be just as insulted by this as the white guys whose images are being erased. Maybe even more so. Consider New York City, according to the last census, is home to 8 million people, 26.6 percent of whom are black, 27 percent of whom are Hispanic. Yet a fire department spokesman says that, of its 11,500 men and women, only 2.7 percent of the department's firefighters are black and only 3.2 percent Hispanic. We were attacked, not because some of us are black or some Hispanic, but because all of us are Americans. So there's something inherently offensive in the belief that the image of these three white men must be doctored so that it will represent people with brown skin or Spanish surnames. The truth is, it already does."
Pitts, Leonard. (2002, January 28). Politically correct version of Sept. 11 insults firefighters. (Commentary) The Free Library. (2002).

That article gave me another viewpoint; I guess it helped me to better understand my own. The way I look at it is; if I was a teacher taking a bunch of second graders on a field trip, I would want the black and Latino boys to feel they could grow up to be firemen just as well as the white boys. I guess what bothers me is that history will not be fairly represented in this monument. I think there is something wrong with that, too. If we are going to be completely fair about every race and gender, than why wasn’t a woman thrown in? Can’t little girls grow up to be fireman? fire person?

I think the reason for all the emotion surrounding this issue has to do with the fear white people have of becoming a minority themselves, and retaining their “hero” status. But the loss of truth bothers me.

Speaking of truth, why didn't I ever know about the Japanese Internment camps near my home town of Delta, Utah?

Japanese Internment camps were not widely known about it the 1940s which seems to be a direct result of the quality of media coverage of what was going on in our country. The fact that this may be a reflection of what is happening now and that there are racial attitudes that linger is thought provoking.
I grew up in a small town in the middle of nowhere. There was a Japanese Internment camp in the desert only a few miles from my home. I was unaware of it until just a few years ago when a determined high school English teacher wanted to help people understand the history of our area. Jane Beckwith set up a museum and collected relics from the camp. Today, the children of my hometown study the fact that history was made not far from where their grandfathers were growing alfalfa. Some of their grandfathers actually worked at the camp and one friend told me her family had an old building from the Internment camp as one of their storage sheds for years on their property. She also told me that several of the old buildings had been put to use by the local thrifty farmers. I realized that the internment camp had an effect on the culture I grew up in, whether I knew it or not. I probably played hide-and-seek in an old building some Japanese family was forced to live out of.

Most of the townspeople were clueless, or didn’t care. Not because they were uncaring people, but because they didn't think it affected them. Perhaps Japanese people were thought of as non-people. Which is ironic in light of the fact that Mormons were thought of that way in Ohio, Missouri and Illinois less than a hundred years earlier.
The fact that 1,200 immigrants have been secretly detained in the last two years, and the federal government still hasn’t released any information on their names and whereabouts was appalling to me. Yet there must be a way to limit the people we welcome into the US. I’m not sure what the answers are. Racial profiling seems like a lame attempt at keeping the white in and the colors out. My niece was strip searched at an airport because she has the look of an individual of Arab descent. The irony is, her "Arab" look stems more from her Native American anscestors than anything.

The white majority needs to be aware that if people of other races are profiled, we all can be. It doesn’t seem a fair way to narrow down the flow of immigration. Don't people of every nationality deserve the same freedoms we enjoy? I know this kind of thinking gets people upset, but why am I so lucky to live here? I didn't do anything. I've been to other countries and seen the disparities.

Oh the guilt of being blessed. Guess I need to pass on some blessings.

Justice is fairness – How do we create fairness without understanding different cultures.

To build a successful multi social justice organization it is necessary to include a diverse set of individuals in the planning details of organizations. To do that it is important to recognize that not all cultures teach in their culture the formal “meetings” that the dominant white culture practices.

I was at a meeting with several others. In the group was a rather diverse representation of minority members in the community.
The meeting was taking place in a restaurant. When it was the Native American’s turn to present her ideas, the waiter came in and there was quite a bit of disturbing noise. In her culture – this would have been completely unacceptable. In the middle of her presentation she quit speaking and left the room.

In John Anner’s article, Urban America was described as anything but the Disney World version of a global village. I went to Disney World last year. It was fascinating to me. I loved how perfect everything appeared. Yet I recognize that it was the product of one person’s imagination and dream of his personal ideal. Even in the Epcot center, where ‘villages’ representing different countries, it was only the family oriented ideals that were presented. The negative aspects of the different cultures were not divulged. Lower standards of livings were not discussed nor illustrated. I was especially interested in the village that represented Mexico. There was so much beauty in the little boat ride through the ancient Mayan and Aztec culture. The beauty of the music and art was profound. The colors were breathtaking yet in many individual’s minds, Mexico is thought as an undesirable place unless you are looking for a cheap vacation.

It is an incredible challenge to mobilize and organize and create a society that so many different people of different cultural backgrounds can coincide, peacefully. An international city exists within almost every large metropolis within the United States. The media unites us in ways peoples in the past have been unable to be united.

Living without television for a year is reminding me of the year my sister gave up chocolate. She discovered all sorts of new flavors and still enjoyed fat ridden calorie rich foods.

Not sure I'm really accomplishing anything with this goal, but I guess I'm learning.

My Life as a Sitcom and Shoe Shopping

Living without television has made me recognize just how hilarious my life is. Today for example. If you edited every event in a 24 hour period and just took the snippets of funny for 20 minutes (10 minute commercial time), I would be laughing pretty hard.

You know how much humor is based on degrading others? Well, my stupidity when it comes to losing work on the computer is beyond comical. My attempt to write a scholarly paper on Asperger's Syndrome while talking to my 12-year-old about his lack of friends and obsessive compulsive disorders is beyond the brady bunch style irony. Roseanne, maybe.

Sometimes I get so caught up in what I assume is of value, when what seems to value really doesn't matter.

It is easy to get caught up in society’s ideas of what is of value. I heard a radio announcer proclaim the best way to raise one’s self-esteem is by being complimented by another human being. As the world’s standards continue to decline, what the people around us value may not be what we show. There may come a time when we have to remember and rely on who we are on the inside.

A few years ago my children and I were shopping. We were at a shopping mall in that mode I get in as a shopper. I turn into this material girl Wahoo! You know how it is. So I’m returning to my ancient roots where my husband was a hunter and I was a gatherer. I’m gathering.
That looks good, that looks good.

Oooo. My kid won’t make it through the fourth grade if I don’t have that!
We went in a shoe store. My children were occupied with looking at shoes and my youngest was cooing away in his stroller. Drew was about three months old. His bare little toes were sticking up out of the stroller. I love those baby toes that are so kissable. It was a rare moment to have all of my children occupied with something. I saw a gorgeous pair of tennis shoes. I thought “I haven’t had new shoes for ages; I’m going to get some.”

I was trying them on and admiring the graceful curve of my foot in the mirror. I was completely self-absorbed and lost in my material mode. When around the corner of the shoe shelf came an umbrella stroller and in it was a little girl. Behind her was a lovely young mom pushing gently. The little girl was about three years old and had beautiful long blonde curly hair and bright blue eyes. I was looking at my gorgeous foot in the mirror and saw them out of the corner of my eye. I heard her say “Mommy, mommy, look at the baby. Look at the little baby toes!”
Something said to me “Let her hold your baby.”

I thought, “Well, I’m kind of busy looking at my beautiful foot but, okay.” So I stepped over the try-on-your-shoe bench. It was kind of awkward but I scooped my baby out of my stroller and I bent down in front of this little girl and let her “hold” little Drew. She was thrilled.

You could see all the way to the bottom of her little soul as her entire being just trembled with excitement. She cooed, “Oh Mommy, look at the baby! Mommy, look at him, look at him. Look at his little nose, and his little toes, and his little tummy, mommy!”

She paused, cradling my baby and said, “He looks like the little baby we had, the one that died.”
My heart dropped to my knees! And I totally forgot about my new shoes on my gorgeous feet and I totally focused on this little girl and her mom.
I asked the mom “What happened?”
She said, “We had a baby that just died a couple of months ago. He would have been about your baby’s age.”

Sometimes we get so focused on things in our lives that are not really important. What matters came home to me in a hurry. There are some things that just don’t really matter a whole lot. But there are other things that do. I think that as we connect with people in our personal and in our professional lives we are able to make ourselves more whole. We’re able to help ourselves become what we are really meant to be.

Faith Verses Social Work: Can't They Be on the Same Side?

So here I am in the midst of this getting-a-graduate-degree thing. I'm finding it incredibly ironic that so much of the teaching directed to social workers, (people who have the God-given nature to care deeply about the needs of others), encourages them to NOT believe in religion. In my Social Work History course I am reading about how the original social workers and community organizers and people who made a difference did so because of their belief in God, yet the ideals of my youth are being blasted on all sides.

Finding Faith

Can faith be found in concrete things?
Crosses, prayer shawls, rosary beads
Yamikas, CTR rings
Wayward coins and mustard seeds

Can faith be found in doing good?
Casseroles and bended knees
Doing things that Jesus would
Calming arguments and seas?

Can faith be just a simple thought?
Planted, but not just left there
Just a meager speck of hope
Nurtured, tended with great care

My faith is still rather small
Just a seedling in my heart
It will blossom, bloom and grow
If I choose the better part


I keep telling myself to hold on to my faith. I realize that my belief in God and His children has much to do with why I am here. I could easily just sit around my home and decorate and clean and veg for the next 30 years, but I want to serve. The natural woman in me really just wants to watch television. But I want to overcome Miss Natural. I want to serve because my religion has taught me to.

It takes guts to make a difference. It is hard to put myself out there. Overcoming fear is not an easy thing to do. I remember my experience on a cruise ship a couple of years ago:

Here is a page from my journal in Summer of 2006:

I gave lectures on Alaska this time. It was really fun. I enjoyed it more than Mexico because I know the topic better. I think I did okay. Not really sure.

Let me tell you what it is like to be up in front of a big audience like that. I was in the Stardust Lounge of the Norwegian Sun. It was a beautiful stage where all the big performances are done on the ship. And there was me. Me and a lectern. First of all, I sweat profusely. Every top I wore was practically dripping at the end of the 45 minutes. Deep down I feel like a complete fake. The lovely thing is, the more I fake the better I get at it. So I guess the only thing to do is to keep on faking until I’m a professional. It was fun when I really nailed it. Which I think I did on occasion. Yet I tremble with fear that there are those in the audience who know the topic much better than I. One woman actually said out loud that she was raised in Alaska and seemed very bitter when I mispronounced a native word. I immediately said, “You should be up here instead of me”. I think it disarmed her effectively.

It isn't easy to speak professionally. It isn't easy to do the Grad school thing. But life is so much more interesting if you take the hard road.

Today we lost Brinkley for an hour and a half. It was incredibly scary. It seriously shocked me how much I love that little pup. I was late picking up Sam and I took off in the car, completely forgetting my precious puppy. I usually take him with and if I don't, he chases me until I stop unless I've blocked the doggy door or put him in his kennel.

So it wasn't until after I got Sam I realized Brink may have followed me down to the school! We looked for him on our way home and he wasn't at home when we got there so we headed back to the school, got the other guys and several friends and went on a search. We called and looked all over several neighborhoods. We drove up and down our street several times and stopped at home to see if he had returned.

I was starting to worry that someone could have stolen him. Olivia reassured me that Billings people don't do that. I was so worried not only for my precious pup, but also for the loss the boys would feel. Sam and I were sobbing until he thought of saying a prayer.

I sent the boys searching with a several friends and I took my SD card in to office depot to make some flyers with Brinkley's picture on it. The office depot people couldn't figure out how to download my card and I realized I had forgotten my wallet. I rushed home to grab it. When I walked in the door I called for Brink. I walked through the house calling his name and opening doors, thinking maybe he got shut behind a bathroom door or something. Then I turned around and there he was!!!

I picked him up and kissed his furry little face and rushed out to the car. I didn't want to waste a moment to let the boys know he was okay. I called my friend who had them with her and she and her five children were very relieved. Sam was thrilled. He hopped in the car and I transferred Brinkley to his lap. We picked up the other two boys... and then Sam saw the blood on Brinkley.

His leg and stomach were bruised and there was a deep scratch and puncture wound on one side. I was sick that perhaps I had hit him with the car. I called Olivia again and she gave me directions to the Vet. He assured me it looked like Brink had difficulty getting over a fence or brush or something.

We got some antibiotics and were told to put aloe vera on the scratches. Aloe vera is the best thing because it disinfects without hurting a doggy's system when he ingests it by licking it off. Which of course every doggy will.

Since I don't speak Doggese, I'll never know the details of Brinkle butt's adventure.

But my pup is home, safe and sound.

phee-you.

Believing

I believe in Christ. The problem is, I don't always believe in myself. That's okay, because Christ believes in me.

I Believe in Christ

Who are you? Are you discovering new things about yourself? You have a gentle way of impacting the lives of people around you. If you are careful with the power that is within you, you will make a difference in the lives of people you deal with every day.
There will be times when you are surrounded by others who give into fear. You do not need to be afraid. You have a gift of faith.

I am having the most interesting experience in my Ethnic Diversity class. One of my classmates expressed disgust at the Christian attitude of converting the world to their idea of "correct" behavior. From her perspective, Christtians arrogantly push their ideas on others. The idea of truth and light blessing the world is foreign to many of my classmates. They seem to see Christianity as a wrong culture that is forced on others.

I see it differently. I see my own culture being torn down much the same way Native American's culture was torn from them. I'm told I am wrong to believe in my childhood teachings. The irony of it all is I am attending a University that is run by 7th Day Adventists.

Christians.

I know they don't all feel that way. I wish a few more believers had the guts to speak up so I wasn't so completely alone.

Day 60 of no TV and More About LouElla Jones Bronson and Lilac Holman

305 days left. Today I am going to the Dentist and the Gym.

(later, same day)

My Aunt Ethel told me about Grandma Bronson watching soaps when she was folding those mounds of laundry in her home in Salt Lake. I know the soaps back then were very different then in our time. (Weren't they originally called 'soap operas' because they attracted all the housewives doing laundry?

I've been reading the articles Grandma Bronson wrote for the paper in Junction Valley. She had an amazing mind. I know how much I go nuts if I have to do boring tasks without SOMETHING for the right side of my brain. I came by this attribute honestly!!! I'm proud of figuring out a way to overcome the mundaneness of things but still get them done.Thanks Grandma!!! In a small way, she made it okay. I remember Lilac's rocks. She collected them and created a 'rock garden'. I always wondered about her lovely name. She was labeled a beautiful, sweet smelling flower. I was named after an all-day sucker.

hmmm

I AM rather sweet. he he he

Speaking of which...

I remember Lilac's licorice cupboard. Long shoelace licorice. Candy in the cupboard seems so amazing to me. At my house, candy was kept hidden on the shelf in your closet and only lasted a few days after Christmas or Halloween.

I LOVED milk in tin cups. It was so good and cold and seemed to chill even more in the tin. I also loved going out to milk the cow with Lilac's son, Ladd, later to be the wrestling coach who I was secretly in love with from back in the days when I sat in a corner as a four-year-old and he squirted warm milk straight from the cow across the barn into my open mouth.

I loved the order and the love in Lilac's home. When I visited her in the nursing home in Delta a few months before she died, she told me how she came about doing foster care. She was the foster mom of one of my dear friends. Lori often spoke fondly of Lilac. I know what a difference Lilac made in the life of many young people who had no where else to go. One social worker in Delta told me that when they couldn't place a kid anywhere else, they sent him or her to Lilac and she had them straightened up within a few months. Lilac simply expected us to be wonderful, so we were.

I know that Dad paid her to care for us, but as a child, I just knew that we were loved when we were with Lilac. I remember swimming with her and watching her float on her back and just enjoy the water. She wasn't the least bit self conscious about her elderly body and visibly enjoyed being physically active and swimming. She taught me how to float.

She told me that she started doing foster care because the county people came to her and asked her to do it. Her husband didn't want her to initially but she insisted because they could use the money. I wonder if it was hard for him to share her with needy kids. Yet I always think of Brother Holman, sitting in the background, taking in all her activity and being like a solid Grandpa for us.

Good ole' Earl. What an amazing man to be the solid rock for an amazing woman.

Thanks again, God, for Lilac.
And thanks for Earl too.

How Can You Be a Change Maker?

Mother Teresa said, "Spread love everywhere you go. Let no one leave your presense unless they are happier than when they came."

Okay, so that's kind of a paraphrase.

I want to change things for the better, which sounds like I want to be considered important. Dang. I didn't mean that. I just want to do good. To make a difference in the world.

"Everyone thinks about changing the world, no one thinks about changing herself." Leo Tolstoy

I learned today. I learned about myself. I learned that kindness can be a powerful force. Love can be given through simple little words.

Not great big ones.

I don't know if I will ever change the world, or even my neighborhood. But I've changed lots of diapers. That made a difference.

"We can do no great things, only small things with great love." More Mother Teresa.

I have seven children. That was a lot of diapers. I wonder if that is why they call me the Lolly-Mama.

Grandmothers, Lilac Holman and Prayers

I have to write a 5 to 10 page paper for one of my classes. I'd rather blog.

Hello bleaders. How are you out there in cyberspace? Here in Montana, life is good. I had my nails done today by a curious little man who asked me what I was working on as I was making notes in my textbook. I told him I was writing a paper about white privilege. He asked me what kind of privileges I had. He really made me think about them.

I think he was a Sociology professor in another life. Or maybe he was just pleased a pampered white lady was taking a better look at her lucky life and considering the plight of others. I guess I don't really feel pampered, but I am. After all, I can afford to get my nails done...

...and they look great, too!

I am so shallow.

I remember when pretty nails were a luxury.

Hush little luxury, don't you cry
You'll be a necessity by and by

Love that poem.

As far as tv-lessness, I had a great workout today. Got caught up in a movie on TBS. It was 28 Days with Sandra Bullock. Great flick for a social worker. Drugs. Alcohol. Cutting. They didn't do a great job of editing out the R-rated stuff. I know, because I watched an edited version of it that I rented from Clean Flicks a few years ago.

So I moved that belt around a few bazillion times on the treadmill. Well, 45 minutes worth. Which is good for me.

Who knows, perhaps by the end of my year without cable I will be svelte and lean and mean and running marathons with Dougie!!!

and then I woke up.

I have to teach Gospel Doctrine tomorrow. Yes. I have a new calling. I'm thrilled. No, really. The lesson is on doing your family history.

Genealogy.

So I talked to Joseph about his Gran Lyman. I told him what a great lady she was, that she is where he got his big brown eyes from, and love of puppies, and musical talent. I realized that as I know without a doubt that Drew's Gran loves him, perhaps my Grandmothers love me. I never got to know either of them. Yet I feel a connection to them both.

I think Agnes was the original supermom/homemaker. That is what I like to think of her. Aunt Mary and Aunt Eleanor must have gotten their skill from her, so she had to be. When I think of Agnes I think of the house Daddy was born and raised in that he, Paula, Mary and Luke lived in for a while. It was a charming old place. Hardwood floors. Screened-in back porch. You could almost picture the old crank wash tub on it.

When I think of Agnes I think of hard work. I also think of her being taller than Edward Leo. That makes me laugh. Serves him right for marrying a 17 year old. She gave him tall sons too. I wonder how they felt about their heights. Did I mention how shallow I am?

Oh. You noticed.

Just checking.

When I think of Louella I think of a very physical, thinking woman who never sat still. A woman who loved to use her mind and watched soap operas while she did other people's laundry. I'm a lot like her. Why do some brain-dead activity when you can be entertained at the same time?

I wonder if part of my longing to become a Grandmother myself has to do with the fact that I never got to experience that relationship in this life. Except for with Lilac Holman.

Thank God for Lilac Holman.

Dear Heavenly Father,

Please say "hello" to Lilac for me. Tell her what a wonderful woman she was and thank her for being a part of my life. I love her so much. Say "hi" to my Grandmothers too. I'm sure they peek in on me now and then. I know I don't always make them proud, but I will keep trying. Give them my love. Okay, I will give them my love too by trying harder to be the granddaughter they deserve.

In the name of Jesus, Amen.

I forgot to ask Liz about the poem. Hang in there, my word is good.

Fighting Flu, Perfectionism and Chocolate Cravings.

Sorry.

I know. Its been a while. I've been preoccupied with what felt like swine flu. Of course, the reason I think it's called that is I had the most intense craving of anything chocolate I could find. I ate cookies, granola bars, chocolate chips and more cookies.

Hey, I was carb loading. I had to build up my energy for all the sleeping I did in the last few days. I had some crazy dreams too. I'm analyzing them. I've been reading Freud's dream analysis stuff and thought it may be a beneficial activity for a hopeful therapist.

Christian has finished writing one novel and is on chapter 10 of the other. This is the latest noticed improvement in his eight-year-old life which I believe is the direct result of no television.
I wonder how much more creative we all were if we weren't waiting to see what creative thing was on TV. But I don't necessarily think no television is good for everyone.

I went to the gym 3 times this week...sick or not. NOT because I have the incredible willpower it takes to workout every day. I figured out the best way to get in some television without having it in my home is joining a gym.

I have a free membership for two weeks because I'm a newbee to Billings.

In reference to my decision to give up TV, One of my friends said not to give up oxygen.

As if.

Honestly, I appreciate his concern. I am a bit of a perfectionist...which is never good. the problem with being a perfectionist is that you not only have unrealistic expectations of yourself, you have unrealistic expectations of yourself.

Liz told me she came across an amazing quote about perfectionism. One of her genius twins wrote it...

...I just called both of her phones to get it and she isn't answering either.

Something to look forward to for next time!!!

Day 50!!! Wow...Only 315 days to go!!!

I've been cableless for fifty days.

woopee

Day 49 I'm Losing It

Blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog

Gone With the Idiot Secretary

I just logged on to my class schedule and saw that the classes I thought were dropped, (because of a review board marking the stamp of approval from previous graduate work) were not and the two I have been attending were.

In a nutshell, because of an incompetant secretary, I am three weeks behind in two classes. In a regular program that meets three times a week, (rather than a concentrated one that meets for three hours one day a week), I would be looking at nine absences. I don't think it would be humanly possible to make up the work.

I looked at that schedule and my stomach dropped and I almost barfed all over the computer.
Both professors likely think I am a complete numb-skull and I don't think either of them would even bat an I to giving me a break and letting me make up the work.
On the bright side, I may only be taking two classes rather than four. Six credits as apposed to 12.

More doable, I know, but I was SO enjoying those other two classes and reading like nuts and writing papers like crazy.

Oh, the injustices of life.

If I was a swearing woman, what wouldn't I say???!!!
dang.

Day 48 Winter in Montana

I'm losing my tan. Keturah's genes helped out with my cheekbones and I tan easily but it is fading. I think I need a week in Hawaii.

This morning Doug Junior had his appendix removed. The highlight of the day was watching cable television in the hospital room.

We woke up at 5 A.M.

I need a nap.

Keturah Button - My Amazing Great Great Grandmother

In the tradition of Native American verbal tradition, I want to pass along this story of my wonderful ancestor. I don't remember where I heard it or even if it is for sure true or not but I couldn't find it anywhere on the internet and it is a great memory of a wonderful person...

Legend holds that Keturah joined the Mormon Church, married a white man, crossed the plains with the Mormons, and was rejected by both the white people and the Native Americans in Utah. Being Iroquois, the Ute, Shoshone and Navaho wanted little to do with her. But they appreciated her cooking. She always kept a pot of beans boiling in her yard and any traveler, white or Indian, was welcome to partake of her generosity. One day, the natives were on their way to massacre the Mormons. They stopped at Katurah’s home for food and while they ate, she talked them out of their killing spree.

Many individuals in my family tree were spared that day. My white Mormon ancestors were from Wales, England, Germany, Scotland and Denmark. Included in the mix was a brave Native American. All I have to do is look in the mirror and I see evidence of Keturah’s strong genetic blueprint. Unlike my adopted Ute brother, I was not fed whiskey in a bottle, yet I share my both my forefathers (and mothers) pain of being both victims and perpetrators of prejudice.

How can I make the world a better place? I strongly feel the need to pass on the legacy of this wonderful woman who did so much good just by doing her thing.

Boiling beans.

Have I mentioned I don't really cook all that well? I made carrot soup the other day for a church thing.

Nobody ate it.

So I took it to school to share with my classmates.

I ate two bowlfuls.

Nobody else touched a drop.

I don't think cooking is my thing. But that's okay.

I love to give. I think that came from Keturah, down the lines through my mother. I remember complimenting Mom on her shoes once and she slipped them off her feet and gave them to me.

How very Native American of her.

Of course, she was also an alcoholic. I'm so proud of you Mom. You took both the bad and good in your genetic make-up and lived an incredible life.

I hope I can follow in all the strong footsteps of my foremothers.

Days 45 - 47 School Days are Rockin'

October 10

Today is my brother Ren's birthday. I wish I was there to give him a hug, and a swift kick in the pants.

But enough about that.

I'm loving school. Who knew how much fun graduate school could be? What a breath of fresh air from my hum-drum life.

I learned more from the reading about myself. It was interesting to learn about the mission, purposes and ethics of Social Work. In self-reflection, I recognize that I have a very strong set of values and some of them are likely to change over the course of the next two years. Hepworth et al define values as strongly held beliefs about how the world should be. I definitely have those. They seem to be so much a part of me that I wonder at my ability to be a good social worker when it comes to dealing with people who have different values than I do. I feel like my respect for individuals can help me overcome attitudes of prejudice I may have for others.
I wonder about developing a global perspective. How does a global perspective help a social worker who is dealing with micro-level problems in rural Montana? I’m sure I will figure this out as we progress into the class.

It seems to me that in our reading and class discussions we have this wonderful sense of idealism about how the world should be, then we step out into the world into the reality of practicing social work and the problems are so huge, they seem almost impossible to overcome.

I feel overwhelmed by the thoughts of not being the kind of social worker my clients may need. I am comforted by telling myself, “at least you are doing something”. I feel like the guy on the beach tossing back starfish into the surf one at a time or the lady who plants tulip bulbs one at a time. Point being, I can only do what I can do and can’t get caught up in not being able to change the world.

What I am learning about the code of ethics and basic attitudes of regard for individual worth and dignity are already making a difference in my life. I guess in a way I am learning a more global perspective and how it can apply even in this small community. I had an experience this week in which the readings I’ve been doing for several classes helped me understand a situation and take a good look at my own set of personal ethics.

I was driving in the morning on one of the first icy days of the season. I slid out of control in front of another driver, (who was going too fast for the conditions) and he ended up slamming into a parked car. I admit, I was tempted to keep going, but the whole ‘ethics’ issues we have been discussing in class and I’ve been reading about seemed to be RINGING in my ears!!! I pulled over to make sure he was okay. He called the police while I knocked on the door of the tiny house the car was parked in front of. A man came to the door wearing nothing but a beard, (that reached his obtuse belly), and a pair of jeans, (which he was zipping up). He was swearing up a storm and screaming something about my irresponsible driving. I explained that the roads are slick and accidents happen. I didn’t wait around to be verbally abused but told him the police are on their way. The most disturbing thing about the whole experience was the scared little native American gal who cowered in the background. She seemed to be trying to appear busy but kept her head down. The guy referred to her as his “woman”. My heart went out to her.

According to all of our reading this woman seemed to me to be the epitome of bottom-of-the-totum-pole in a social sense. I wanted to do something to help her. I wanted to know her story. How did she get to be the live-in “woman” of such a horrible man. Not that he is as horrid as he seemed, (it WAS a rude awakening…to have your car slammed into as it is parked in front of your house).


October 12, 2009

In class we sit in a circle and take turns being the therapist and client in the two hot seats in the middle. We call it 'round robin'.

In our round robin the ‘therapist’ assumed the guy she was counseling was married to a woman. In this day and age, I don’t think that would always work. I think a more appropriate way of asking the question would not have been, “what does your wife think?”, but “what does your partner think?”

Mike made a comment that really intruiged me. When he was in the hot seat as the client, he was talking about how difficult it was to not have an arm for 21 years of his life. He said to the ‘therapist’, “Try not using your dominant arm for one day and then times that by 21 years and see how you feel.”

I thought about it. 21 x 365 = 7665. That is 7665 days without an arm. When I got home I spent a few minutes trying to do things without my right arm. It would be even more interesting to go without my arm for a day…or a week.

I have told Mike that his handicap is an obvious one but most of us have handicaps that aren’t visible. I hope I didn’t come across as flippant.

Day 43 and 44 Without Television

I read the coolest sentence in a textbook..."I do not know anyone who has done more people more good with less noise than Miz Wakefield."

Isn't that a great sentence? I think of the people in my life who are the Miz Wakefields. They go about doing not because they expect any great reward but because they just love. The Miz Wakefields I know look forward to the next life. They make other lives better by simply doing their thing.

I have to write about my evolution as an individual...culturally. Here is what I have so far:

The cultural evolution of me

I am a member of a dominant group. I am white, with only enough Native American blood to make me look Italian. But I’m not. I share the privilege and the guilt of being a member of the dominant race. I also was the daughter of a doctor. I didn’t realize we were wealthy when I was growing up. Both of my parents were raised during the great depression. We lived on a farm near an isolated small town. Our home was about a mile away from town on the reservoir. Our family had a boat that we puttered around on. I learned to water-ski at the age of 12. I didn’t recognize this as privilege. I actually thought we were poor because my Dad complained about money so much and was very controlling with my mother. We ate lots of oatmeal and other kinds of cooked cereal. We always had a big garden and ate what we grew. Cold cereal, convenience food and going out to dinner were luxuries that were unheard of in our home. It was difficult to get either of my parents to buy clothing. Having been raised during the Great Depression, clothing was rarely purchased. I often wore my older brother’s hand-me-downs while children of families with less money dressed better than I did.

My family was made up of ten children. My mother gave birth to eight of us and adopted two brothers. Both of my parents were misogynistic. My mother came from a family with five daughters. She had been the tomboy of the bunch and was treated like a boy by her father. She told me once that every time she had a baby and it was a girl, she was disappointed. She was delighted when I asked her to cut my doll’s hair so that it could be a boy.
So when children were adopted, they had to be boys. Of my two adopted brothers, one was Ute and the other was Shoshone. My mother didn’t call them “Indians”. She used the term, “Lamanites”. Being of the Mormon faith, I was taught that my Native American brothers were not only part of our family because we had been sealed to them in the Temple but they were of the tribe of Joseph of the Old Testament. In Mormon doctrine Native Americans descended from a family who crossed the ocean from Jerusalem and were a remnant of the 12 tribes of Israel through Joseph. It was with a sense of pride that my parents adopted sons of Lamanite blood. The Mormon faith also taught that we “gentiles” were responsible to teach the gospel to the Lamanite people.

There were several families in our community who adopted or took in children through the foster care program. They were mostly Navaho and one of my best friends was Julie Bullcreek.
My Ute brother was 10 years older than me. He had dark brown skin and thick, silky black hair that shimmered in the light. Whenever Eddie was mean to me my mother reminded me that as an infant he was fed whiskey in his bottle. There was less expected of him because of his background, likely his race as well.

My Shoshone brother was three years younger than I and had fair skin but the same silky hair. I adored Ren. I never thought of him as Native American except when my parents spoke of it. He was ashamed to be native. Eddie used it against him and made Ren miserable. When I was six years old my mother brought home a three-year-old African American boy. Our local clergyman asked my parents to take him in. My mother doted on him and refused to believe he was a Negro. She said Randy was Polynesian. Eddie hated Randy. When Mom and Dad weren’t home and Eddie came in, my sister and I would hide Randy in the closet to keep him safe from Eddie’s wrath.

The townspeople were horrible to Randy. Ironically, the clergyman was one of the worst. We only had Randy for a year and we had to give him up. My mother cried but said it would be better for him to live in a community where he could be accepted. I assumed he went to live on Sesame Street because that was the only place I had ever seen black children.
My parents had an interesting perspective of other races. They had strong feelings against Japanese because of the experiences friends of theirs had during the war. I didn’t realize until I was an adult that there had been a prisoner of war camp just outside my home town that hundreds of Japanese from San Francisco were sent to live in. My parents detested racism in others and my mother verbalized how sad it was that a German acquaintance could not understand the horror of Hitler’s murder of Jews.

My father was a philanthropist and spent hundreds of hours of his time and thousands of dollars on a project in Guatemala bringing medical care to the indigenous Mayan people. My mother learned Spanish and kiche and interpreted for him in his clinic. In spite of adopting Native American children and bringing health care to thousands, I recognize that my parent’s racism was embedded deep within them. I didn’t realize that I had Native American Ancestors until I was almost thirty years old. Genealogy is a huge part of my cultural background. My parents researched our family tree with vigor and enthusiasm. Our family vacations were often spent traveling to places previous generations lived. My father wrote several books about his father and father’s father and so on. I can name the male ancestors that carry the family name back four generations.

The women were seldom spoken of. After my mother died in my twenties, I was watching a PBS program documentary on photography of Native Americans. Every portrait looked so much like my mother I was spooked. I spoke to my older sister and she told me of my Great Grandmother who had been a full blood Iroquois. I was amazed! I remembered how mother spoke of her mother who had thick, long dark hair that was silky and reached her knees. I realized she had spoken of her mother as Welsh but when I put together my family history I realized my grandmother Luella was Welsh and Iroquois! I have made it my quest to attempt to make up for the travesties of the past by not only acknowledging Keturah Button, but putting her up as an example.

Day 42 you can do it Lol

You knew it wouldn't be easy. Nothing worth doing is. Don't lose heart. Get up, dress up, show up. You can do it girl.

Yay me!!!

This is NOT how I really feel. I feel overwhelmed, overloaded and over-extended. I need a clone and I need her now.

Day 41 Priorities and Delegating

Read out loud to myself for a few hours today. I got TWO different phone calls from friends with family problems who asked for counseling. I'm not sure I'm up to this. I like mental health care when you read about it in books. Not when you actually counsel people.

'Specially people I love.

I also worked for several hours at the school. I get more done there than when I'm home. I get so distracted here. Facebook, dishes, chicken to cook, boys to talk to.

But I've committed myself to be here for the boys. If they are home, Mom is. I can do intense stuff during the day at the school and be here for them from 2 to bedtime.

I'm delegating the reading out loud to Doug, though. I think it will be great for all of them. Christian asked Daddy when we are getting cable TV. Dad said, "We're not."

I don't think Christian was too disappointed. He worked on his book today. The one he is writing. The last thing a creative mind like his needs is Spongebob weighing it down!!!

Day 39 - 40

We made it back to Billings in one piece. Well, technically, several pieces as my children are not technically attached anymore. Physically that is. I love that quote, "Having children is like having your internal organs walking around on the outside of your body." For me, it is really how it is. I ache when they do. It isn't any easier as they age and move out. I bawled my eyes out when we dropped Brianne off at Rexburg. Doug and the boys patiently endured my tears and didn't even tease me...much.

I got on the phone today and invited one of my nieces to move in with us.

Doug found out he was 25 seconds over the time to qualify for the Boston Marathon. He was so cute about getting such a great time. He shaved 20 minutes off his best time!!! What a man.

I had class all day yesterday. One of my courses is on Cultural Diversity. I learned that people should be able to access information in order to feel like they are part of a culture and it should be the rights of all minorities and others who struggle under the poverty line to have the same information as the wealthy. So here I am CHOOSING to be without television. It is freeing though. I may be without one of the ways people have of accessing information and yes, I don't always feel like I fit in with people in my culture but ya know, there are parts of this culture I just don't want to fit in with.

I've had more profound thoughts, but for now, I have to go study. If it wasn't for this television dearth, not sure I would even be doing the grad school thing.

Day 36 - 38 Spousal Support and Dangerous Tree Trunks

I traveled with Doug to Utah to support him and Rachael in their latest marathon run. Go peeps!!! Toenails are for wimps!! While they were running it, I got a pedicure. In honor of them losing toenails, I thought I would make mine pretty.

I also took five of my sister's kids and five of mine and one of their boyfriends to the play, Into the Woods. It was wonderful. Except for the fact that Little Red Riding Hood broke her leg in the first act. At first we thought the blood-curdling scream was part of the play, then Grandma and Cinderella's Spirit Mother came out on stage. Spirit-Mom called for her dad and asked if there was a doctor in the house. The guy sitting next to me went down to the stage. Thirty minutes later he returned and told me that the giant moving tree had moved one way while Red's ankle moved another and her ankle/leg is very likely broken.

We were all very concerned for the little gal. We also had a great time finding humor in the situation. Like the fact that she had just been eaten by the wolf and then cut out of him and did her song and dance about living to tell the tale. I joked that the whole ambulance, doctor-in-the-house thing was because she had been partially digested and was in pain over the whole thing still. You know, it hurts to be digested. Not that I know this from personal experience. You would have to ask Jonah or Gippetto to know for sure. Pinocchio was wood. He wouldn't know.

So one of the stepsisters moved into the role and as they say, the show must go on!!!

I've been reading and trying to keep up with grad school. It is fascinating!!! I'm learning all kinds of stuff I didn't know I wanted to understand. It is storming outside and we have to drive 10 hours today back to Billings.

Day 35

I woke up at 5 A.M. in a cold sweat from a hideous dream. Doug was dating one of my good friends and planning to build a beautiful new home for them to live in.

We will discuss dream analysis later.

I got up and worked on my writing assignment. I researched infant development and Asperger's Syndrome. I learned some pretty interesting stuff. Like the 'test' to know if your infant is an Aspie. According to a couple of docs in Florida, if you tilt an aspie baby at a 45 degree angle he will attempt to keep his head in alignment with his bod. Not so a nuero-typical child.

wo.

Who knew?

Some people have entirely too much time on their hands. However, it is intriguing to better understand how to diagnose these children early. Not that it would have helped us any with Douggie Junior. His mom, (ie, me), was too overwhelmed by life to pursue much more than cooking, cleaning and sleeping.

About the television deficit:
There was a Tsunami in Samoa and Tonga. I saw a shpeel on an Internet feed. I'm so sad for all the families that lost loved ones. Among them one of my good friends I fear. If I had television, I would be in the kitchen puttering right now as the news of all the devastation is blasting through the house. Depressing. It would likely wake up the boys and the day would begin earlier than it otherwise is.

Thanks to the Internet, my head is only partially buried in the sand.

I'm reading "The Little Lame Prince" to the boys. It was one of my favs. I always wanted to grow up in a tower in the middle of nowhere with a magic carpet to ride on when I needed to get out and see the world.

That would explain my tvlessness now, wouldn't it?

Day 34 of Life Without Cable

I read outloud to myself. I'm an audio learner. Maybe that is part of my tv addiction. I like verbidge. I don't know if that is a word or not. But that Tom Hanks movie where he is stranded on a desert island and there is no talking for about an hour really bugs me.

One of our teachers had us take a quiz on what kind of learners we are and then divided us up into four groups and do skits describing how we learn. We had two of the students ask directions to three of the others who told them the direction using visual or kinsthetic learning methods. Then they got to me and I used the verbal method of discribing with words only.

We were rather entertaining. I guess you had to be there.

I found a piano teacher for my boys today. Finally. They are in the basement arguing with each other. Doug Junior's voice is getting deeper all the time. Sometimes it really freaks me out. He is only 12 for heavens sake. I'm so dreading the teen years. I think Sandra is right, perhaps it was inspiration from heaven to lose the television and go to Grad school. The things I am learning will only help with parenting. It isn't that much more expensive than family therapy, psychoanalysis for me and a bunch of medication for all of us.

What is the point of being married to a doctor when he won't get me free drugs?

I know. That really isn't funny. If you know my family background, you know why. If you don't...you didn't live in Delta Utah in the seventies. My mother's perscription drug addiction was the talk of the town.

I miss her. It must have been aweful to be as intelligent as she was in a time in the history of the world and within the culture of Utah. I honestly don't blame her much. Besides, she overcame it. I'm so proud of her. Good job Mom!!!

Do you think angels read blogs? Ooo. Maybe there is a huge computer screen in the sky, (at least at Mom's house in heaven), where if one of her kids is blogging, the words shoot across the screen. I'm not worried. She isn't embarrassed. She is likely sitting down to hot chocolate with Abraham Lincoln and Vincent Van Gogh and discussing the challenges of earth life with Bi-Polar Depression.

Either that or she is teaching the discussions to Farrah, Michael and Billy Mays.

Still Living...

Okay. I confess. I watched a commercial. My cousin sent it to me via facebook. I couldn't resist. It was for a chia bust of Obama.

I also started back to grad school yesterday. It was only slightly overwhelming. I played on the web sites for the different text books. That was almost as much fun as playing computer games.

First Day Back at Grad School

But it isn't "back". I'm starting over again. Man, is it difficult being the new kid on the block. Not the mention the fact that yesterday I turned half of ninety. Wow. If I live to my 90th birthday, I'll look back on this one and think how young I was!!! Me, Brook Shields and Whatzername the Governor of Alaska. See! I'm losing my memory already!!!

Doug took the boys to Yellowstone on Saturday. It was wonderful. I had the house to myself and puttered and cleaned and napped and missed them like crazy!!

Have you noticed I use lots of exclamation points?

I read somewhere that it diminishes the message in what you are writing and you should only use an exclamation point when you have something very important to say that should be exlaimed. Hey. I can't help it if I have profound thoughts that deserve exclamation! or two!! or more!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You are right.
I'll stop.

I am so nervous about this. I hate being new.

Happy Birthday to Me!!!

I'm laying in bed waiting for Doug and the kids to bring me breakfast. It is a family tradition I appreciate more on my birthday than the 8 others in our family. 'Cept of course, it is fun to make it for them. Set up the breakfast-in-bed tray that we have used over the years and make it pretty with cloth napkins, rose in vase, and the food of their choice asthetically placed. I love that we make a big deal out of birthdays.

Besides that, I'm really hungry.

and...It's My Birfday!!!

I love to say that. I don't like getting older. But the alternative is death, so I'll quit complaining.

The reaction of my facebook friends to the announcement of my tvlessness has been interesting. One said she keeps the television on in the background just for the company and seemed slightly insulted that I would deem it a virtue to go without.

Another told me she hasn't watched television for years and feels a little left out when friends talk about the latest shows, but whole heartedly supported me in my pursuit of excellence.

Day 31 Professor Christian

Doug took Joey and Christian to a symposium at which he was giving a lecture. It was for the community and the boys had a great time. 8-year-old Christian wanted to get up and give a speech. I told him he would have to practice for the next opportunity. Where DOES he get his spotlight cravings?

giggle

The next thing I knew, he had taken the cushions off the couch, piled them on top of each other to make a lecturn, and set up all of his stuffed animals in a row so he could practice on them.

Of course, this was following the 2 straight hours of Brady Bunch he watched. (I bought theDVD). Hey, I know that family was completely unrealistic but it is better than Roseann for little boys. Why not teach idealism?

Day 30 without Television...

Don't worry. There is not a stimulation deficit at my house. Christian is pounding - I mean playing - the piano. He has decided to start a talent show at his new elementary school so he can demonstrate his proficiency at chopsticks.

All three boys decided to skateboard down the hill and meet me as I was returning from Costco. Believe me, this would not have happened had Sponge Bob been at their beck and call.

We only have one chapter left of The Outsiders. We all know how it ends, but we can't help but be eager for Ponyboy to begin writing and complete the circle in our under-stimulated imaginations.

Drew is playing in the basement with the electric keyboard. He has discovered Pacobel's Cannon in D. I know I didn't spell Pacobel correctly. I can't help but sound it out in my mind so it rhymes with Taco Bell.

I'm glad they are playing music instead of listening to it. I've had it with Michael Jackson and even the Beatles. Why can't they be more like their sisters and have a sincere appreciation for Scripture scouts and all things Janice Kapp Perry?

I will never understand little boys. I guess that is a good thing. It would likely be more traumatic for our archaically traditional family to have boys that actually liked hearts, flowers and froo-froo primary music.

They LOVE the irreverent versions.

We need to work on their Duty to God awards.

I bought four new books on CD today. I will let you know how they are. I start classes on Monday.

Oh stop. I'll still blog.

Oh c'mon.

Like it will be a lot of work or something. It is only graduate school. I can handle it. I may have to give up a chick flick or two. Or three.

Remind me I said that.

No pressure.

Ghosts of children gone to college
haunt the halls in my abode
Eager lasses seeking knowledge
slow to kiss the waiting toad
Ghosts of grandkids yet to happen
flutter past on angel wings
In my beds they could be nappin'
in my kitching baking things
But my home is bare and lonely
only walls of photos stay
and they mock me for they're only
images of yesterday
I refuse to be submitted
to the hauntings of the past
to the present I'm committed
and my now is fading fast
I will go to graduate school
and so become who I will be
will fluttering wings think me a fool
to leave behind the youngest three?
Angels know their grandma's heart
they are wiser than I am
I must learn the balance art
twixt school and Spencer, Drew and Sam
So I'll juggle and I'll grow
prioritizing as I do
As I study I will know
parenting as scholars do
There will not be homemade breadand
I may have to hire out
But the boys will all be fed
and each will be an eagle scout
When my nest is really empty
I will have a role to fill
cruel self pity will not tempt me
and I'll be a mother still
Is my quest for education
part of an eternal plan?
Is the scope of my creation
filled by doing what I can
to serve and comfort those in need
who haven't been as blessed as me?
Fellow men who I must feed
and doing so bless my family

Understanding Whoopee Cushions and Building Rainbows

I filled my latest hand-written journal yesterday. It was hard to say good-bye to those pages. Within them was the program from Ben's funeral. Finishing the journal made my time with him that much further away. Lori said every day is one day closer to being with him again. I don't have that kind of faith. I'm very stuck in earthly thought.

Like applying to grad school. Here is my personal statement...http://www.wallawalla.edu/form/view/7adcf8d2879f94f36efa48ff3b476df0

Like whoopee cushions. Why are little boys so obsessed with their own bodily functions? I know the answer to that question. I read it once in a psych text book. Or heard it at a parenting conference. It has to do with their fear of inability to control themselves. Kind of the "if you can't beat 'em, join em" mentality.

Okay.

Saturday I took six boys to pizza, laser tag and race cars. We were celebrating Joey's birthday. nine and ten-year-old boys are not quite 58 inches high. How do I know? Well, I'll tell you: At the party, we realized a few of the boys were too short to ride on the go carts. I pulled out my trusty travel sized hair spray, (yes I was raised in Utah...home of froofy hair) and brushed their hair, (which is rather long - as is the style nowadays), and sprayed it so it stood straight up!

They still weren't tall enough. But they looked adorable.

I'm very behind in knowing what is going on in the world. Today at Geyser Park there was a TV on the CNN channel. It had no volume but two rows of stories written on the screen. I sat there and read the news and got depressed.

I'm learning things about myself as I go without television. One of the reasons I knew going without it would be good for me and that the loss of information and the current culture was worth being missed was that I was never much of a news watcher anyhoo. More than that, I knew that my boys have much less control over themselves and the television choices they make than Doug and I do. But I admit, for every BYU TV talk or serious news piece I watched was a sit com. I loved the Biography channel. I will have it again. When my boys are older.

I do NOT miss the countless hours of advertising.

Doug took the boys to a film festival last night. He came home eager to share with me one of the shows which was a parody on the cycle of consumerism perpetuated by television. I just realized that I have a two year break between having kids in seminary. What a perfect time to go to a two year graduate program!!!!! I can do it!

The intellectual spirit is so willing - but my dang weak flesh. I need to talk myself into victory!

Go me!

You can do it!

What a perfect time, too!

No calling in church yet - why not prepare to serve? No need to stress about the time it will take from kids. They are all in school! Classes are only one day a week. What if I thought of earning an MSW as a calling? Not a self - serving thing - but a way to prepare to serve more and better. If I think of doing it for others, rather than myself, I will feel better about it.

There are things I must give up. I will have to spend my reading time listening to books on CD while I clean. I cannot NOT clean. I want to stay married for heaven's sake...literally!

My reading will have to be textbooks - not novels. I will NOT allow myself to let go of reading to my boys. I love that time we spend together. As we were driving to Joey's party, it hit me that my sweet brown-eyed boy is 10, the age of the boy in the song I'll Build You a Rainbow. I hope, if I were to die tomorrow he would be able to say I've spent more time with him in 10 years than most moms spend with their boys in a lifetime.