Becoming Something

Pondering addictions and excommunication and salvation updated

2010-02-02T20:34:09-07:00

I am writing this from the local library on a computer whose interface makes me feel like I'm in 1995. I'm on some proprietary browser and everything is extra-large. Hi, people-behind-me-who-might-be-reading-everything-I-write. How are you today?

For family scripture study this morning, Jude chose a scripture that had something to do with patience. I'm trying to remember the gist of the scripture as I type within the confines of 1995.

I should be working on my book, 'Becca tells me. But I need some warm-up time. I'm not used to this childless freedom and I'm too hyper inside to settle down to purposefulness. As well, this book on addiction is just something I need to read right now.

* * *

Hey, remember when I mentioned I'm reading a book about addiction? About that: Ouch. What a sad read. With the people I've known, the stories I've read, the experiences I've had, and the things that Jude goes through in his work, I'm not easy to shock. But a couple of the stories in this book shocked me. It's astounding at how destructive people can be whilst aware of and loathing their destructive behaviour. Or more commonly, people are caught in spells of motion, in disassociated states.

I already knew that people are prone to addictive behaviours to block out trauma. However, it's news to me that people also seek out behaviours in order to feel their trauma. Isn't that interesting?

In order for recovery from trauma to occur, people need to access their fear and release it. Unfortunately, while we instinctively seek to be freed from our fear, while a primal part of our consciousness seeks healing, we don't actually know how to achieve our goal. So we try out different methods:

alcohol
drugs
sex
love
food
gambling
distraction
obsession

I would think that most people attempt to be freed from trauma by running away from it via one of the above methods. However, some people try to recreate it, hoping for a different ending. I don't understand how this would relate to (for example) a pedophile acting out things that were done to him as a child. I wonder about the cognitive process that takes place in that situation....

The book I'm reading says, "Chronically overwhelmed with emotions, trauma victims have lost their ability to use emotions as guides to figure out what they need, let alone figure out how to get the need met."

As I've been reading I've been thinking of people I know who have done odd things, things that other people find easy to judge, and my heart is broken for the pain that I know must be embedded within; I wonder if they even have access to it. One thing I've learned from personal experience is that a single trauma can affect a person for years because they are not able to feel and manage the pain all at once; it leaks out in little bits throughout their lives. That's the way it has to happen but it's tragic because it means that just when a person thinks she is healed, she is ready for another hit of pain to manage. If the pain is dealt with in a healthy way, it gets easier each time. If pain is dealt with in an unhealthy way, it gets more and more difficult to feel or block the pain until it all comes to a head.

I find it most frustrating that despite knowing as much about my pain, problems, and behaviour as any psychologist has been able to infer, I still go about dealing with the pain in unhealthy ways. I know just as well as anyone what is healthy and what is unhealthy. I'm not doe-eyed; I'm overwhelmed with emotion. Pain is... painful. And unless masochism is a hobby, most people seek the first exit off Torture Highway.

Everyone does this. We all seek refuge from our emotions from time to time. Many, many people do this through food and because it's such a common experience, people feel like they can talk openly about their unhealthy noshing, and even joke about it. "I'm 300 lbs and slowing killing myself though it worries or outright scares the people who love me and interferes with how I interact with people and helps determine the activities I'm able to do but [insert joke about food or being fat here], ha ha ha this is your cue to laugh with me because you identify with this common problem." And people do laugh back at the fat jokester because being addicted to food is not as shocking or pitiable as alcohol, drugs, or the internet, even though it is destructive.

Yet, when we learn about a shocking sex scandal our first reaction is disgust and judgment, and we have no qualms about vocalising these reactions. Why is it funny to joke about food addiction or internet addiction but if Tiger Woods sleeps with a town-full of women we feel comfortable judging him? He can't be really happy or at peace with this behaviour. There must be some dysfunctional self-regard that drives his compulsion.

The only thing that makes an obese over-eater different from someone with a sex addiction is chance. (I could write an essay on that sentence but I'm going to move along here and expound upon that only if anyone wants to argue with my assertion.)

* * *

Of all the destructive things that people do, all the stupid things, all the outbursts, I think we'd be hard-pressed to find pure selfishness as the root of the problems. Sure, people are selfish, but why? It's never as simple as "I chose my pleasure over your pain because I don't see anything wrong with that or I don't care". Never. Even when someone is a sociopath or psychopath, there are good reasons for that. Is it possible that these are brain disorders brought about by neglect or abuse and there will be more forgiveness for people with these brain disorders than there will be for the people who judge them?

I wonder about Judgment Day. Sometimes I get the feeling that some people view things like our coming to earth, God's commandments, and excommunication mainly as a test or filtering process of Good Guys and Bad Guys. Like God made these spirit children and then he wanted to know which were the really good ones and which were the not-so-good ones.

I can't wrap my mind around this idea that God sent us here mainly to test our faith. It's ridiculous. Think about it: We sat (or stood, lounged, did jumping jacks) up in heaven, discussed our plans for mortality and we agreed to take on relationships and responsibilities that we really knew nothing about. (We had no idea how painful this life would be, so how relevant is it that we chose it? It's like asking a child if they want to do a calculus assignment so they can receive a lollipop after-- what do you think they're going to say? Even those spirits who chose Lucifer's plan over Jehovah's wanted to come to earth. We all did. We just disagreed on the terms.)

Then, God removed all of our premortal living from our remembrance. We got sent to parents who barely qualified to raise plants, or, at the very least, were flawed humans who didn't meet all our needs to help us grow up perfectly without any neuroses (because no parents are perfect); we suffered pain and humiliation; we were submersed in a thousand distractions both important and not; we were forced into time, space, and non-telepathic communication, all unnatural to our eternal spiritual beings. Then, if we fail to uphold our covenants-- covenants we make with more desire to keep than raw ability to keep, covenants we make without really knowing what we're getting into, without knowing how difficult the future will be, trusting that we will want our eternal reward even if right now it doesn't sound all that desirable (possibly)-- that's it? We failed the test? God allows thousands of obstacles to litter our path and then when we give up, we don't love him enough or we didn't have enough faith? It's just that simple?

One could argue that if people fail to keep their covenants it's simply because they weren't reading their scriptures prayerfully and they weren't praying, yadda yadda, but,

with all the people who have been disfellowshipped and excommunicated I'm skeptical that every single one of them was not reading their scriptures and praying, and
some people are just really, really damaged, period: even whilst doing the things they're supposed to be doing, they can be doing things they're not supposed to be doing because their dysfunctionality simply overrides their desire to be spiritual and obedient.

We're told that the Lord won't tempt us more than we can bear but the reality is that we ALL, at some point, lack enough faith to believe in that. And what counts as a temptation, anyway? Everything that is difficult? And what does "bear" mean, exactly? I've never met one person whose only sinning came from not knowing what was right. We all do things we shouldn't do, knowing we shouldn't do them, so if that doesn't prove that by giving us this existence and allowing free will to have reign that God has given us more than we can bear at times, then it at least brings the meanings of "tempt" and "bear" into question. Everyone knows what it's like to give up on something and, whether large or small, I'm not sure that the thought process to giving up differs between people. So, if we all give up on something, how can we judge that which our brothers and sisters choose to give up on? I would think that when people give up on something big and difficult -- like striving for a temple marriage when you feel as gay as a blue Spring day -- that it should be easier to understand and forgive than when someone gives up on something smaller and easier, like reading scriptures everyday.

Is it possible that God's understanding is greater for some of the bigger sins we might commit? I don't mean that he'll be more lenient -- because consequences are for our own benefit -- merely, compassionate, understanding, sympathetic.

That said, we are told that Christ is merciful. I think of my uncle who molested me and think of his abusive upbringing and I feel forgiveness and mercy for him, wanting him to receive the same reward I might one day receive if all goes well. And I'm just a mortal with pride issues and a limited view of my uncle's life and no insight into his heart and mind. So imagine how much more merciful Christ will be, he who knows exactly how my uncle felt, he who knows the limitations of his understanding and intelligence. If I would be willing to let my uncle into heaven if he wanted to be there, why wouldn't Christ?

I do believe that there is a strait (straight) and narrow pathway to heaven. However, I don't believe that even those of us who know all the motions required will need to reach the end of that narrow pathway in this life. I don't believe that the teachings and strivings and choices available in the spirit world are for non-LDS people only. I don't believe that even dying in a state of excommunication is the end. I used to think that and I don't know why. Maybe because of the scripture that whatever is bound or loosed on earth is also done so in heaven?

However, what does that mean, really? It's in reference to the power of the priesthood but even the power of the priesthood given to men does not supercede the power of God, or the power of the Holy Ghost. Ordinances have been performed by unworthy priesthood holders without needing redoing because it's the Holy Ghost that witnesses to it and sanctifies it. Surely, excommunications have taken place because the letter of the law pointed clearly to that conclusion while the priesthood leaders did not know the heart of the matter because maybe the person being excommunicated didn't even know.

Our leaders work with the best information they have, not always having all the relevant information. We don't always have all of the relevant information for why we do the things we do.

So, of course, the Lord has the last say. And thank goodness because I trust him completely.

This is all leading to my belief that the main reason we came to earth was not to be tested to prove that we really, really love God, but to fill the measure of our creation, become wise and experienced, and to truly know love and compassion. God doesn't need us to prove that we love Him. He already knows that we do and those who act like they don't have just forgotten that they do. One day they will remember all, and whether they are with Him or not they will love Him and want to be with Him. I'm not so sure that He needs us to prove by our actions that we're good, either. Our actions could signify much or very little. Only He knows our hearts.

We come here clouded in forgetfulness and sometimes shrouded in misery. Then, even when we think we've connected all the dots in our own lives or the lives of others, between stimuli and response, we miss some. We might make huge mistakes. But they're not necessarily the end of our stories.

All these commandments are less about testing and more instructions on how to be happy, healthy and strong, and how to not hurt each other. Is it possible that the Mormon sound bite that we came to earth to receive bodies and to be tested and tried refers not to testing by way of being under trial with one of two results at the end, but rather assessment and identification? One can be assessed without that assessment being the actual pass/fail test.

I just don't see Christ saying to us, "Erm, sorry. We added up your results and you failed the test." Like C.S. Lewis says, the doors to hell are locked from the inside. If this is true, then the doors to heaven must be open wide and we won't go in only if we choose not to. We'll be given many chances to choose to because Christ and Heavenly Father want us there. Their arms are open wide.

There are many mansions in our father's kingdom, the scriptures say. The path to exaltation, the highest degree of glory in the Celestial Kingdom might be narrow, but there are other degrees to be found where there will be learning and growth and love and joy and I believe that some of the people who will be there will be starting out with only the ability to want to be there and the discipline of being perfect will come in graduations. It only makes sense.

I don't believe that God's predominant personality trait is vengeance. I don't believe that he judges us as harshly as we judge ourselves or each other.

(I don't have a sex addiction in case you were wondering. But if I did, that would be okay because it would just be where I was at, and probably for good reason. Our spiritual ailments matter less than what we're doing to overcome them. Even baby steps is good enough.)

(Katie thought this was a weird and out-of-context comment. I just thought that this is what I would speculate if I read a post like this. Also, I thought it would sound funny, which, of course, it doesn't because it's out of context.)

Daily Gratitudes

Sarah our temp nanny. She is funny and a go-getter and fabulous with our kids. And it's so much fun to copy each other's accents.
The opportunity to remember what it's like to sit in a library for hours just to read, research, write and to not be responsible for anyone. I remembered being a student and I missed it. And I came home feeling so much more patient with my kids, and when Daisy asked me to sleep with her in my bed I didn't feel like she was tearing me away from my writing. I wanted to be with her to cuddle. I usually don't at the end of the day.
Jude making me laugh via email and Twitter.
A nice gospel discussion with my friend Ron.
New friends.

Verdict: The Happiness Project actually was depressing

2010-01-25T16:23:55-07:00

A short while ago I started a blog post by saying that I was depressed about the book The Happiness Project. I felt that I knew what the book was about and that I could have written it but now that it was written by someone else, my idea for a self-help book was taken. I said I was "depressed" as a humourous play upon the title of the book -- it seems counter-intuitive that a book about happiness would make someone depressed, right?

Except now that I have finished reading the book, the joke's on me: I actually am depressed about it. It was a sad read, in parts, because it was abundantly clear to me that the author doesn't really understand the secret of happiness. I don't feel like the book came to any conclusions on how to be happy in a lasting way. I think the book managed to get published because she was already a published author, so she had connections, and because the publishers were cashing in on what author Gretchen Rubin mentions as "stunt genre journalism", in this case, doing something for a year and then writing about it.

Before I delve into my criticisms, the book was not without merit. There are little nuggets of inspiration, like when Gretchen drastically improves her drawing ability by taking a class that gave her profound anxiety. I would be surprised if anyone could read The Happiness Project without feeling inspired to go outside her comfort zone and do something new.

But the inspiration ended there.

Basically, Gretchen wants to be happier. Her husband doesn't understand why she wants to be happier because she seems happy to him but it becomes clear before long, as she describes many insufferable habits and traits of her own, that she's not really happy.

So, instead of digging deep, getting at the root of her issues, she makes monthly theme resolutions, travelling the surface streets of why she's obnoxious, putting a superficial band-aid on her flaws.

This is not a book to read if you're looking to identify with someone else's unhappiness to have a "light bulb moment" about your own, unless you really are so uncomplicated and flawless that your only source of unhappiness is not enough extra-curricular busyness in your life, in which case you don't need to read a book to solve that problem. If she were relaying her poor behaviour so that she could follow it up with an explanation of the root reason for her behaviour and what she realised about herself and how that realisation changed her, then this book would be a worthwhile pursuit. Instead, it reads like a confessional journal, a list of sins and the penance that followed, and the lack of profundity made me sad. I felt uncomfortable for her knowing that this self-flagellation was not bringing her any lasting insight into why she was unhappy with herself.

For example, on page 266 she starts,

"... I realized I had one particular characteristic that I urgently needed to control: I was too belligerent. The minute someone made a statement, I looked for ways to contradict it. When someone happened to say to me, 'Over the next fifty years, it's the relationship with China that will be most important to the United States,' I started searching my mind to think of counterexamples. Why? ....I know very little about the subject."

She goes on to say that criticizing is "deliciously satisfying", that it made her feel more sophisticated and intelligent. She describes herself as a "know-it-all" who strives to drop literary observations to appear intelligent, a "topper" who tops other people's stories with a bigger and better one, and a "deflater" who finds something negative to say about things that other people were excited about.

On page 269 she describes the difficulty she had with trying to squelch her inclinations,

"Giving positive reviews requires humility. I have to admit, I missed the feelings of superiority that I got from using puncturing humor, sarcasm, ironic asides, cynical comments, and cutting remarks. A willingness to be pleased requires modesty and even innocence -- easy to deride as mawkish and sentimental."

On page 272 she describes a situation where her daughter is throwing up and she asks her husband to get a towel. He brings the towel and she says, "Folks, that was not the fastest action we could have had." She then asks why she tossed out that negative comment, but doesn't give the answer.

Answering the whys proves difficult for her throughout the book. She's able to narrow behaviour down as being prideful (and I admire her for her frankness) but she doesn't analyse the source of the pride.

So, without really knowing (or divulging) the source of her problems, she decides that to fix these character flaws she will give up drinking because it enables her belligerence, and she will force herself to be like Pollyanna for a week, including wearing a bracelet to remind her to remember about "Pollyanna Week". Pollyanna Week succeeds in cutting down her negative comments for that week and has "lasting effects" later, which she doesn't describe. I immediately noted the irony in going about being less negative by... negative reinforcement. "Stop saying negative things." That's not a positive approach. It's like trying to lose weight by saying, "I hate being fat. I'm going to stop being fat," instead of "I miss feeling thin and I'm going to be thin again."

(And besides, my theory is that the people around us will well tolerate our negative attributes if there are simply more positive ones than negative. Everyone is negative sometimes. We don't need to zip our mouths and be as perfect as impossible. We just need to be more positive than negative. If we're enthusiastic a lot of the time, people will forgive us for being critical some of the time. If we are frequently celebratory of our friends' successes and interests, people will better tolerate when we indulge in self-absorption for a while.)

Why didn't she just work on being more loving? Because, by her own assertion, it was "vague" as well as being harder to fake. Negative comments were easier for her to spot and measure. It's easier to stop doing something bad than to start doing something good, but... if you can succeed in being more good (instead of merely acting more good), then you have a more lasting change than the one you have by merely willing yourself to stop being bad.

As well, giving up drinking and getting more sleep is great, but not everyone who drinks or is tired is belligerent. Why is she this way under the influence when some other people are silly and more gregarious when they're boozy or tired? She doesn't ask that question.

It seems to me that the source of many of her problems is basic insecurity. She resolves early on to "Be Gretchen" and throughout the book when she runs up against insecurities, the insecurities are solved by her mantra to "Be Gretchen". So, the lesson here for the reader, when having troubles with insecurities: Be yourself. Problem solved. Why didn't you think of that, Reader?

At one point (and I can't find the page) she asks "Why?" about her behaviour and then says she has no idea.

Finally, she admits that her Happiness Project made her more judgmental of others for not being happy.

I wonder if she would have had the discipline to keep up with all her resolutions, if she would have challenged herself to take a drawing class that gave her panicky anxiety if she was not doing it for book fodder. Without the resolutions, there would be no story to tell, really, so it seems that the book is in existence for the book's sake.

The strange thing is that she's obviously a very intelligent woman who seems introspective enough that I do believe she is capable of getting to the heart of the matter of her problems, of asking the important questions and getting real answers. I just don't understand why she didn't do it for the book. I guess it just wasn't the style of book she was looking to write or HarperCollins was looking to publish?

Further, what made me sad was reading of Gretchen's struggle to love herself and others in a pure, unshakable way that comes from God and comes from a deep-seated knowledge of the value of another soul. She describes her life as having been fairly easy, her childhood being happy, and she even sounds insecure about that in about three places where she wishes she had hardship to draw on to give herself "legitimacy". I suspect that her happy upbringing is why she struggles to have true compassion for others without having to talk herself into it so much. Compassion is hard to come by without experience. It's easy to have an intellectual awareness of the need to cut people some slack, it's easy to repeat to one's self: "Everyone is doing the best they can." but it's quite another to feel that understanding of another person's soul because it comes from a place of experience.

On page 259 she said,

"Along with a more humorous attitude, I wanted to be kinder. I'd considered kindness a respectable but bland virtue... but researching Buddhism, with its emphasis on loving-kindness, had convinced me that I'd overlooked something important."

Important? Ya think? Wow. "...a respectable but bland virtue"? That really threw me. In my world, and in much of the world's religions, kindness is a branch of love, which is the most important commandment, the flavour of life, our raison d'être. How can kindness ever be bland as an idea or a manifestation?

"I wanted to practice loving-kindness but it was such a vague goal -- easy to applaud but hard to apply. What strategies would remind me to act with loving-kindness in my ordinary day? ...Perhaps mere politeness wouldn't engender loving-kindness in me, but acting politely would at least give me the appearance of possessing that quality -- and perhaps appearance would turn into reality."

Am I the only one who sees the problems with this paragraph?

The entire book is sprinkled with talk of "strategies", with wishful thinking, with "perhaps"s and "maybe"s and "acting". Is it possible that she does not see that true happiness does not come from acting kind but being kind?

On page 275 she says,

".... if I keep my resolutions and do the things that make me happier, I end up feeling happier and acting more virtuously. Do good, feel good; feel good, do good."

Again, she describes "acting" instead of "being". Tsk. And besides that, how is this a revelation worth publishing a book about? Hey, this just in folks: If you keep up resolutions for things you know you should do, it will make you happier. So, keep up your resolutions, okay? Tell us something we don't know, right? Like, how to keep those resolutions without merely gritting our teeth and digging our heels in. I know that if I would be kinder to Jim-Bob that I would feel better and that feeling better would then make it easier for me to be kinder to Jim-Bob. But how do I get the momentum to do something I don't really want to do, and won't he sense the falseness anyway?

This is why she finds it so easy to judge other people's behaviours -- she doesn't focus on the heart, she focuses on the outward appearance. If it's so easy for her to change her behaviour (um, easy because she has to or she doesn't have book fodder), then other people should be able to as well.

This was the only preconceived expectation I had when starting this book -- that she would strive to change herself by merely digging her feet in and, with sheer willpower, change her habits. I was otherwise expecting to enjoy this book. I am blown away by its superficiality and its inability to inspire me or to change anyone in a profound, lasting way. Its methodical layout, its quotes from philosophers, its articulate writing, and its New York Times bestseller's list placement does not trick me into thinking it's a life-changing book. The only reason it changed Gretchen's life was because she was writing a book. It serves as more of a mostly humour-less journal, really. It couldn't even be categorised under "self-help".

I find it profound that in the last chapter she asks her husband if her happiness project has made him happier at all. He answers, "Nope." Then she says, "But he had changed" and explains all the changes. But... that doesn't mean he's happier. Maybe he wasn't happier because he was already happy. Maybe he was happy being the kind of man who doesn't reply to her emails. Maybe he was happy not doing the things that would make her happier if he would just do them. Maybe he was happy in his imperfections... and hers. Maybe it's just Gretchen who thinks that happiness can be found in resolutions, in gold stars, in being likable.

I felt like I was reading my own journey to discovering the secret to happiness, from when I was in my early 20's. At one point I actually thought it would be a good idea to make a list of all my negative qualities and all the bad things I did. Why I thought this would be beneficial escapes my recollection. And maybe it's this reminder that made me so sad. Maybe if I didn't identify with what I see as her confusion, I wouldn't even notice it.

I think it's the idea of happiness that attracts people enough to make this a best-selling book. Bite-sized blog posts about the topic are interesting to most of us, but I expected a book to be more substantial.

(Needless to say, I am no longer bummed out that someone else wrote my book. The Happiness Project has made it easier for me to write what I need to write about, to fill in the gaps, to explore the human psyche, as pretentious as that sounds. Am I qualified? Sure. What makes Tiger Woods qualified to teach about golf is that he's good at golf. I'm good at introspection and answering tough questions honestly. My friends should expect much badgering from me for their experiences and opinions. :-) As well, there are many works to read as reference, such as Voltaire's Candide. So far, I'm only about 5000 words into my book writing but I have an outline and an inkling and a nanny. I just need some sleep, some time, some privacy, and a writerly mood. It's the passionate mood that's so hard to come by and without it, writing is so excruciating and never as good. So, we'll see.)

"In the dark hours when others were asleep..."

2010-01-23T11:32:07-07:00

Really must update my Fave Quotes page, above, and add this to it. In the meantime, I draw attention to it with its own full post:

“In the winter, in the dark hours when others were asleep, I found these words and put them together by their appetites and respect for each other. In stillness they jostled, they traded meanings while pretending to have only one.”

-poet William Stafford, punctuation mine, emphasis mine.

Those 50 words, arranged as they are, do something to me. They well me up with emotion in my chest and in my eyes.

Had to share.

I will not be persuaded, urged, encouraged, or manipulated

2010-01-22T13:13:04-07:00

Jude, my gym trainer, phoned me not long after leaving the house for work.

"Hi."

"I just dropped the kids off at school. They were all walking back because the buses are not running."

"Because of the fog."

"Right. It's easy enough to see in town, I could understand the country buses not running.... Anyway, you might want to listen a local radio station to find out if they're running by the afternoon."

"Well, I would just phone the school and ask."

"Oh. Okay. How are you feeling?"

"I'm tired. I was thinking of going back to bed, actually." Amusing, since I went to bed early and slept like a rock.

"You should do five minutes of exercise, whatever you want, so that you feel like you've earned your nap."

"Ah, see, I don't feel bad about having a nap."

"Uh... yesyoudo."

"No, really, I don't."

"Yes, you do feel bad, you're just in denial. You've been in denial for so long you are not even aware that you're in denial."

I laugh. "You're just saying that because you think five minutes of exercise will perk me up so that I won't want to have a nap."

"No, I'm not. Just do it."

"Uh huh. Have a good day, Nike."

"Okay, I'm on the highway now. I'll let you go. Love you!"

"Love you, too."

Happy 11th wedding anniversary, Hon. Thanks for the laughs and for dancing in the kitchen and for bringing me breakfast in bed and for help with raising my children. Thanks for growing a beard for me. Thanks for teasing me and for taking my teasing with a fab sense of humour. Thanks for always asking before coming home if there's anything I want you to pick up and for bringing home chips without derision, without comment even, if I ask you to. Thanks for letting me make my own choices and not criticising me for them or even rolling your eyes. Thanks in advance for letting me buy whatever I want at the Indian restaurant tonight -- in advance, it was delicious.

Daily Gratitudes

Good friends.
Lovely blog commenters-- thanks for all your sweet words the other day. I store them for when I need them most.
IT'S THE WEEKEND. Ugh. Felt like such a long week.
I am done with Bell Canada forever and ever, amen. Finally.
It's my anniversary. Been looking forward to going out to dinner for a month. Then Adult Games Night at the church. Nice name, I know. I've already reached my joke quota.

Inviting you to my funeral, please review programme and rsvp

2010-01-21T09:39:03-07:00

I have decided to die. Eventually.

I am hiring a fancy letterpress maker to make me some invites for my funeral. But while they are being produced, I am giving the people who matter most, the real people in my life -- my blog readers -- an advance programme, here, on my *blog.

* Said with reverence.

I was formerly planning on gene therapy until Christ comes. It's expected that in 10 years or less, the human genome will be sequenced, on an individual basis, for only $1000. We will be able to find out what diseases we're expected to get and then we can prevent them. I'm sure I can extend my time long enough for Christ to usher in 1000 years of world peace (which I've always assumed won't include death but will be followed by direct translation to heaven).

But... ehn. To be honest, Earth? I can do better. Earthquakes, frigid winters, temptation galore, and do you realise how many calories are in a single whole wheat and flax seed tortilla? 200! I can't stand for that. As well, I figure I get a head start in the spirit world, on all of you, if I leave first so, because I'm competitive, and because of tortillas, I've decided to just die.

It's tough to pick a date of death. I never realised before how much there was to consider. If I die in spring, summer, or fall, then my loved ones, in their immense grief and suffering, will miss the joy of these beautiful seasons and will just move right on into winter so really, their whole year will be like a winter, as everything becomes a blur of Natasha barrenness. (Not Baroness, although I don't mind that nick name.)

If I die in winter, that's just compounding grief and misery to the point where people might off themselves. And remember, this is all about me getting a competitive edge in the spirit world. I can't have you dying near my time of death.

I've decided that June seems fair because the kids have the summer to mourn, so it won't interfere with their university educations, and most people have vacation days saved up. I will wait until after my sister's birthday, to be nice.

So, as they say, save the date:

June 16th 2029.

It's a Friday, leaving room for a funeral on the weekend. I don't want to inconvenience anyone. Or, if you're happy to have a good excuse for time off work, maybe we can make the funeral on Sunday so you can have Monday and Tuesday for travel time? Let me know in the comments; there's still flex room.

I hope you like France because that's where I'll be living then, for part of the year. In part so that all my American friends will have to visit France if they want to attend my funeral and then they'll see that they've been brainwashed into thinking France is evil. I am a Teacher even from my coffin, you see.

I'm thinking Bordeaux because it's close to the ocean but then, do I really need to be tempted by all that wine? Like life isn't hard enough already. So, location -- I'll get back to you on this. I don't have to have a location yet; the point behind "save the date" announcements is to say "we don't have all the details ironed out yet but we DO know the date so save it".

Even better, I'm giving you the date and an idea of how much money you'll need to save between now and then for the plane fare. With inflation, I estimate you'll need to save around $23,500. Perhaps you can get a night job bagging groceries?

I am inviting you and one guest. I wish I could allow more guests but I'm expecting it to be packed and that's a lot of food prep for me.

Do not send flowers. Please don't waste your money. Flowers die and my family are unlikely to appreciate the reminder of my absence. Plus, there's that plane fare, remember. Ouch.

You may bring food as an offering but if you bring a casserole, what are you even doing at my funeral? You clearly don't know me at all. If you bring a casserole I will assume that you are mocking me to my family and my spirit will possess the body of the nearest vicious animal and I will whoop your heiny and you better hope that animal is not an elephant or a tiger.

The funeral will take place at a Latter-day Saint chapel because -- I don't know if you've heard this -- I'm Mormon. I know it's not always abundantly clear, but I think I give a pretty good idea. I mean, there's a LOT of coffee and wine, among other indulgent activities, that I pass up, so don't forget that about my good example. Not a good party religion but what can you do?

I won't be cremated. I like the idea of being able to see a person after they've died, to make sure they're dead, and to say goodbye to a concrete something instead of an mystical spirit that's who-knows-where ... even though they look horrifying. But I won't look horrifying. I'll be freshly dead because it will all be planned and my make-up artist (emphasis on artist) nephew Mathew, who by then will be doing make-up for movie stars, will come do my make-up and I will be the hottest dead person you ever saw. You will have death envy. Mathew is qualified to make me look like a space alien so surely he can make me look like a hotter version of myself.

You may take souvenir photos with me in my coffin. Vince Jones and Julie Duggan will be the event photographers and will make sure that my hotness doesn't get the better of you. No make-out photos, okay?

Now, there's a rumour online that Boyd K. Packer, in a talk about the unwritten order of things, instructed against members deciding funeral programmes and making them about the person who died instead of about The Plan of Salvation, but 1) LDS.org has no record of this talk so I can only assume he was spouting off his own opinion there, if he really gave that talk, which he probably did, and, 2) I don't care. I'll be playing the convert card until death.

So, in my last gesture of convert free will, the tentative programme will be as follows, unless my bishop at the time wants to risk being haunted and I have a feeling I would be really good at haunting people:

Opening Hymn: You Don't Bring Me Flowers by Barbra Streisand

Pianist: Harry Connick, Jr. or, if unavailable, Pam Thompson

Opening Prayer: Katie Klute, who will, of course by then, be Mormon.

Eulogy: John Burton.

I'm thinking that Jude, the kids, Louise Burton, and Katie, will be way too broken up. In fact, if they're not bawling their heads off I just might reconsider my position, repossess my body to come back and be even more wonderful and doting so that when I later suddenly vanish they are just destroyed -- mere skeletons of human beings -- for at least a full miserable year. I mean it. I was planning on being a bit of a jerk before my funeral so I wouldn't be missed so much but baby, I could turn on the charm so much that they would rather be burned at a stake than live one day without me. I don't recommend tempting me: Cry for me, Argentina.

John will hold it together, he knows me well, and I have a feeling he's a good speaker. I certainly think my eulogy demands the dignity of a posh English accent, don't you? I know he's a good writer so, he should have no problem writing a eulogy using only song titles. You have lots of time to work on that, John.

My Goodbye Video: Me. I have lots of jokes like, "Whoo, it's hot here!" and other such nonsense. I'll start out being all funny and then I'll pretend that it's all about you and tell you how much I love you and how much I'll miss you and I'll bear my testimony and be sooo spiritual so that you're just blubbering. It's gonna be awesome. Wear waterproof mascara, Mathew.

Closing Hymn: You're Gonna Miss Me When I'm Dead and Gone by Muddy Waters

Closing Prayer: I don't know. I'm thinking people who want to say the closing prayer should put their names in a box before the service starts and the bishop can draw a name. No cheering and running down the aisle when your name is called, though. That's bad form, duh.

So, the after party. I'm going to rent some really gorgeous hall, lots of stone and wood and big windows, and it will be decorated prettily, similar to what I would do for a wedding reception do-over. At least once you'll play For the Girl by The Fratellis and I'm counting on Sara, Katie, and Louise to rock the joint. A mic will be set up and everyone can take turns revealing my secret works of service and telling about all the thoughtful and lovely things I said and did and all the gifts I mailed wrapped so perfectly with poetry tape, and be sure to mention how delicious the funeral food I made for you is -- I like that. Always compliment the cook. The theme will be "Gush". You can't overdo it. Remember, this is for my children, so they can warm themselves in the coming years with the memories of how loved I was at my funeral. However, do not feel compelled to spend more than eight hours on this. And if Jack Johnson keeps insisting on singing songs he's written about me, just humour him, okay? He gets like that, all attention-grabby.

Mike and Brett will be responsible for live tweeting all of this. Don't be too smartassy, okay, guys? I was nice to you, remember.

For parting gifts I'm debating between "I was at Natasha's funeral in 2029!" tee shirts and tattoos. Maybe some nice earrings with my initial on them?

Please RSVP so I can know how much food to prepare. Thank you.

Warmly,

Natasha.

Daily Gratitudes

I have a warm, pretty home, albeit small, but I kind of like that.
I have a hardworking husband.
My son is developing a great sense of humour. He loved this post. When he laughed at the first hymn selection I said, "Why is that funny?" and he said, "Because you told them not to bring flowers!" He's SO sharp. I think we're going to be great friends when he grows up. It's moments like these that make me happy because there are many other times I just don't relate to him.
People who inspire me.
The Writer's Almanac. I recently started re-listening, reminded of it by my friend John. I used to listen to it in my high school English class every time the period fell at 9:00. It was my favourite part of the day; Garrison Keillor has the warmest, richest, loveliest voice of any human. He is exactly what I would imagine God to sound like. My teacher would put it on every time, without fail. We would talk after about Garrison Keillor and Prairie Home Companion and would bond. He gave me a REALLY good mark on my poem comparison essay between She Walks in Beauty Like the Night and She Was a Phantom of Delight, which are practically the same poem they're so alike, that one must have copied the other. But really, I think he just had a crush on me and this was confirmed by the somewhat creepy hug he gave me when I graduated and then I later heard that he exchanged letters with fellow-graduating student Lisa, wherein he was flirty, and also he later crashed his car drunk driving, which doesn't further my theory about his crush on me, it just added to the general picture. Also, he wore this giant elastic to hold his glasses really tight up against his big bald head. I don't know why I didn't go for that.

Some classy person sent me an anonymous letter

2010-01-20T20:18:29-07:00

Blog fodder doesn't get any better than this and I've been experiencing some profound writer's block so thank you, anonymous-writer-whose-identity-I'm-quite-certain-about. But if a reader recognises the handwriting, and wants to confirm my suspicions, by all means:

Man, my cuticles look nice here.

As soon as I saw the envelope with the fake, uncreative return address I knew exactly what this was. (And to be clear, because I didn't include it in the photo, the attached card was to a psychiatrist in a nearby city.)

Not surprisingly, I have a few things to say. :-D

There's the question of what prompted this. It could just be the culmination of many annoyances. I think I'm someone you either love to love or love to hate and I'm content with that. Imagine being someone who most people are ambivalent about?

Or, more likely, it could be my rant on my Facebook wall about Christmas letters and people in my life who just don't care enough. ?

Classy Letter Writer, have you not been paying attention? Have you not heard me mention that I've seen a few therapists? Do you not know that I was seeing a therapist the summer of 2008, something I've mentioned on this blog? Oh, you didn't know that? Then you don't know me well enough to be sending me a letter, duh. It's very simple: If you don't know me, don't assume that you know what I need better than I know, or than Jude knows, or than my best friends know. That's just stupid and you wouldn't want to be stupid, would you, because you can't get professional help for that -- you just might be stuck with that. If you do know me well enough to know this information, to know that I make regular mention of how messed up I am, then you didn't send me this letter with attached business card of a psychiatrist because you genuinely thought you were telling me something I don't already know. You had a different motive. Which brings me to Thought #3:

Why not tell me this in an email or through Facebook? Why not send me a message saying, "Natasha, this may not be my place but I'm worried about you. Are you okay? You sound angry lately and if I'm getting that from what you say publicly, I can only imagine how badly you must be feeling privately. If I'm wrong, I'm so sorry. But if you are, is there anything I can do to help? Do you need someone to listen?" I would never get offended over such a message, nor would I lash out even if you caught me in an angry mood.

There's only one reason that a person would not speak to me like a big girl about her feelings: She doesn't want to help, she wants to hurt.

And if she's really just stupid, and the extraneous exclamation marks are not a sign of emphasis to mean, "you freak" at the end of her sentences, then why not be specific? I need help how? What do you think I should bring up with this psychiatrist? What in me have you noticed needs helping? I mean, if you really think that you can know what I need more than I know or anyone close to me knows, and that this gesture is a sincere and helpful one, then why not be as helpful as possible and be specific?

Like, carp, your letter came thiiiis close to opening up my world to the freedom of psychological paradise but because I'm so dense and unaware of myself I don't know what to get help for, and now I'm in a panic because all I know is that I have a problem and I don't know which one and I can't write you back to ask you because you marked your address as 132 Mye Place, [Nearby City], Alberta, H0H 0H0! I was blissfully unaware I had any problems and now I know I do because you say so and I don't know which ones! Oh, what Endless Hell of Wondering! Oh, Lord, please send the holy ghost to this woman to inspire her to send me another, more specific, letter!

Clearly, this was an effort to hurt me. Oh, honey. If I had your address I would send you an anonymous letter with superfluous exclamation marks and a Book of Mormon, letting you know that you need spiritual help and where to get it.

I have never done this to a person, nor would I. I tell people what I think if I think they really need to know. I try to be nice about it. I never deliberately try to hurt anyone, and whatever faults I have, I am clearly better off than you, CLW. I would never think it was my place to tell anyone that they needed psychological help unless they were a close friend, spouse, or offspring and it would be done under a banner of love. (Like, how stupid is my husband too, that he's unaware that I need help or is such a wuss that he wouldn't tell me?) (He's pretty unhappy about this, by the way. Which is the only thing that makes me mad: making Jude sad.)

It's not coincidence that the two most important commandments are the most difficult. Charity is hard. But I actually know that charity is something I'm pretty good at. There's certainly room for improvement, but ask my friends. Their names are safe in my home. We love them and don't criticise them, ever. We don't gossip about members of our ward. We don't tear people down. There's a couple of people who sometimes drive us crazy but we try not to indulge in criticism. One of us always reels the other in.

I have a strong personality that could be grating, especially to insecure women who find my confidence obnoxious because they wish they were so confident. I'm not everybody's person and that's okay. I don't blame you if you don't like me because I have an idea of how I can appear from the outside looking in. But because I know how I am from the inside looking out, I'm at peace with any perceptions. I'm passionate and opinionated and with all my many flaws (more than even you, CLW, know about) I still manage to think I'm great. That could be annoying, I understand. BUT, I am one of the most loving people you could ever meet. I am very generous and sincere, and I would never, ever send anyone a self-righteous anonymous letter or email, especially going out of my way to get an actual business card. I can't imagine spending so much energy hating someone that I'd want to send them a letter I'm so sure would make them angry/hurt/embarrassed that I can't sign my name to it. I don't hate ANYONE that much. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.

So, this letter had the inadvertent effect of making me feel better about myself. Classy Letter Writer: Don't quit your day job.

I have issues? Yes, that's kind of what my blog is about: issues that a lot of people relate to, and how to get over them. And I know you read my blog-- it's why I'm writing to you here since you couldn't let me know your contact info. Let's examine why I have issues:
- I was raised without a dad. When I did meet him and live with him, he had little to do with me and has drifted in and out of my life, not contacting me for two years, then phoning, then not again for two years, until I finally told him I never wanted to hear from him ever again. Not having a dad seriously messes a person up. The ways are innumerous.
- My father figure, my grandfather, was an abusive man who hated nearly everyone, who terrorised his wife and kids, who instilled within me hatred for people, especially "stupid" people. He was a horrible example of how to be, a thoroughly unhappy person, and has passed on many negative traits to me which I've fought to eliminate -- not that they're all gone.
- My mother was a teen mom, not ready for kids, single, depressed, often neglectful, usually emotionally abusive and sometimes physically abusive. I hate to say anything negative about my mom, especially since she did way better than her parents did raising her, but they're facts and they are largely responsible for why I might "need help".
- I was sexually abused at age 10 by my uncle.
- I was raped at 15 or 16, I don't remember exactly when but it was around my 16th birthday.
- I left home at 15.
Read the archives.

Again, I have issues? I WONDER WHY. I have been working on my issues since I was seven years old. I read Marianne Williamson's A Woman's Worth and Stephen Covey's First Things First when I was twelve. I know my way around the self-help circuit. Just because I'm not all sorted out yet, just because I'm visibly struggling sometimes, just because I don't care if people know it, doesn't mean that I'm not working on things behind the scenes. Because I'm so self-confident, despite being loopy and occasionally emotionally unhinged, doesn't mean that I don't think I have any problems. It just means that I'm okay with my flaws. Occasionally I get down, like the other night when I felt like a failure at everything in my life, but usually I am at peace with myself because I know that I'm doing the best I can and that I've had a LOT of crap to deal with. More than you will ever know. More than that little list suggests. So, why sweat it?

And every single time I go to a psychologist, I do most of the talking and they tell me how amazed they are at how well-adjusted and introspective I am. Doesn't help me out at all, so I give up and keep on doing what I'm doing. My friends are great listeners and great encouragement and tell me where I'm going off track. I have a near-perfect relationship that I've BUILT with my husband (hey, how's YOUR marriage, CLW?) where I can tell him whatever I'm feeling, even if it's that I like that female friend of mine a little too much, and he tells me what he thinks I need to work on and neither of us comes away with hurt feelings.

So, given all that, seriously, what more would you have me do to please you, hmmm? Become perfect overnight? Shucks, if I could....

I trust that this will help you sleep soundly tonight. You can stop worrying your pretty little head off about me, 'kay?

Kisses!

Sincerely,

Natasha, conspicuously.

Edited to add this quote from my friend Katie T's Facebook page: "I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best." -Marilyn Monroe

(Boy, tomorrow's funny arrogant-schtick post about my funeral is really going to look like it had something to do with this letter now. It's already all written and was written before I opened the letter. And I love that my 10-year-old son laughed his head off and totally got the joke about the flowers. Stay tuned. :-) )

Things that make me want to take my own life

2010-01-20T09:35:06-07:00

Commercials.
"Party line" commercials.
Furniture commercials.
Car commercials.
Mascara commercials. (How stupid do you think I am?) (Somewhat, but not that much.)
Box hair colour commercials.
Repetitive news pundits.
Television journalists with their phony earnestness and dramatising.
"Trend spotters". Because WHO CARES? Market researchers care. So tell them. Not me. I don't care. I like the suspense. Another short sentence here. And here.
Reality television.
YTV.

I hardly watch tv anymore. I remembered that I hate it. Grey's Anatomy, House, Lost and the dance portions of So You Think You Can Dance are all I routinely watch.

But sometimes I watch The Colbert Report or The Daily Show and remember how much I love them.

A must-see clip of The Daily Show, if you're Canadian (might work for rest-of-world too). Slays me and describes exactly what I hate about television.

If you're American, you can watch it here and I think you would skip forward to minute 8:05. See, I can link to the clips I want on the Canadian site, rather than linking to the whole show on the American site. Oh, Canada! True north strong and free.

Stole this photo from Comedy Central's website. Because I liked it.

Daily Gratitudes

The warm weather lately has been great. Ugly, but great.
My friends.
Reconnecting with old friend who's great to talk with and super enthusiastic.
My daughters' tacky clip-on earrings arrived in the mail so they can stop pestering me about that. Now about this Barbie guitar....
The generosity of my husband. I would think he was a freak, too-good-to-be-true, if I had just met him. But after 13 years... it's legit.

I finally know what to write about for my book

2010-01-07T20:36:59-07:00

Okay, okay, okay. I read between the lines of what many of you said to me in comments to my last blog post, and said to me privately, and took from it the encouragement that I need. You're all so sweet to be so earnestly encouraging. Kisses and hugs from me.

First, I need to make clear that my last post was a bit confusing. I made it sound like I was depressed. Probably because I said I was depressed. Really, I was slightly bummed out but I used the word "depressed" just because I thought it was funny to be "depressed" about a "happiness" project. What-- you couldn't read my mind? I really make my own amusement too much of a priority. Must work on that. Sorry.

So, even though I intended to focus on my near-future goals, even though that was the whole reason I went to the computer to write a blog post, you all commented on the first part of my blog post. My bummed-out-ness was the title of the post and, comprised much of the post so I could see why you focused on that. Gosh, you're so smart.

I don't always think things through.

Okay, so here's what's up:

I've been thinking for a while of writing a book about how to be happy, although I didn't think of it in such simple terms (not that there's anything wrong with that). And I knew that I didn't have the concept yet but that it would come to me when the time was right. I've been very frustrated and listless alternating with restless because I knew that there was a Something for me to do but I didn't know what it was and didn't know when I'd figure out what it was. I'm a pretty impatient person so I haven't been tolerating this lack of direction very well.

So, then I came upon The Happiness Project (didn't even know it was a best-seller-- had never even heard of it before, I'm just that good at spotting a great book) and instantly knew that it was what I could have written. And I thought that my Something that would have eventually come to me was taken.

But of course if that was true, I wouldn't have been feeling this call to an up-and-coming Something.

I have known since I was like, 12, that I would one day write a self-help type book or a memoir thing. I'm telling you, I've known this. Just like I knew I would have a gifted kid like my son. Just like I've known a lot of things that have come to pass.

I started my blog for three reasons: 1) to share accurate information and heartfelt testimony about my church, 2) to practise my writing, 3) to work out self-help stuff. I've used it as a dumping ground, though, lots of times. Which I think is fine. But, lately I've been feeling like I need to do less blogging and more reading and serious writing; I just didn't know what about.

Today, it all came to me exactly what I am supposed to write.

I think I actually might be inspired by God to do this. I have a preface mostly written, half in my head, half on paper-- paper, even! (I only write on paper when I'm desperate. I let the kids go on the computer and I hand-wrote stuff down, which I hate to do. That's commitment and the need for immediacy, right there, people.) Also, I have an outline for three parts.

I mean what I said in the comments that I can't just write The Happiness Project II. Not only is a reputable publisher not going to want to publish it, but also, I think that would be egotistical. I'm not writing a book just to write a book. If I'm going to spend that much time and energy writing something I want it to be relevant. If my book is not needed, if there's not a gap in the market, then why bother?

I can't live with a book being both unneeded AND unsuccessful.

As far as I'm aware, there is a gap.

And even if I can never get anyone to publish my book of awesomeness, I can always self-publish and sell it and help a few people and write something great for my kids and grandkids and I will feel like I did what I felt called to do and it was good enough. I can live with good enough.

I'm extremely tired and exhausted and my hands aren't typing very well but I'm so excited that I had to write this down before bed.

I'm nervous, though. Because I tend to give up when the going gets tough. Sometimes giving up is useful and the right thing to do. Usually not, though. But I was never taught to not give up. My mom let me quit everything. She did my school homework, even up until grade 9. And the example that was set before me was to quit everything. Seriously, if I made a list, your mouth would probably hang open. So, to work at something, to have faith, to not give up, completely goes against all my experience.

I'm pretty sure that at some point here I'm going to want to give up. Please, if you have any sway at all, any powers of persuasion, don't let me give up? I promise I will remember your encouragement and list you by name in my credits. :-) In my credits of my little book that I will self-publish (or not, if I'm lucky). ;-p

Depressed about The Happiness Project

2010-01-06T23:35:33-07:00

I'm kind of depressed about this book The Happiness Project. (See photo and link in my sidebar.) It's absolutely, totally, easily what I could have and would have written if given another year or so. Now it's too late: Someone else wrote it. I just finished reading the intro and the entire thing, almost, is full of conclusions I've drawn or would have drawn. I could have written this! Even the cover is similar to what I would have had, except my background would have been white, or green, not blue. Dang. Now what will I write?

The writer, Gretchen Rubin, shares some reactions she received toward her plan to spend a year studying her own quest for more happiness. Her husband was confused because she was already happy. Really? Is there something so confusing about a person wanting to be even more happy?

A dough head at a cocktail party told her, "No offense, but what's the point? I don't think examining how an ordinary person can become happier is very interesting."

WTH, right?! My mouth hung open.

"And anyway," he persisted, "you're not a regular person. You're highly educated, you're a full-time writer, you live on the Upper East Side, you're husband has a good job.... I don't think you're going to have insights that other people would find useful. I think you'll find that your experience doesn't translate well."

I only read the cover of the book and knew exactly what sort of book it was, why it was written, and that I would very much identify with it. In fact, I've been privately been formulating a similar plan as her to-do list.

She talks about making a chart to monitor her goals and progress. I do believe I've heard of and ignored such a concept, more than a few times. But maybe she's onto something.

My blog is sort of a such-a-thing. I have that to-do list there that taunts me. "You haven't even made pesto yet, Natasha. What a sorry sack of internet-savvy you are. It's just basil, oil, garlic and pine nuts! Helloooo!"

So, I'm playing with the idea of... setting highly specific... goals? Hmmm. I might have to ruminate on this.

I do know what I want more of but for some reason I feel like I'm fighting against quicksand to get it. I'm a very excitable person and when I get an idea into my head I'm always the one who has to inspire everyone else. That's the way it's always been. I'm a little tired of it. I want someone to inspire me. I want a partner to achieve things with. Jude's not really excited about the things I'm excited about; he's on his own time line, has his own worries. Maybe having Sarah, our temp nanny, around will be just a little bit of a boost, so I don't feel like I'm trying to do and achieve everything alone.

Already I have:

given up diet Coke. It's been well over a week. I never kept track because I didn't really decide to give it up. It just happened.
been lifting weights and doing callisthenics
been eating frequent small healthy meals and snacks
have been eating hardly any sugar
been reading more
been spending way less time on Twitter

In the next three months, my goals are to:

try these recipes: beet and cauliflower latkes, saurkraut latkes, berry "paté" (but without the orange peels-- gross), crispy kale (because I'm low on iron and find the pills, er, unpleasant, and I've heard twice now that this is surprisingly yummy. When you're not eating junk regularly, simple food becomes yummier, so maybe. After all, I've been snacking on raw kale lately.), cauliflower tomato cheese bake. I cook tasty vegetables but I do the same things over and over. I'm trying to be adventurous here.
become a better swimmer
finish my grain mill painting
with Sarah's help, finish my present for Rebecca and John
finish all the small jobs around the house, like putting the towel rack back up, painting over patched marks, etc.
do more thoughtful things for people
cash that gift certificate to the day spa, the one Jude bought me in November of 2008, and get a one hour relaxation massage
start seeing a physiotherapist and get my arches and calves fixed so I can run
learn the Single Ladies dance and rehearse it with pregnant Elisabeth and her bearded husband, record it, YouTube it.
write more-- not blog posts
read more
make a cool yard snow sculpture with Sarah and the kids
take more photos
maybe open an Etsy shop. Maybe.

So, that's my own Happiness Project. I do have other, private goals-- spiritual, marital, etc. But these are the ones for which I'm soliciting encouragement.

Do you have any of your own? I can ask you about them in a month, if you want, to see how you're doing. I wish there was some other way I could motivate/encourage/support the people I love in the goals they want to achieve. Like, maybe become Oprah-rich and host a big fancy gifty party for everyone who achieved a goal. Alas, I can only think to ask you about them and shower you with genuine approval. :-)

Daily Gratitudes

My son turned ten years old yesterday. Ten! Geez, I vividly remember being ten myself. We went for dinner and to the book store and the kids were all angels despite being tired. I was proud and adoring.
Lulu said to her preschool teacher and class today, "My mommy always looks beautiful." I learned this when I arrived to fetch Lulu, with my hair in a very disheavled pony tail, my jeans sagging three inches, no make-up on, and teeth unbrushed. If only Vogue was as easy to please.
Jude let me sleep in today an extra hour.
Yummy, healthy leftovers.

What I will do when the nanny arrives

2010-01-04T15:27:31-07:00

I have the luxury of having a nanny come live with us in February and March, a lovely cutie of a girl with a strong and adorable British accent. I don't need a nanny, really-- it's not like I work or anything-- so this is going to be super lush, like getting a vacation in places. I've felt a bit guilty about having someone do my job while I dote upon myself. Then I remember that I entirely deserve it.

Here, the rough concept:

1. Sarah will help Jude get the kids ready for school in the morning, making sandwiches and perhaps some breakfast, while I sleep in. I will, however, have to drag myself out of bed for family prayer and scripture study which we have before Jude and the three kids leave.

2. Back to bed to read and slumber, or just read and write.

Books I am not reading: Les Misérables.
I am more than halfway through and Ron was right: I give up. It's just not worth it to slog through pages and pages of bit characters who mean almost nothing to the story. Perhaps if I had drawn up a storyboard before commencing, but in the end I would have to cross out 95% of the characters, including Napoleon himself, as being completely irrelevant. So, what kind of a book is that, I ask you? A mere test of determination and a notch on my belt? I have read through and understood most of more than 560 pages; it's like getting the epidural for my last childbirth: I've proved I can be the hero steeped in raw, earthy womanliness, now let's move on to other things. I will say it loudly, without apology: Victor Hugo was a masterful failure of an editor. NO WAY would that book make it past any editor today.
And if I say that, it must be true.
Books I am reading:

(Click to enlarge. Thanks be to Tracy S-B. for buying me Pen on Fire. She'll get a mention in credits of my first book. Hopefully she will live another 50 years to see it.)
I never see myself curling up in bed with a Kindle. Honestly, it's the difference between a vibrator and a human. If you prefer the machinery, maybe you're just not holding the right book in your hands. Or, I suppose, maybe you're pressed for time and space, like on the subway or in a closet or a back alley... wherever you like to read (it's really none of my business).
I like the feel and look of a good book. I have a preference for everything: The size; the satiny smoothness of the cover, or the roughness of the letterpress cover, as is the case of A Room of One's Own, below; the size and style of the font; the raggedness of the pages (suitable only for literary or historical topics, not science or business or even modern lit, thank you). I like to leave highlights and thoughts and comments on the pages and I like to borrow books where someone else has left his or her own markings, a casually sketched map of heart and mind.
My favourite ever book cover:

Talk about beautiful handwriting. Also, I love handwriting in pencil markings and I love the different fonts on the different pencils, varying sharpness of the leads, varying heights of the pencils, like city skyscrapers. See how the sticks of the little Ds curl to the left? I might start doing that. Handwriting can be a decision, you know, and I may have decided to adopt that style.

Letterpress!

So, those are some books I am reading depending upon my mood. I have decided, for now, that I do not need to take classes on writing to learn how to write. Like my son, I merely need to read the kind of writing I want to write and it will soak in. My theory is that reading is the best way to learn new words, the best way to understand different devices, if you notice them, which I think I do. Reading is, of course, how I learned to spell and how I learned in grade school to properly use a semi-colon. Reading is why, like my son, I sometimes adorably know the meaning of words but not their correct pronunciation. Although, I do know the difference between an umlaut and an oomphlat when I'm not distracted by other things.

For now, I feel achingly compelled to read and we'll see where it takes me.

3. I will, on some days, or maybe even every day, go swimming in the morning. It is on my bucket list to the right to become adept at swimming properly rather than say, flouncing about in such a way as to only, almost miraculously, fail to drown. I'm not that bad but it painted a good picture.

4. On Mondays and Wednesdays, Sarah can drive Lulu to preschool, an easy drive, and she can fill my volunteer spots. I'm a little worried at how she'll handle driving on ice and if she'll remember to stay on the right hand side of the road. I've imagined taking her for a test drive and it was scary. Hopefully reality will be more promising.

5. Sarah will help me cook healthy snacks and meals. It will be fun to have company and also to teach Sarah to cook. I'm also going to have her frequently bake things with the kids because I hate to do it but like to eat baking.

That's as far as my imagination has carried me. I suppose we will wing things from there. I do like to wing things because while it may be easier to fail it's harder to know that you've failed.

As for Jude being alone with Sarah, I'm not worried. (Mormons have this guideline-- not a commandment, but a guideline so ingrained that it might as well be a commandment-- to not find themselves alone with someone of the opposite sex, ever. You'd be surprised at how easy it usually is to accommodate this guideline.) But, of course, Jude will be "alone" with Sarah with the children about, the oldest turning 10 tomorrow. The chances of Jude falling in love with a cute, 19-year-old girl with a perfect little body and an adorable accent, with whom he has nothing in common? I'd wager about 2%. The chances of him doing anything inappropriate? 0%. I'd bet my and your children's lives on it. So, I will sleep in and I will relish the rebellion of it.

I just need some ideas for what Sarah can do with Lulu so they're not bored.

I also need a working laptop computer. And an iPhone. And a cabana boy to massage my back when it's sore from all the in-bed slouching.

Daily Gratitudes

Giving up diet Coke was a cinch. Because I wasn't actually addicted, see. I haven't had any for a week or so and I only occasionally crave carbonated acid, not the actual caffeine.
Jude is patiently my gym trainer for Project Fit and Fine By My Last Day as 29. I was a tad snotty to him the last I did squats and he was a doll.
Today I invented something magical: vanilla yogurt with fig spread mixed in.
The weather is fairly warm for January winter.
My computer and internet connection is fast.

2010 and a mild panic attack

2009-12-31T00:41:50-07:00

Wow, writer's block much?

Did you have a nice Christmas? I did. A lovely, simple, content, snowy white Christmas. Nice lead up. Glad it's over. I took down our decorations on Boxing Day.

Now I'm supposed to get excited about the turning of a new year. People typically even get together to party out the last seconds of a year-- never mind a whole decade-- but we have no plans; we never do for New Year's. If the coming of a new year included a money shower, or an alien visitation, or a flash of neon pink sky, or a freebie pass for boozing and schmoozing, then I would reconsider my outfit and location. Alas, I can only look forward to flubbing my cheque dates for a few weeks.

One thing I'm happy about is being able to finally apostrophise the year from four digits to two digits. (Nearly certain I made up that verb. Good on me.) Did anyone ever write '00? It's just too ridiculous. It's an embarrassment upon... All of Time, or something like that. Even worse was saying, "the Zeros". Anyone ever say that? Of course not. The '80s, the '90s but not the '00s, nor the Zeros, nor the Oh-Oh's. Finally! We're in the '10s! The Tens!

What an awkward decade that was.

I feel like I should write something about resolutions and new beginnings, something cliché. But I'm starting to get annoyed with this New Year's resolution thing. I mean, EVERY YEAR. Can we get more predictable? What if I don't want to resolve to anything in January? What if I want to wait until April when I become a new year? What if I want to wait until July 16th because no one pays it any attention?

Well, so then don't, you might say.

Uh huh. Well, in church on Sunday, the talks given were all about goal setting, as if it's a commandment or something to improve upon ourselves. Which, okay, it is a commandment but is it a commandment to do it on New Year's? No. It was a VERY ANNOYING high-pressure-salesman Sunday. For me.

And it's not that I have no resolutions. I totally do. But I think I've made them less cheerfully this year than I have in years past. You see, they felt like options in my twenties. Now that death is looming ever so closer, now that the lines between my eyebrows have become wrinkles that I can see in photographs, I feel forced into becoming something. Do or die kind of thing.

The truth is that this decade will bring more choices and I'm nervous about that. In my twenties I was breastfeeding and changing diapers and cleaning messes and I knew I was making the best choices I could with my time because they weren't really fair options. It was Feed Baby/Let Baby Die. I'm smart enough to figure that one out.

Now, my thirties around the corner, my children are self-sufficient enough that I have soooo much time on my hands and I feel paralysed every day by choice. This year I feel like I'm birthing myself into a new life and I don't entirely know how I want that life to look. What I birth for myself affects my family, too, so there's that to consider.

There, that's what I'm feeling: fear. Fear of distraction, fear of frustration, fear of failure, I guess. Mostly I'm afraid of wasting time. I'm afraid of starting down the wrong path and figuring it out after the blisters have set in and I'm even more wrinkled and sagging and puckered. What if, five years from now, I realise that it's my destiny to become a naked weather forecaster on Fox TV? And it will be too late!

I have all these things I want to do and no clear idea on how to do them and no one to turn to for advice and mentoring. I kind of miss the days when people were paid to care about me. Where's a high school guidance counselor when you need one?

So, I've been feeling restless and queasy for a while. That's why I have nothing to write about. I feel blah. Blah and restless and nervous and confused.

Happy new year!

Daily Gratitudes

I will certainly have lots of time in February and March to figure something out. A friend from the UK will be coming to nanny. I don't really need a nanny but she needed the opportunity and I could really make some good use of this time if I want. So, actually, that scares me too. I feel a lot of pressure to do something great with all my free time.
Jude took extended holidays so it's very relaxed around here with everyone home.
I'm glad to have a well-heated home in winter.
I bought myself some fabulous books for Christmas.
I experienced the most stunning winter day two days ago and since I didn't blog then, I am mentioning it now. Here are some photos I had to share of the amazing frost. My aunt saved the first photo from my Facebook album and put it on her Blackberry and said she thought it was a frosted leaf. No, that IS the frost. The frost built itself up in layers to make furry crystals, inches thick, hanging off of thin, delicate grasses and twigs.

Who Knew? by Cy Densham

2009-12-21T20:42:21-07:00

Shattered panes of understanding
This is not how things should be!
Self comprehension denied at once
Why try my hand at this?

For days and days I've been so sure,
Chemistry a simple slave,
Yet intellect provides no cure
When impulse be my bride.

Come seven hours or twenty minutes
(Confused minds know half as much)
My tongue shall speak a different name
And pray not know the change.

My new philosophy on Christmas letters

2009-12-18T17:26:15-07:00

I should forewarn you that I'm in a bad mood. Still, this conclusion I have come to I will stand by even when I'm in a good mood. I just might be a little less snarky about it.

My new philosophy on Christmas letters: Why should I care what you've done the past year when you haven't cared about us the past two or three years enough to keep in touch? And why should I send a Christmas letter when if you really wanted to know how we were doing you would have

phoned
sent an email
messaged me on Facebook

Of the people who send us Christmas cards, we only regularly talk to about three of those people. All the other people? Sorry, people, I throw your cards away. Just signing your name to a generic card doesn't trick me into thinking you care about us. It merely tricks you into thinking your obligation to our "relationship" is fulfilled.

Also, I won't read your Christmas letters anymore unless most of it will not come as a surprise to me. If it comes as a surprise, that means you haven't kept in touch. It doesn't mean that I failed to keep in touch because I keep in touch with everyone. I make phone calls, I send emails, I send letters, even. I comment on your Facebook photos even when I really don't care about the stupid photos. I care about you, so I make the effort.

If you send me a Christmas letter all about your amazing family and life, and it's the only contact I've received from you aside from the occasions when I accidentally bump into you, that means that you care more about your life than my own (which makes sense because you should) BUT... seeing as it's CHRISTMAS, could you maybe reach your arm out and try to grasp on to some of that Spirit of Giving that's floating about and pretend to care about my family, just this once?

Imagine if, instead of sending people Christmas cards all about your own milestones and accomplishments, you ASKED ABOUT SOMEONE ELSE'S! Gasp! I know. I seriously am starting to think I'm a genius. How about for Christmas, you care about someone via some words handwritten on a card or a phone call made after the busy season is over?

If your life is too busy for me, that's because you don't care about me enough. People make time for those they care about at some point in a 2-3 year period. We all have busy times, we all have disasters that prevent us from seeing past our microcosms but if I don't concern you enough for a phone call or email in two years, then I'm just not on your radar.

You're just not that into me.

AND THAT'S FINE. Despite what Barney might suggest, we don't all need to be best friends.

Just stop sending me your Christmas letters, thinking that's the same thing as maintaining a friendship, because, HA HA HA and HO HO HO, it's not. Cards can be a great addition to a relationship but they can't BE the relationship.

And if you are going to send out a Christmas letter, you should read this first.

Well then.

2009-12-17T08:38:39-07:00

George Clack from 3:17 a.m. blog contacted me recently about answering a few questions for his profile series on mommy bloggers.

What's followed is this kind piece he wrote about my writing on Becoming Something (and in my Twitter feed).

Thanks, George!

Should we encourage penmanship instruction in school?

2009-12-16T11:57:48-07:00

A friend of mine went to school in Canada where handwriting instruction was given, but then moved back to her country where it was not taught or encouraged, and she lost the art.

Yesterday I stumbled upon this letter to me from my friend Suzanna. (You can click on the photo to make it bigger.) I have never not drooled over her handwriting. <whine> Why don't I write like this? </whine>

I've been told I have nice handwriting but I'm always comparing mine with Suzanna's, so mine never measures up. Suzanna's writing is always consistent. She doesn't have bad writing days. I do. (Actually, this IS her bad writing day.) Her capital C's are always perfectly curved, her little S's are always the same and perfectly pointy, her little R's are perfection. She doesn't have many extra lines coming in and off of letters. Her writing is crisp and clean. Mine is not.

The thing is, Suzanna spent a lot of time practising her handwriting. I know because we've discussed this. Does anyone do that anymore?

I've heard that some North American schools, like those in England, no longer include instruction on cursive handwriting. Is your child's school one of them?

My son's school does still instruct on this. (I think.) And my son is very interested in perfecting his handwriting, which pleases me, even though he may never send a thank you card to anyone. By the time he's grown, will people still send postcards? Handwritten letters? Christmas cards? If it can be made on a computer, will anyone ever think to make it by hand?

People used to be hand-writers for a career. If you really wanted to fancy something up, you'd hire a calligrapher. Of course, they still exist, but then so do blacksmiths.

Do people value nice handwriting anymore? Is it a dumb, vain ambition to want to improve your handwriting? Do people even consider it possible or do they just think of their handwriting like their fingerprints, like we're destined at birth to write a certain way?

Heber J. Grant, a late prophet of the LDS church, was teased in school for his handwriting. He said, "These remarks, while not made to hurt my feelings but in goodnatured fun, neverhtheless cut deep, and aroused within me a spirit of determination. I resolved to live to set copies for all who attended the university and to be the teacher of penmanship and bookkeeping in that institution... I commenced to employ my spare time in practicing penmanship, continuing year after year until I was referred to as 'the greatest scribbler on earth.'" He later won first prize in a penmanship contest and did go on to teach it at what is now the University of Utah. [Teachings of Presidents of the Church; Heber J. Grant; page xii]

His signature:

Maybe I should start practising my handwriting.

Daily Gratitudes

Every now and then my sewing machine's tension stops working. Nothing I do to adjust it works. So, I set it aside for a few months and then when I go to use it again, it's all fixed. This has been happening for years. It fixes itself. Or the elves come out at night. Either way, I'm grateful because I don't even know what any of the parts are called nevermind how to fix them.
Jude and I found some decent used furniture at an out-of-town shop, for our bare basement. Three solid wood pieces: $150.
I have not forgotten preschool today. I have forgotten for weeks but not today.
It's been very sunny the past few days. Glorious.
I'm almost done making Christmas presents. Just have the kids left. Hooyah!

Becoming Something

Pondering addictions and excommunication and salvation *updated*

Verdict: The Happiness Project actually *was* depressing

"In the dark hours when others were asleep..."

I will not be persuaded, urged, encouraged, or manipulated

Inviting you to my funeral, please review programme and rsvp

Some classy person sent me an anonymous letter

Things that make me want to take my own life

I finally know what to write about for my book

Depressed about The Happiness Project

What I will do when the nanny arrives

2010 and a mild panic attack

Who Knew? by Cy Densham

My new philosophy on Christmas letters

Well then.

Should we encourage penmanship instruction in school?

Pondering addictions and excommunication and salvation updated

Verdict: The Happiness Project actually was depressing