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.