With five kids in four different schools, it’s been a hectic fall. Five back-to-school nights, two IEP meetings (so far) and a whole host of other things that could so easily crash into our homes and invade our time and space. Abby’s back-to-school night was last night, and Jon and I dutifully trekked off to sit in tiny chairs around small desks and hear what’s up in third grade. On her desk we found a writing sample which made everything in the whole universe awesome:
“If I were invisible, I would probably strap a giant bee to my back and crawl around the house all day. Then, I would make myself a sandwich.” ~Abigail, Age 8
I’m not sure what all the teacher talked about, because Jon and I were giggling with baffled delight at this daughter. We’ve been through third grade now a combined four times, and Abby is honestly the child I worry least about (maybe I should be worried about that?). She’s a stellar student, she tutors others, she’s in the gifted program, she is a precocious delight; sometimes she’s a little bit serious for a little girl. So to see her write something to utterly whimsical and absurd just made my world better.
In other news, Bean has chosen to play the cello in 5th grade orchestra. For anyone keeping track, that means we have, at practice time in our house: A baritone tuba, highland bagpipes, a bugle, a cello and a piano. Be envious.
Wilcox and Young join me on this episode of the MIPodcast to discuss questions like: What was the Apostasy? When and why did it happen? How have various LDS leaders and thinkers conceived of the Apostasy over time? Is it time to re-evaluate our assumptions about the Apostasy? What role do scholars and their scholarship play in the understanding of today’s Latter-day Saints?
For more on the book Standing Apart: Historical Consciousness and the Concept of Apostasy, see my brief Book Note review here.
Miranda Wilcox is Associate Professor of English at Brigham Young University where she teaches medieval literature.
John D. Young is Assistant Professor of History at Flagler College where he teaches medieval history.
You can subscribe to the Maxwell Institute Podcast through iTunes or in the podcast app of your choice using the RSS feed maxwellinstitute.byu.edu/feed/podcast Please help this podcast grow by rating and reviewing it in iTunes, sharing it on Facebook, or emailing it to friends. As usual, the views expressed here don’t necessarily reflect those of the Institute, BYU, or the LDS Church. Questions or comments about this and other episodes can be sent to maxwellpodcast@byu.edu.
]]>“From the bedtime stories read to us as a child, to the books that changed our lives, all the way back to stories of the day’s hunt told around the campfire, stories shape who we are as a people. When you understand this idea, and you know that the Storyteller plays a powerful role in every culture, then ‘who gets to be our storytellers’ becomes a pivotal question.” Louise McKay
The kids have spilled out the door and down the porch steps, walking towards school, colorful backpacks bouncing with each step. They disappear into the morning mist, and I step back inside. I can hear my sharp words and impatience echoing around the now-silent house. Why are mornings sometimes so hard? There’s a siren in the distance, muffled in the heavy, wet morning air, and the hum of cicadas and early birds chirp in the yard. The echoes fade, and I sit down with my steaming cup of peppermint tea, determined to find my center. I think I have an idea what happened, but like the March Hare, I need to chase it down, grasp the wispy elusive trails, and make it mine again.
I stopped telling my own story.
For nine years, I have been a story-teller. The stories I’ve told are mine, they belong to me, and they are how I pluck sense and meaning from the cacophony and chaos of life. When I was younger, smaller, less formed, I would lay in bed and imagine a cyclone in my mind- a constant, churning whirlwind of thoughts that would zip by, too fast and too furious for me to grab any single thread, and leaving me exhausted and confused. Who was I? What did it mean?
It wasn’t until I started to write that the storm stilled. There was a day, distinct in memory, where suddenly my internal life was still. It had been happening gradually, as the whirling worlds spilled onto the screens and pages, but I didn’t notice it until I was empty. Still. For the first time ever, I finally knew peace, standing alone in the center of my interior life. That space— a state of grace, really— allowed me to withstand the turmoil and chaos and upheaval of so many uncertain years. The mistake I made was thinking I didn’t need it anymore.
Much like the calm, in reverse, when I stopped writing regularly, the winds slowly picked up again. And much like when they stopped, I didn’t really notice until the circling breezes had stirred up into near gale-force gusts, leaving me wondering why I was suddenly having trouble standing or finding any peace. I’m not sure what that says about my own self-awareness, but I’m pretty sure it means I have some work to do.
Telling my story is how I calm the storm. Telling my story is how I pull ideas from the ether and coalesce them into something tangible, something valuable, and how I recognize and create a meaningful life. Writing is the alchemist pulling the base metals from the whirlwind and distilling raw materials into something fine, gleaming, and precious. We’re all stories in the end.
Census Date | Population | ||||
---|---|---|---|---|---|
50K-100K | 100K-200K | 200K-400K | 400K-800K | 800K+ | |
2000 | 40 | 147 | 81 | 54 | 59 |
2010 | 31 | 138 | 81 | 62 | 69 |
Given my interest is smaller or mid-sized cities, I arranged the metropolitan areas beginning at the bottom boundary of 50,000 residents, below which the Census Bureau and Office of Management and Budget defines an urban area as micropolitan rather than metro. After that, seemed logical to follow the growth patters which overall census data confirms (namely, that America's urban areas are growing larger and more concentrated, with people moving out of rural areas and urban clusters and into fully urbanized areas) and distinguish metropolitan statistical areas as they doubled in size, up to 100K, then 200K, then 400K, then 800K, and then anything 800K and above.
This obviously gives a skewed portrait of the range of American cities (in that final category you would find cities from 800,000 people to ten times that size, and surely the differences between them are massive), but I think it is suggesting larger "mittelpolitan" patterns. In particular, the fact that the middle range of this significant sweep of urban growth and contraction has remained fairly constant--with, of course, a number of cities growing into that category from the first, and others expanding beyond it--implies that there is, even assuming a progressive line of urban growth (which may or may not be true, particularly when an urban area reaches a certain population; while I did count four cases of cities whose population loss took them from the second category into the first, there were none that I found featuring a significant enough loss to go from either the third or fourth category to a lower one), some real "stickiness" to that middle range. In short, it seems reasonable to assume that while smaller cities and rural urban clusters can, under certain circumstances, relatively rapidly be catalyzed and transformed into a growing urbanized area, holding on to population, development, and economic growth up to and beyond the half-million mark is a much slower proposition. Which means, of course, that issues of sustainability and long-term governance may press upon such metropolitan areas in ways quite different from the way they perhaps would with in either 1) rural villages and towns, 2) micropolitan cities experiencing accelerated growth, or 3) metropolitan agglomerations which have entered into the top 2% of all American urban areas.
What about the population distribution amongst those urban areas--is there similarly some "stickiness" to these enduring mid-sized cities that is reflected in geography? Consider a couple of census maps. The first one charts the location of all the metropolitan and micropolitan areas in the United States, which makes it easy to imagine them all being essentially joined together, with wide rural spaces between:
Focusing solely upon urbanized areas of over 50,000 residents in a single statistical area allows to see that while, obviously, there is a great deal of agglomeration in the United States, there is also, particularly across the American South, Great Plains, and Midwest, dozens of cities of significant size which stand nonetheless physically disconnected from greater urban conurbations, and thus presumably need to think about themselves as distinct entities. (This map, contrasting metropolitan urban areas and micropolitan urban clusters, makes the same point.)
The United States is relatively unique in many ways, of course, but it seems to me reasonable to assume that most technologically and economically developed states will likely reveal a similar phenomenon--the concentration of huge numbers of people in financial, industrial, and political capital cities, but a not insignificant number of others abiding in cities of significant but not globally impressive size, and working to understand and to sustain their communities, with their own set of (often shared, but also often distinctive) virtues, vices, problems and possibilities. As I said at the beginning, I'm not claiming to have mastered sufficient geographic data to be able to insist upon the creation of a new and formal statistical category of urban life. I only want to make it clear that there is some actual demographic grounding to my choice of a "mittelpolitan" site upon which I want to advance some theoretical reflections. Having laid out all this, though, I need to get on what some of those reflections may actually be.
Like this (click to enlarge):
These translations are priceless gifts not merely for Eastern Christians themselves, but also for the scholars who study the tradition. Next month the Maxwell Institute will publish another volume in our Eastern Christian Texts series: On This Day: The Armenian Church Synaxarion.
On This Day is a compilation (Synaxarion means “collection”) of stories about venerable Christians from days gone by. The apostle Paul had once enjoined Christians to “be imitators of me, as I am of Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1). With this injunction in mind, early Christians recorded the remarkable and faithful actions of various saints deemed worthy of imitation. Story collections grew over time as various budding Christian groups borrowed from other collections and added their own honored saints. Stories were divided up according to days of the calendar year so that Christians could spend time each day pondering particular saintly examples.
On This Day is the Armenian Church’s collection of reverential stories. The Armenian Church is one of the most ancient Christian communities—the first to be adopted as a country’s official religion in AD 301. Armenian Christians adopted traditional saint stories and added their own, ultimately creating multiple versions of the Synaxarion. Edward G. Mathews, Jr., the translator of this volume, based this readable English translation on an eclectic edition from the early twentieth century. This forthcoming volume covers the month of January, with each other month of the year to follow.
Mathews views this publication as a work of “service scholarship.” Rather than an authoritative critical edition of a particular early version of the Synaxarion, he has produced a text that Armenian believers and students might use for their own worship, or for use as a primer to learn classical Armenian.
In the next few weeks the MIBlog will feature contributions from a few scholars discussing the relevance and importance of this classic Armenian Christian text, On This Day: The Armenian Church Synaxarion (January).
]]>Volume 2 of the Mormon Studies Review is shaping up to be another great issue. Inexpensive digital subscriptions should be available in time for its release—more information to come. In the meantime, we continue to occasionally post “Book Notes” highlighting Mormon studies titles we may not have space to cover in the Review. Like this one. Enjoy!
Twelve men were ordained as Latter-day Saint apostles in 1835 at Kirtland, Ohio. In the tumultuous early days of Mormonism, six of the original twelve ultimately lost their Apostleship—as well as any prominent place in subsequent histories of the Mormon movement. Lost Apostles is an attempt to tell the story of how these men came to be ordained, how they lost their ordination, and what became of them after that loss.
Authors William Shepard and Michael Marquardt observe that, in contrast with the smooth transfer of authority and united front exhibited by the contemporary LDS Church Quorum of the Twelve, the original apostles experienced a great deal of turmoil, disagreement, and misunderstanding in addition to their shared faith in the Restored gospel. While many traditional histories of Mormonism (as found in Institute manuals and the like) tend to gloss over some of the less savory events or depict the lost apostles in an unduly unfavorable light , a subtle hint in Doctrine and Covenants section 64 suggests a much richer history. The ancient disciples, the Lord warned the new twelve through Joseph Smith, “sought occasion against one another.” The new twelve were to avoid the struggles of their predecessors by focusing above all on forgiveness. As Shepard and Marquardt demonstrate, there was sometimes much to forgive and there were many missed opportunities for reconciliation.
The organization of the book is somewhat confusing, sometimes circling back on the same events in more than one chapter, sometimes assuming more familiarity with Mormonism on the part of the reader than is perhaps warranted (unless the book’s audience is primarily thought to be primarily of Mormon heritage), sometimes following Joseph Smith more closely than the individual apostles the book is intended to cover (difficult to avoid, given that their prominence results from their connection to the LDS movement’s prophet). The book includes little comparison with prominent religious contemporaries from other traditions or from American culture more broadly. Some of the best works in Mormon studies thus far locate their analysis of Mormonism within broader religious, political, and social contexts, thus contributing directly to a better understanding of Mormonism, but also the context in which the religion arose. Lost Apostles is more of an insider’s account, thus limiting its reach.1
Rather than presenting a strong central thesis, Lost Apostles traces a number of themes throughout the book. Perhaps the strongest discusses why these particular men were called as apostles in the nascent church. A common LDS view is that many of the original apostles were identified and proven worthy through their participation in “Zion’s Camp,” an organized march led by Joseph Smith with the intent of regaining Mormon lands in Missouri. Shepard and Marquardt make a case that the apostles were more likely selected for their missionary zeal and successes in that field of labor. This accords with Joseph Smith’s early revelations about the missional purpose of the apostleship as well as the actual experiences of the selected men, most of whom served notable missions prior to their call as apostles. The authors note that such “zeal can be a double-edged sword,” however: “The enthusiasm these men showed and their ability to work independently were winning traits in the mission field but led to their lack of success at church headquarters” (58, advance reading copy). According to Lost Apostles, some of the problems that ultimately led six apostles out of the quorum resulted from side-effects of the very traits that got them selected to begin with.
The most fascinating part of the book comes near the end where the authors briefly trace the lives of the six “forgotten” apostles—Lyman and Luke Johnson, John F. Boynton, William E. McLellin, Thomas B. Marsh, and William Smith—following their departure from the LDS Church. The authors dug up some fascinating information I’d never seen before, weaving brief, episodic sections about each lost apostle. I wish more of the book was dedicated to exploring their post-apostle experiences.
Lost Apostles doesn’t shy away from some controversial episodes in Mormon history, sometimes resulting in historical over-correction in the face of more cleaned-up versions (see their discussion of the Missouri turmoil, for example, where Mormons become more foe than victim). But regardless of how many individual historical claims readers would contest, the authors demonstrate that Mormonism’s earliest apostles were a fascinating and dedicated group of men, deserving of closer attention and regard than they’ve yet received.
William Shepard and H. Michael Marquardt, Lost Apostles: Forgotten Members of Mormonism’s Original Quorum of the Twelve (Salt Lake City: Signature Books, 2014). An excerpt is available to read here.
For more on Mormon studies as an interdisciplinary, comparative enterprise, see Keith A. Erekson, et. al., “What Will We Do Now That New Mormon History Is Old: A Roundtable,” Journal of Mormon History 35/3 (2009): 223, and Blair Dee Hodges, “Mormon Studies: A Bibliographic Essay,” Mormon Studies Review 1 (2013): 223–235. ↩
In this episode, White discusses the Yoga Sutra—a collection of aphorisms that originated in ancient Hindu India which now occupies a prestigious place among contemporary yogis in the United States. He relates how the text has risen and fallen in prominence in India and in various places throughout the world for Buddhist, Hindu, and, increasingly, American communities. White argues that the yoga of India’s past doesn’t exactly resemble present-day yoga of India and the wider world. Along the way, White explains what it’s like for a scholar who has also been a practitioner of the religion he studies to examine the transmission of scripture over centuries of time.
Although the Maxwell Institute focuses its attention primarily on religious texts of Islam, Judaism, and Christianity, this episode examines a religious text from an eastern tradition in order get a better understanding of the nature of religious texts in general.
This ongoing series of Maxwell Institute Podcast episodes features interviews with authors of volumes in Princeton University Press’s impressive ”Lives of Great Religious Books” series. (Check out the first episode on Aquinas’s Summa theologiae here.) In Princeton’s series, leading experts examine the origins of books like the Book of Mormon, Genesis, or Augustine’s Confessions. They trace shifts in the reception, influence, and interpretation of these landmark texts.
As the Institute’s mission statement suggests, we perform scholarly study of religious texts and traditions in order to deepen understanding and nurture discipleship among Latter-day Saints and to promote mutual respect and goodwill among people of all faiths. That’s why our work encompasses texts and traditions beyond Latter-day Saint religious borders. By looking at other religious texts—worthwhile in their own right—we come to understand other faiths better, as well as our own.
David Gordon White is the J.F. Rowny Professor of Comparative Religion at the University of California, Santa Barbara. He has edited and authored several critically acclaimed books tracing the history of yoga from its origins down to the present time including Yoga in Practice (Princeton, 2011) and Sinister Yogis (University of Chicago, 2009).
You can subscribe to the Maxwell Institute Podcast through iTunes or in the podcast app of your choice using the RSS feed maxwellinstitute.byu.edu/feed/podcast Please help this podcast grow by rating and reviewing it in iTunes, sharing it on Facebook, or emailing it to friends. As usual, the views expressed here don’t necessarily reflect those of the Institute, BYU, or the LDS Church. Questions or comments about this and other episodes can be sent to maxwellpodcast@byu.edu.
]]>I will not describe the dream to you. Usually when I have a vivid dream I like to put it on the internet and crowd-source an interpretation. But most of my dreams are fairly amusing in retrospect. Nightmares are not. But I actually did write this dream down earlier today. One might think that if a dream were very disturbing, as this dream was, one would want to forget it as soon as possible, not write it down for posterity. But I suppose when I get disturbed enough by dreams, I worry that there is some reason that I had the dream that I should probably try to understand. In hindsight this seems silly. Nightmares probably aren’t any more significant than ordinary dreams. Therefore, why should I try to understand them? Also, now that I have written it down, it does seem more silly than terrifying. That is, I imagine that someone else reading about it would laugh at it. I myself am not laughing yet. It’s still haunting me.
And now you’re curious. Don’t be. Suffice it to say that the dream involved a prison housing dangerous criminals under my garage. My family and I were living in our garage because our oppressive government had taken over the main house. The good news is that the garage (in the dream, not in real life) was perfectly adequate for a family of six. The bad news is that it was not adequate for a family of six and several dangerous convicts. If I wasn’t being threatened by dangerous convicts (who were also mutants (thanks to the inhumane living conditions in the sub-garage prison), I was being threatened by corrupt government officials (who suspected me of collaborating in the recent escape of aforementioned convicts). I was in a constant state of fear.
Yes, I realize it does sound a little bit silly. But it was not actually silly. Which you would understand, if you had been there.
I was wondering what might cause a dream like this, assuming it is not a message from God or something equally meaningful. Princess Zurg has been preoccupied with government oppression for at least a twelvemonth. I suppose that would account for me dreaming about an oppressive government (especially one that would take over my house and force our family of six to live in a garage, adequate as it was). And my husband and I did recently watch A Young Doctor’s Notebook on Netflix, which was much gorier than anything else I ever watch on television. (I couldn’t watch CSI because the one episode I saw kept doing close-ups of the victim’s vomit. I found that would not do. But Victim’s Vomit might make a good name for a death metal band. Not that I would listen to a band called that. I’m just putting it out there, in case there are any death metal bands looking for a new name. Use it with my blessing.) I watched those scenes with very squinty eyes, from behind my hands. So that might explain the uncharacteristic dream gore.
Where the prison thing came from, I’m not sure. I haven’t been threatened with prison in a rather long time.
Moving along, though–school is finally back in session. I still haven’t told you about my camping experience from last month. I doubt very much I will ever be in the mood to do so. Maybe I’ll just hit the main points:
* They make air mattresses better than they used to.
* Flushing toilets at the campsite really do make a positive difference.
* A ten-man tent can fit a family of six comfortably. (It isn’t quite as roomy as a dream garage over a dream prison, but then, it doesn’t have the convicted felons either.)
* My husband made gourmet camp food. We ate better while camping than we usually eat at home.
* We camped at two different places. The first place was remote and quiet. It occurred to me, that first night, when I had to leave the tent to go to the bathroom (because ever since the birth of my fourth child, I have to get up at least twice during the night to go to the bathroom), that I should probably be afraid of killers possibly lurking in the woods, but I did not suspect there were any killers in this particular place. And if there were, maybe they would hit the RVs first. I don’t know why, but I think that’s what I would do, if I were a killer.
* The second place was very close to the highway. You could hear the trucks going by all night. Trucks going by on the highway at 55 mph are not quiet. Also, we were no longer camping with nice old people and their grandkids and their RVs but with younger and inconsiderate people who liked to play their obnoxious music well into the night and not retire until maybe 2 a.m. It occurs to me, in retrospect, that I was probably in much more danger of killers at this campsite, and yet I was not afraid of killers here either. Probably because I was too busy thinking about how I might become a killer if those horrible people next to us did not shut up or at least turn off their radio. But I did not become a killer, nor, obviously, was I killed.
* I got sunburned on my knees, but only on my knees. It’s a long story involving oversights in sunblock application. But I lied just now. I did not get sunburned only on my knees. I couldn’t find my hat before we left, so I also got sunburned on my scalp. Never again will I think to myself, “Maybe I should take a hat. Except I can’t find my hat. Maybe I don’t really need to take a hat.” Ladies who are slowly but surely going bald will always need a hat. Which reminds me, I should be looking into Lady Rogaine or something.
* I did not hate camping this year.
* I don’t need to go camping again next year.
That’s all I can remember, frankly. There was more, but who cares? I mean, if I don’t, why should you?
Michael Austin wants to introduce Latter-day Saints to a Job they’ve probably never met, regardless of how many times they’ve read the Old Testament book.
Most readers of the Bible think of Job as the ultimate example of faith overcoming suffering. Job loses everything; his possessions, his family, his good health—everything but his patience and faith, which carry him through to the end where God rewards him with new possessions, a new family, and his good health. The patience of Job is legendary. The trouble with that legend, Austin argues in his new book Re-reading Job, is that it doesn’t actually match up to what the book of Job itself relates. Austin dissects the various elements that were apparently combined to create the Book of Job in order to draw out its radical and moving implications.
While many Latter-day Saints may view the Book of Job as a historical report, Austin makes a strong case that it is a work of literature. However, rather than weakening the authority of this particular scripture, Austin argues that such literature can portray truths that can’t come across as clearly in strictly historical scriptures and narratives. Job is “built on the premise that literature can produce great insights and serve as a vehicle for revelation” (147, see also 20–28). Not only will church members come away with a better grasp of the Book of Job, they will learn that the questions we bring to the text are the most important element of scripture study, even for the more historically grounded scriptures.
When we shift our assumptions just a little bit and allow the Book of Job to be what it claims to be, we find ourselves able to ask much better questions of the text—the questions that can give us the kinds of answers that can change our lives (12).
As he carefully guides readers through each element of the Job narrative, Austin combines the sophistication of a literary scholar with the conversational tone of a close and funny friend. His familiar prose provides a welcome balance to the dark and difficult issues being discussed—not just the suffering of Job himself, but death, suffering, loss, genocide, and any manner of things that plague the human condition in general. Austin is perhaps occasionally a bit too cynical, I think, in talking about why religious communities interpret Job in a certain way: “It has long been in the interest of institutional religions to try to contain the more radical implications of the Job poem by focusing, whenever possible, on the jaunty, pious tale that introduces it,” he suggests (11). It’s more likely that the alternate readings suggested by Austin simply weren’t noticed for so long because most readers didn’t come to the text prepared to change their views as opposed to having their views reaffirmed by the text. After all, helping readers become prepared to be surprised by scripture is perhaps this book’s most useful task.
Above all, Re-reading Job is calculated to convince Latter-day Saints yet again that our scriptures, these ancient stories and experiences, are still incredibly relevant:
When we read Job, or any great work of literature, we must combine our own perspective with that of another powerful mind. This is why great literature stays great—it gives every new generation of readers the opportunity to apply its insights to a whole new set of issues and problems (146).
Austin doesn’t stop at convincing readers that the scriptural book is relevant; he shows the actual reasons—reasons which will impact the way you mourn with those that mourn and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.
Re-Reading Job: Understanding the Ancient World’s Greatest Poem is another fantastic title in the growing series “Contemporary Studies in Scripture” from Kofford Books. The series continues to demonstrate that scholarly approaches need not obstruct a faithful reading of scripture; scholarly approaches can actually facilitate more devotional and inspired reading.
]]>Once again, we have received a stack of high quality submissions for the Nibley Fellowship awards. Twenty-three impressive applicants, ranging from new Master’s students to advanced PhD candidates, competed for eight fellowships for the academic year 2014-15. We are also awarding three conference and travel grants. We are grateful to all of those who applied and congratulate this year’s impressive groups of recipients. Here are the awards:
Joseph M. Spencer, PhD candidate, University of New Mexico
Bio: Joseph Spencer holds degrees from Brigham Young University, San Jose State University, and the University of New Mexico. He is the author of An Other Testament (2012) and For Zion (2014), as well as of articles in both philosophy and Mormon studies published in a variety of journals. He currently serves as the associate director of the Mormon Theology Seminar and an associate editor of the Journal of Book of Mormon Studies. His current work in philosophy focuses on the intersection of analytic and continental philosophy. His work in Mormon studies is dedicated to scriptural theology. Previous Nibley Fellowships were awarded for 2013-14.
Considerations: Joseph M. Spencer is awarded this year’s Hugh Nibley Dissertation Fellowship in recognition of his outstanding performance and promise as a scholar of scriptural theology. His referees consider him an intensely dedicated student, a brilliant scholar, and a fine philosophical mind—nothing short of exceptional. This is far from hyperbole as his impressive list of insightful publications confirm. Spencer’s intensive training in philosophy and theology has not only allowed him to make significant contributions in those specific areas of research, but has also given him a unique vantage from which to view and study scripture. The results are already impressive, and his groundbreaking and seminal studies on the Book of Mormon in particular are evidently just an earnest of things to come. We congratulate Joseph M. Spencer on this award.
Alexander Douglas, PhD Candidate, Harvard University
Bio: Alex Douglas originally hails from Atlanta, Georgia, but he has spent most of the past decade living in Boston and studying at Harvard. After earning his Bachelor’s degree there in Economics, he switched his focus and got his Master’s in Ancient Near Eastern Studies. He is currently in his fourth year of a PhD program in the Old Testament. In addition to his studies, he teaches early morning Seminary, he has taught Institute classes at Boston University and for his stake, and he teaches Biblical Hebrew at Harvard. Previous Nibley Fellowships awarded for 2013-14.
Considerations: Alex Douglas is a serious, devoted, and talented student of the Hebrew Bible with a sharp and penetrating intellect and a gift for teaching, according to his Harvard referees. His research is currently focused on the Hebrew Bible and the early Jewish translation of the Hebrew Bible into Greek, known as the Septuagint, and he has already published his first article on the Septuagint in a major academic journal. This is just a taste of the excellent and innovative work of scholarship that his advisors see Douglas producing for his dissertation on Septuagint Isaiah. Douglas is equally serious about bringing the insights he gains from his studies to the LDS community through teaching (currently seminary and Institute), and writing. We congratulate Alex Douglas on this award.
Mark Ellison, PhD Student, Vanderbilt University
Bio: Mark Ellison is a PhD student in early Christianity and early Christian art at Vanderbilt University. He earned an M.A. in Religious Studies (history and archaeology of Christianity and Judaism in late antiquity) from the University of South Florida, and an M.Ed. and B.A. from Brigham Young University. He also studied New Testament Greek at St. Petersburg Theological Seminary. From 1990–2013 he worked full-time for LDS Seminaries and Institutes of Religion. His research interests include the functions of early Christian art and its relationship to Christian texts, marriage and celibacy in early Christianity, families and the house-church setting, and the physical spaces of early Christian liturgy. Previous Nibley Fellowships awarded for 2013-14.
Considerations: The fact that Mark Ellison has completed twenty marathons means that he knows a thing or two about pacing, and about finishing. After one year in his PhD program he has already attended and/or presented at three academic conferences, and has papers accepted for two other conferences later in 2014; he has conducted field research throughout the United States, building in the process a database of early Christian sarcophagi; has organized an interdisciplinary seminar on Late Antiquity for 2014-15 together with two Vanderbilt professors; and has been invited to join a project with Prof. Robin Jensen to co-edit a Handbook of Early Christian Art for Routledge. As his referees say, in every conceivable way, he has had an outstanding first year in his program. His research is focused on early Christian marriage and biblical imagery in early Christian art, and promises to bridge the fields of Art History and the intellectual and religious history of Late Antiquity. We congratulate Mark Ellison on this award.
Philip Abbot, MA student, Pepperdine University
Considerations: Philip Abbott is an exceptionally promising Master’s student. Prepared with an excellent command of New Testament Greek, Abbott is currently focused on the New Testament and the literature of second Temple Judaism. His perceptive raising of questions proved to be particularly useful when he was invited to join two faculty members at Pepperdine to study and prepare for publication an ancient Greek manuscript containing the oldest known copy of Romans 4:23-5:13. We congratulate Philip Abbot on this award.
Daniel Becerra, PhD student, Duke University
Considerations: After a year studying the New Testament and Early Christianity at Duke University Daniel Becerra has already distinguished himself by virtue of his insightful comments and written analysis. His referees note in particular his ability to give close readings of texts based on a deft knowledge of the primary languages and the social environment in which the text was composed. In an environment that is intellectually vibrant, thoughtful, and filled with highly motivated students, Becerra stands out as a particularly mature and goal oriented young scholar who is asking interesting, probing questions. We congratulate Daniel Becerra on this award.
Ryan C. Davis, PhD Candidate, University of Texas at Austin
Considerations: Ryan Davis is an exemplary PhD candidate who is deepening his understand of the Hebrew Bible through the study of its ancient Near Eastern context. Having written excellent pre-dissertation qualifying exams, he is now immersed in the study of the Psalms in dialogue with the corpus of prayers and related texts from Mesopotamia. This fascinating dissertation topic is expected to result in a valuable dissertation, not least due to the fact, as his advisor says, that Davis is obviously very intelligent, but also creative and diligent. We congratulate Ryan Davis on this award.
Luke Drake, PhD student, The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
Considerations: Luke Drake has not only made an outstanding start in the first year of his PhD program, but has also published his first edited book with a prestigious academic press. His referee pays Drake perhaps the highest compliment when he notes that in class he was a stimulating dialogue partner for both his advisor and the other students. In part, this is because Drake is extensively trained in ancient and modern languages; he is widely conversant already with all of the major issues in the study of the New Testament and early Christianity; and he has read widely, already, in relevant fields of scholarship. Luke Drake promises to be an extraordinary scholar of the New Testament and Early Christianity, and we congratulate him on this award.
Courtney J. Innes, PhD Student, The University of British Columbia
Considerations: Even after a year in her PhD program it is clear that Courtney Innes is an articulate, nuanced student of late antique Judaism and Christianity who is interested in exploring the parting of the ways through textual and material artifacts. Her archeological interests have already resulted in a fascinating publication on the Jewish Synagogues and cemeteries in the Fayum, taken from her Cambridge University dissertation. An impressive year of course work in languages and biblical studies have just added to her record of superb academic achievement. We congratulate Courtney Innes on this award.
Alan Taylor Farnes, PhD Student, University of Birmingham, UK
For travel to 2014 SBL Annual meeting, San Diego.
Mark Ellison, PhD Student, Vanderbilt University
For research travel.
Courtney Innes, PhD Student, The University of British Columbia
For research travel.
]]>Princess Zurg is a feminist, so she’s plugged in to feminist issues and news stories to do with women, i.e. she sees stuff on the Facebook and whatnot. Yesterday we were talking about the controversy over the new roofie-detecting nail polish some dudes invented. A woman who has painted her fingernails with this polish can supposedly test her drink for roofies simply by discreetly dipping a fingernail in her drink. (I was going to call this invention “handy,” but then I realized that would be more punny than I wanted to sound.) Rape prevention advocates are concerned that it puts more responsibility on the woman to avoid becoming a victim, rather than stopping rapists from raping; this is the sort of thing that contributes to rape culture. I agree that it isn’t cool to hold a woman responsible for her rape. The only people responsible for rape are rapists. However, I disagree that providing a tool that might (note: might, not “definitely will”) help a woman protect herself from sexual predators contributes to rape culture.
A couple reasons:
1) Helping a woman protect herself is not the same as holding her responsible for her own safety. We don’t have any trouble telling people how to protect themselves from identity theft, even though it is the identity thief who is responsible for stealing someone’s identity. Some people will come up with reasons to blame a rape survivor for her (or his, as the case may be) attack, but those people need to figure out the difference between committing a crime and being a victim of a crime. “But she was drunk” or “But she was walking by herself at night in a bad part of town” are not valid excuses for raping someone, just as “But their password was so obvious” or “But they didn’t use PayPal” are not valid excuses for stealing someone’s financial information. Is a woman entitled to get drunk and pass out by herself in a bad part of town without getting raped? Absolutely. Just as a person is entitled to have money without getting it stolen. People are not supposed to rob or rape you. You are entitled to walk through life without being criminally molested. It’s just the criminals you have to convince of this. (Good luck, by the way.)
Now might be an appropriate time to point out that these days we expect parents to protect their children from all manner of danger, regardless of how remote. Parents are arrested for leaving their eleven-year-olds unattended in cars because anything could have happened in the five minutes they were gone. But tell a college student she should probably try not to drink herself unconscious at a party because some people like to rape unconscious women, and that is blaming the victim. Never mind that college students are much more likely to get raped after getting drunk than eleven-year-olds are to be abducted by maniacs while their parents are picking up a prescription at the Walgreens. I guess the next time someone lectures me about letting one of my kids out of my sight, I can ask why they don’t focus more on teaching strangers not to kidnap.
It is fair enough to say that it isn’t up to women not to get raped, but it’s up to men not to rape. I’m on board with that, for sure. However, the majority of men already do a pretty good job of not raping. They may not know how to share household chores equally, but they’ve got the not-raping thing down just fine. So obviously education works–both the moral and legal varieties. The problem remains, and always will, that there are men who know what rape is, know it’s wrong (and illegal), and don’t care. Just like most criminals know what’s against the law and break the law anyway. They all have their reasons. The rapist’s reasons are a) “because I can” and b) ….well, I’d say (a) pretty much covers it. We should still teach people about consent, just like we should still teach people what the traffic laws are, but there are always going to be people who think the law doesn’t (or shouldn’t) apply to them; those are the people we have to protect ourselves from.
2) Rebecca Nagle, one of the co-directors of an activist group called FORCE: Upsetting Rape Culture, says, “The problem isn’t that women don’t know when there are roofies in their drink; the problem is people putting roofies in their drink in the first place.”
Indeed. That is the problem. You know what else is a problem? People stealing cars. Yet no one suggests that selling car alarms is part of the problem. If someone steals your car, are you partially to blame unless you had an alarm on it? I hope not because I don’t have an alarm on my car. I also probably wouldn’t bother to wear roofie-detecting nail polish. Mainly because I don’t paint my fingernails. I paint my toenails, but dipping my toe into my drink would not be terribly discreet. Also, the roofie-detecting stuff probably costs more than regular nail polish and I like my nail polish cheap. Still, I’m not upset that people sell things like car alarms and roofie-detecting nail polish. I think it’s nice that those things exist for the people who want to use them. It’s good to have choices. Without choices, what are we? Communists.
As I just said a few paragraphs ago, there are people who will come up with reasons to blame women for their own rapes. They will say things like “She was drinking” or “She was dressed provocatively.” (Dressing “provocatively,” of course, is a lot more subjective than being incapacitated. In any case, neither is a reason to blame a person for being a victim of a crime. The perpetrator of the crime is the one to blame.) How often, though, do you hear stuff like “She wasn’t carrying a gun” or “She didn’t learn karate”? Not often, I’m betting. And that’s about how likely it is that people will blame a woman for not wearing roofie-detecting nail polish the night someone spiked her drink and raped her.
So I don’t get the hate for roofie-detecting nail polish. And neither does Princess Zurg, who is the first person to call someone out for blaming the victim. She is sincerely perplexed by people who have a problem with a product that might protect women from sexual predators, which is why we were having the conversation and why it is on my mind.
.
The other story I wanted to talk about is the feminist advertising campaign undertaken by underwear company Dear Kate. The ads show real life women in the tech industry, sitting at their computers while dressed in only their underwear. It includes quotes about their work. It’s a feminist campaign because it doesn’t just show sexy women posing provocatively. It shows real women (some with less model-like bodies than others) at work in a male-dominated industry. In their underwear. Which shows that they are comfortable in their female bodies, which is important. They can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan. All while wearing only their underwear. (And if they get splattered by bacon grease in the process, well, that’s hardly the issue, is it? I’m appalled that you would even bring it up.)
Some feminists have criticized the ads, though, because—well, see the above paragraph. I have to admit that I myself was dumbfounded. I’m okay with these body-positive ad campaigns that show women of different sizes and shapes. I’m also okay with ad campaigns that only show slender and well-toned women because I don’t really pay much attention to underwear ads. I’ve never kidded myself that if I wore a particular brand of underwear, I would look like the model in the ad. And looking at women with large thighs does not make me feel better about myself. What would make me feel better about myself? It’s a fair question. I suppose if I were a woman who had made a successful career for herself in the tech industry, or any industry, I would feel good about myself. I still would probably not let someone take pictures of me in my underwear and use them for a national ad campaign.
I know what you’re thinking, but it isn’t that I don’t like the way I look in my underwear. I think I look fine in my underwear, all things considered. Fine enough for anyone who’s going to see me, at least. In my worldview, that demographic does not properly include total strangers or people I interact with professionally. It just isn’t dignified. That was my first reaction to the ad. “Why on earth would anyone do that? It just isn’t dignified.” No offense to the dignity of underwear models. I mean, if that’s your job, more power to you. It’s like being an actor, in a way. That’s fine. But if your job is something not underwear-modeling-related, why would you want to be seen in public in your underwear? I just don’t get it. Maybe I don’t understand how the tech industry works. Maybe these women don’t have to go to work in the morning and look their (probably male) co-workers in the eye, knowing that these co-workers have seen them in their underwear. Maybe it just doesn’t bother them if their colleagues have pictures of them in their underwear.
Skillcrush cofounder and CEO Adda Birnir, who participated in the photo shoot (and looks great, by the way), said, “I think the thing is that all women have bodies and wear underwear and have to deal with all the mundane as well as cultural/political things that come with walking around in a female body. We aren’t either women who pose in underwear or women who code or women who are attractive or women who are unattractive or women who are sexual or women who are CEOs. We are all the things at once, and it’s confusing and messy and complicated and often annoyingly at issue, but not dealing with all those different facets isn’t a viable solution.”
So if someone decided to rip this ad out of their favorite periodical and pin it to the bulletin board in the lunch room, would they be guilty of sexual harassment? Or would they just be starting a conversation about the cultural/political things that come with walking around in a female body in the workplace? Not a joke. I am genuinely curious. Does Birnir make sense, or does she sound like an idiot?
I admit I don’t have a lot of feminist cred. I lost that when I started voting Republican. So I might be tempted to defer to the judgment of people who are better feminists than I. But I can’t help thinking that if a bunch of men in the tech industry posed for pictures in their underwear for a nationwide ad campaign, people would not think it was provocative and interesting. They would think, “There are some men who don’t have much dignity.” I think that’s what it comes down to for me. It’s not feminist or anti-feminist. It’s just not dignified. I guess I’m old-fashioned that way.
What do you all think?
(Speaking of dignity, this article made me laugh out loud, and I guess there will never be a more appropriate time to share it than now: Dating Naked contestant sues series showing her dating while naked)
The book is structured into five overall parts. First, “FRAMEWORKS” provides a brilliant overview of the place of theology in the LDS tradition and sets the stage for Givens’s own work. Part two, “COSMIC NARRATIVES,” is a three-page primer on Mormonism’s basic “plan of salvation,” from pre-existent spirits through mortal experience to eternal life and godhood. “COSMOLOGY” is the third part, zooming out to describe the nature of matter, existence, eternal law, etc. Part four covers “THE DIVINE.” Its sections span Givens’s articulation of God as a “Revealer God,” “Vulnerable God,” and “Embodied God,” a section on “Mother God,” then “Adam-God,” on to “Christology,” then finally through the rest of the divine hierarchy of “Holy Ghost” and “Other Beings” like eternal human spirits, angels, and so forth. The book’s final part “THE HUMAN” discusses the nature of eternal intelligences (whether they are literally born or adopted, Givens favors the former but allows for the possibility of the latter), the Fall (a fortunate one), the importance of Embodiment, the means of Salvation (the atonement) and finally the nature of salvation, Theosis. The book is structured sort of like a topical encyclopedia, but Givens’s articulate prose gives the volume a nice flow. Givens tells me the tentative title for the companion volume is Feeding the Sheep: The Foundations of Mormon Practice—Sacraments, Authority, Spiritual Gifts, Worship. It seems poised to deal more with lived religion than the more abstract volume one does.
In his Preface, Givens explains this “book is not a work of either systematic or historical theology per se,” but rather a “study of the foundations of Mormon thought and practice” (ix). That “per se” is important to consider. Wrestling itself must wrestle; it may be better understood as being a partial work of LDS theology and not a straightforward presentation of the exact foundations of Mormon thought. The historical record suggests that early Mormon thought as found in Joseph Smith’s scripture, sermons, or in the writings of his fellow Saints is more partial, dynamic, and difficult to pin down than clean, systematic theology allows for. This requires Givens to sometimes fill in blanks or arbitrate between competing LDS perspectives. At times he points out the lack of a clear position on a point but nevertheless articulates where he thinks mainstream contemporary LDS thought rests (as with the discussion of the eternal/created nature of intelligences or spirits). At other times he advances something more likely to be resisted by mainstream LDS thought (such as his description of the question of agency in the war in heaven or his depiction of apostasy/restoration). His section on “Salvation” spends much time on atonement, and it is less a treatment of various Latter-day Saint understandings of this most puzzling and central of doctrines and more of a systematically articulated theology grounded in the Book of Mormon.
Wrestling‘s overview is heavily influenced by later developments in Mormon thought. The foundations described by Givens aren’t like a pristine fountain from which Mormons might draw for refreshment, but rather an imperfect image refracted through a lens crafted by subsequent LDS leaders and believers. Occasionally he takes a side-road to a few theological dead-ends such as Brigham Young’s Adam-God teaching, but more often theological longevity is master. As Givens says, his project is to trace “what I regard as the essential contours of Mormon thought as it developed from Joseph Smith to the present, not pretending to address the many tributaries in and out of Mormonism’s main currents. Following the major lines of development to the contemporary LDS Church” results in a picture of early Mormon thought heavily influenced by subsequent decades of Mormon theological articulation—developments which Givens spends much less time tracing, risking the impression that past Mormons weighted concerns very similarly to the way contemporary Mormons do (x, emphasis added). Givens emphasizes points which have “come to constitute the essentials of Mormon teaching at the present moment” (xi, emphasis added).2
Although his book is circumscribed by contemporary Mormon theological categories, Mormons may be surprised by some of Givens’s conclusions. One of the most interesting take-away’s might be the idea that Mormon thought has not been static, immutable, or comprehensive, and that a number of options are available and acceptable on a number of topics within the orthodox realm. Wrestling leaves room for a Joseph Smith who both imitates and reacts to his contemporary circumstances without thereby forfeiting the reality of his inspired prophethood (ix). This resists a view of the Restoration as being a completely top-down, from-God’s-mouth-to-Joseph’s-ears, operation. Givens helpfully places the development of Mormon thought directly alongside the wider Christian and western tradition in order to highlight instances of continuity on one hand, as well as radical distinction on the other.
There is so very much to wrestle with in Wrestling the Angel, another exciting contribution to contemporary Mormon studies from Terryl Givens.
Terryl L. Givens, Wrestling the Angel: The Foundations of Mormon Thought: Cosmos, God, Humanity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), xiii+416 pp. The book is available for pre-order now. To be released November 2014.
Most histories of the LDS Church spend time discussing religious belief, but sustained attention to Mormon thought, or theology, as the main subject of a book is rare. Early books by Parley Pratt qualify, as does B.H. Roberts’s The Way, the Truth, and the Life, published posthumously. More recent books include Sterling McMurrin’s Theological Foundations of the Mormon Religion and Blake Ostler’s Exploring Mormon Thought series. A comparison of approaches in these various titles including Givens’s would be fascinating. ↩
Smaller groups with Mormon heritage, including the Community of Christ, are seldom referenced. This book pertains mainly to the Salt Lake City-headquartered Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. ↩
This year’s Mormon Theology Seminar recently wrapped things up in London (see here, here). I asked seminar participants to reflect on their experiences in order to give us a sense of what they got out of the gathering. This post features George Handley, professor of humanities and comparative literature at Brigham Young University. —BHodges
One of the root meanings of the word “religion” is to re-read. To be religious by implication, then, means that we are committed to rereading and rethinking and that the generation of truth is a kind of recycling and repurposing. Revelation often comes to us as our minds reconsider what we thought we understood and suddenly—seen from a different perspective or in a new light—the familiar and ordinary stands out in new and distinct form. Perhaps nothing embodies this process better than a marriage. The same person, the same history, day in and day out, and yet the ongoing challenge to remain in love, as if you must work at seeing your spouse for the first time. This is a task of the mind and of the imagination as much as anything else.
Returning again and again to the scriptures is no different. I love the fact that one of the most significant markers of the Mormon life (along with health code abstention from drugs and alcohol) is a commitment to regular scripture reading. We might say that we love them and know them to be true, but our love is most powerfully expressed by our determination to stay steady in our reading and to thereby wring new truths and insights from the same words. The recent Mormon Theology Seminar in London focused on 1 Nephi 1. We joked more than once that we were closely reading one of the most-read chapters in the entire Book of Mormon because, I guess, many well-intentioned members have begun but not finished the Book of Mormon. Perhaps this joke isn’t fair, but if it’s true, it occurred to me as we read this marvelous chapter just how much of the whole story of the restoration is contained in it.
How relevant is it? Well, for starters, it declares itself to be a sacred history unknown to Bible readers even though it shares the same genealogy. In the same breath it states that it is an autobiography, and what’s more, it is an autobiography as sacred history. That’s plenty to chew on right there. And then we discover that, well, it isn’t just one man’s story but an intergenerational account of revelations that were passed down from one generation to the next. It teaches, in other words, the central role of interpretation in the ongoing work of revelation. And finally, the revelations themselves pertain to the experience of visions, of reading books, and of the struggle to find fellow believers in one’s visions.
We spent two weeks wrestling with the implications of these dimensions of this exceptional chapter, and we wrote, I think, some pretty insightful essays. But I still don’t think we got to the bottom of it. One thing was clear: reading together in an intense and focused and consecrated way and bringing our multiple talents to the altar and seeking new understandings and insights by listening carefully to the text and to one another knitted our hearts as one. It bound us together in an unforgettable way. And, as it turns out, “to bind together” is another root meaning of the word religion.
Interpretation is not a solo act. It moves us over generations and across communities, and it needs every one of us. It is the purpose of every Sunday School class to bind ourselves together in the act of rereading. It is the purpose of every family scripture reading. It is the purpose of every missionary lesson in homes across the globe. And it is the reason why we are to “meet together oft” as the Book of Mormon tells us (Moroni 6:4–7). We need each other and we need to retain our shared focus on the Word.
]]>The Maxwell Institute has been the home of the seminar for the past several years. Claudia and Richard Bushman just wrapped up the seventeenth annual summer seminar. Eleven seminar students focused on the theme “THE HISTORY OF THE MORMON FAMILY.” Their working papers were presented at a symposium at Brigham Young University at the end of July. You can read them in unedited form here.
This episode of the Maxwell Institute Podcast introduces you to six of these scholars—women and men who spent the summer investigating aspects of the history of the Mormon family. They are:
You can subscribe to the Maxwell Institute Podcast through iTunes or in the podcast app of your choice using the RSS feed maxwellinstitute.byu.edu/feed/podcast Please help this podcast grow by rating and reviewing it in iTunes, sharing it on Facebook, or emailing it to friends. As usual, the views expressed here don’t necessarily reflect those of the Institute, BYU, or the LDS Church. Questions or comments about this and other episodes can be sent to maxwellpodcast@byu.edu.
]]>Dr. George Kiraz, director of the Syriac studies institute Beth Mardutho, recently posted on an academic email list (Hugoye-L) about how these digital editions are revolutionizing his own research:
I just want to express my thanks to BYU (and Kristian of course) for the marvelous work of digitizing the Vatican library collection and making it so easily available online. It is making working with BL MSS [i.e., British Library manuscripts] much more frustrating of course! The field may see a shift where citations to Vatican library MSS will increase and citations to [British Library] MSS may begin to decrease. I need to examine all 5th and 6th century dated MSS for a writing systems project. Almost 1/2 of what I need is from the Vatican Library.
Thanks Kristian….
The British Library contains the largest collection of early Syriac manuscripts in the world, but unfortunately, to date, only a single complete manuscript is available online. Obtaining high-quality digital images of these manuscripts for research purposes is impossibly expensive. As Dr. Kiraz later added:
… and just to put a number on it, I just contacted the BL to ask if I can get 15 random images of dated 5th and 6th century MSS and was told that I need to go through the image service office. The cost would be ca. $23,000 to get those while I can see the entire MSS from the Vatican online!!!
Scholars can only study materials they can access and few of us have the time and resources to work extensively in foreign libraries. Online access to manuscript facsimiles such as those provided by CPART will continue to be a top priority for archivists and scholars worldwide, and it will continue to have a dramatic impact on textual research.
Carl W. Griffin received a BA in Near Eastern studies and classics from Brigham Young University and an MA and PhD in early Christian studies from the Catholic University of America. Carl has worked at the Maxwell Institute since 2001 and now serves as director of its Christianity and the Bible Research Initiative. He is editor of Studies in the Bible and Antiquity.
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]]>Actually, you probably just thought I’d given up on blogging forever (finally), and you were right. Mostly. I mean, I was pretty sure a couple days ago that I would just never post anything on this blog again because, well, look at me. I mean, look at the blog. It’s just sad. It makes me sad to look at it. Why didn’t I find some way to go out with a bang? Probably because I’m not very good at big productions. I’m good at excelling in small, insignificant things. And you just never know when you’ve written your last insignificant thing. But I digress. The point is, I changed my mind. I changed my mind just now, because for some reason I am perpetually signed in to WordPress, so whenever I visit another WordPress blog, I see the header with my username and whether or not people have been commenting and/or following me. I am apparently still getting lots of followers even though I haven’t updated this thing since…well, I guess it was June. Seems like longer. Anyway, that’s not the point. I’m still getting followers, but I’m assuming most of them are spambots because that’s who most of my commenters are. I haven’t investigated this to know for sure because I’d rather maintain the illusion that there’s a possibility at least some of them are actual people. But the comments are getting to me.
It is the best time to make some plans for the future and
it’s time to be happy. I’ve read this post
and if I could I want to suggest you few interesting
things or advice. Maybe you can write next articles referring
to this article. I wish to read more things about it!
I liked it better when I was blogging in obscurity and no one commented. This is like flies laying eggs on your decaying flesh. Gross!
You may have noticed, if you are a blogger that I have historically followed, that in addition to not blogging I am also not commenting on anyone’s blog. This is because I’m also not reading anyone’s blog. This is not because your blog no longer interests me. This is because I am intentionally not paying attention to anyone’s blog because it reminds me that I’ve left my own to die, and that makes me sad. I would be less sad about it if I had replaced blogging with writing in some other form, but I really haven’t written much of anything since the kids got out of school. For one thing, they hog all the computers. For another thing, I’m busy. For the most important thing, I’ve been lazy. How can I be both too busy and too lazy? Well, I’m not simultaneously. I’m alternately too busy and alternately too lazy. And intermittently without a computer because my kids are computer hogs. I can’t seem to convince any of them that this computer is actually mine. It belongs to me. My husband bought it for me with his own money. I’m the one who married him, not them! But they don’t get it.
That’s why I should probably get a job. One of many reasons, but that subject depresses me too.
Anyway, I know this makes me a fair-weather internet-friend. You should see how I’ve been letting stuff go on Facebook too. I’m sort of over feeling guilty about it, though, because really, there are so many ways I’ve failed others in real life (i.e. off the internet) that I just can’t afford to indulge any feelings of remorse over anything anymore.
I might be turning into a sociopath. I understand those are usually born, not made, but I might be the first self-made sociopath. That could be the title of a new blog. “Self-made Sociopath.” I’m considering it. Don’t steal it until I say it’s okay!
When I think about it, there are a great many things I could be blogging about right now. For one thing, I recently got back from my first camping trip in 25 years. Maybe 27 years. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s been 27 years. Maybe 29. All this counting is making me feel old. Anyway, I’m sure you’re dying to know how that went.
Okay, I’ll tell you.
The last time I can remember camping is when my family (all of us except my older sister, who was working that summer) went to the Grand Canyon. That wasn’t the only thing we did that summer. It was just the most noteworthy thing.
I kid you not, one of my kids just came up and asked for the computer. Just now. ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? GET A JOB!
Anyway, that summer we went to the Grand Canyon was the summer we trekked all over the Western United States. We started in Southern California, where we lived, drove out to the Grand Canyon, went up through Utah and Idaho, where we saw relatives, across through Washington, where we had more relatives, and down through Oregon, where we had yet more relatives, and back down through California again. While in Utah we visited the Salt Lake Temple. Just the outside, just for a little while. We also might have had relatives in Utah at that time. I can’t remember for sure. What I remember most vividly is driving through Las Vegas around noontime and there were five of us crammed into a Dodge Vista wagon with no air conditioning. This is where my hatred of Las Vegas was born. (My hatred of cars without air conditioning had long been established by then.) It doesn’t seem quite right to me now that we should have been in Las Vegas at all. It’s neither on the way to or the way from the Grand Canyon. But I’m 99% certain this was the same trip because when else would we have been in Las Vegas? We don’t have relatives there. I also remember that we had lunch at an A&W and they served me a root beer in one of those glass mugs, which I reckon they don’t do anymore, but the point I was going to make was that the mug had lipstick on it. I did not wear lipstick. Now that I think on it, it could very well have been an Arctic Circle. We didn’t have either of them in California, but I’m almost certain it was an A&W because of the root beer. I used to drink root beer. I don’t anymore. Not because of the lipstick incident but because I probably drank too many of them when I was younger and now they just taste kind of gross to me, unless they have ice cream in them. But I really do digress this time. How old was I? I want to say 15. I’m 43 now, so that’s 28 years ago. (Gee, one of the few numbers I didn’t guess.) Except for when we stayed with relatives, we were camping.
Camping was what my family did instead of staying in hotels. I can’t recall ever camping in the same place two nights in a row. I don’t think we did. Why would we have? We had places to go–relatives to see, canyons to visit. Anyway, my family camped A LOT when I was growing up, always on the way to someplace else. We never really camped just for the sake of hanging out in nature. It was just that camping was cheaper than a hotel. Don’t get me wrong–my father loved camping. He was a boy scout. He loved the nature. My mother did not so much love it, but she was a good sport and she didn’t like spending money either. (More to the point, she felt guilty about spending money, but that’s another story.) The only time I can remember staying in a hotel when I was growing up was when we moved from Oregon to California and we stayed in a Holiday Inn in the Bay Area, courtesy my father’s new employer. Otherwise, it would never have happened. Let me tell you, the Holiday Inn was my idea of luxury for many years. To this day I have kind of a soft spot in my heart for it, although my last stay at a Holiday Inn Express was less than ideal.
But anyway–yes, camping. We did it every year. Every. Single. Year. The thing I remember most about it was blowing up my own air mattress. These days you have these new-fangled battery-operated pumps to blow up air mattresses. You also have much better air mattresses. Back then it was the kind of air mattresses you float in swimming pools and we had to blow them up with our own breath. You should know that I was well into my thirties before I successfully inflated my first balloon with this method, so you can imagine how much work it was for me, as a mere child (or sullen teenager) to inflate an entire freaking air mattress. Actually, by the time I was a sullen teenager, I had given up on blowing up the air mattress. Actually, it may have been on this Grand Canyon camping trip that I decided I wasn’t going to bother with them anymore BECAUSE THEY ALWAYS SPRANG A LEAK AND I’D WAKE UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT ON THE HARD GROUND ANYWAY SO WHAT WAS THE POINT. I was also on my period during this camping trip, so that made everything extra-delightful. (I’m sorry if you’re a dude reading this and needed a trigger warning before that sentence, but on the other hand, maybe you should just grow up. I’m the one who really suffered.)
So that is my prior camping experience, in a nutshell. Now a foundation has been laid so that I can tell you how I, a grown woman of 43, got suckered into making a camping trip–a four-day camping trip–and how that went. Stay tuned, gentle readers. Same bat time, same bat channel.*
*Same bat channel. I can’t promise the bat time. Heck, I can’t even guarantee that I’ll update in less than a month. But I will. I promise!**
**A promise is not the same as a guarantee. Promises are frequently broken. You never hear about a broken guarantee. Probably some legal thing.
In the east, rain falls in steady straight streams, leaving everything on the weathered ancient hills dense and green. I’ve never watered my yard here in Virginia, there is no need. The hotter the day, the more likely a downpour in the afternoon, and the sauna-like summer makes the plants lush and the flowers deliciously enormous. My heart and mind are at war over whether it’s okay to call the Shenandoahs mountains, when they appear as little more than foothills. Mountains… can be seen from the distance, and have snow all year long, the heart argues. The mind, ever swordlike, recalls the geologic map in a dusty class at Eastern where the Shenandoahs were weathered grandfathers when the Rockies were being fledged by the continental collision, and I sigh. Fine, they’re mountains.
I was hoping to make it out west this summer, but it just wasn’t possible. I held on, keeping my google alerts on flights until long after it was reasonable to buy tickets. I have a million things for which to be grateful, and other than a bit of personal sadness at missing some events with friends and family, I know I’m in a very good place, and I’m grateful.
Jon asked me the other day what I needed to be happy- He’s very concerned with my happiness, and it’s disarming that he cares so much. I’m still not used to it. I folded my book in my lap, and thought earnestly for a moment.
After a season upon season of uncertainty, upheaval and ridiculously hard work, I truly lack for nothing. The blessings are counted in private, within my heart, but the season has indeed tipped, and the mountains of my soul have weathered, the craggy peaks worn down just a enough, for now. The drought is over, and the tools of survival won’t serve as well this new season; it’s time to lay them down. I lack for nothing.
The challenge now is rising to the responsibility to cultivate this garden, which has been fed by the runoff and erosion of those hard, mountainous years, and to share the bounty that will grow in this rich, fertile soil. I don’t know what comes next, but I’m a quick study— I’ll learn. I’m not alone in the garden anymore. That’s everything.
I think that’s a pretty good answer.
My husband’s ex-wife attended our ward yesterday. I don’t get nervous when speaking, so it didn’t really phase me on the stand- but it’s part of an emerging pattern of interjecting herself when we have the kids. A phone call each evening (which is what he does when the kids are not with us) is perfectly fine and reasonable, but half a dozen phone calls and twice as many texts in a few hours is a bit over the line. We clearly have some work to do.
I realize it must be very difficult to have another woman have access to and personal time with your children. This isn’t a challenge I’ve been given, but my capacity for empathy is decently calibrated, so I can imagine those shoes being uncomfortable, particularly at first. I want her to know that her kids are being loved and cared for with us.
Learning to be a good step-parent is like anything when you’re learning— you’re going to goof a few times, but sincerity and love go a long way towards cementing new bonds. I’ve never done this before, but I have been a step-kid and I have been a kid of a divorce, and I’ve been trying to remember what I needed; the answer always comes down to love. If I err on the side of love, I think it’s pretty hard to go wrong.
From day one, I decided all children in our new family would be treated and loved equally. There would be the same set of rules for all the kids. They are radically different children, and all five have wildly different needs many days, but it’s possible and necessary to make the family a place where everyone is loved, and everyone’s input is valid, and most importantly, wanted and heard. Despite the fact my own kids are here every day and my step-kids divide their time between two homes, all kids have dedicated space and a dedicated voice here. Taking the time to listen— really listen— has already opened up some unique and healing conversations with my step-kids and with my own kids, as we navigate combining families.
The kids are getting along better than I ever dared hope. They’re 17, nearly 13, 11, 10 and 8. They’re playing together, working together, helping each other, giggling a lot, staying up way too late talking, teasing each other, and now, even solving problems together. Just like siblings. At first everyone was understandably careful, but I see the problem solving and relaxing as evidence of feeling comfortable and safe— and that’s a good thing.
I haven’t been writing about this much because honestly, I haven’t known how to navigate the new interpersonal byways. My kids are used to being part of my narrative, and while I give them veto power now over anything I write about them, they still are used to being part of a somewhat public story. I’ll clearly be more careful with my step-kids’ privacy, but I simply cannot ignore the impact and beautiful part of our lives they are becoming. My husband encouraged me to just write; to do what I do best. So here it is.
For their mother, I want her to know what their father already knows— maybe it will help her feel more comfortable: They are safe and loved here in this newly formed, unconventional family. I will love and protect them as if they were my own. And that’s saying something.
25th We continued our Journey all day in the cars. Arived at Buffalo in the evening being 365 miles from Troy in 24 hours. Expenses of travelling and sundry articles from Westfield to Detroit $32.20.
26th Took steem Boat in the morning and in 24 hours arived at Cleavland. O Hyde left at fairport to visit his family in Kirtland.
27th We arived at Detroit in the evening on board the Buffalo. Spent the night at the rail road Hotel.
28th Sunday We took the propeller Hereles for Chicago at 10 oclok fare in Cabin $7. I spent a part of the day in writing. We had good state rooms and was Comfortable. We spoke of our families free-quently and the death of Joseph and Hiram. We felt anxious to get home.
I conversed with the quorum of the Twelve. Elder B. Young expressed his feelings to me upon a variety of subjects. Among others wished me to keep an account of things as he should look to me for his Journal some day. Brothers Kimbal and Pratt were quite sociable. As to Elder Lyman Wight we were always on good terms. We had an interesting time together. We talked over old times and looked forward to new ones. He informed me that Joseph told him while they were in Joal that he should not live to see forty years but told him not to reveal it untill he was dead. Br Wight as well as the rest of us feels his death deeply.
29th We had a plesent time in gliding smoothly over the bosom of the lakes.
30th We arived at the Macinnau. Stoped awile & got some fish took some indians in tow and went along. Their is a spirit manifesting itself through the boat of prejudice against us because we do not mingle with them in their nonsens and folly. Our spirits are not congeniel and they wish to speak evil of us while we walk uprightly. This spirit is manifest more or less throughout the gentile world.
31st The opposing spirit is still previlent through the boat. It is not plesant to be in the midst of it. We are travelling through the Michigan lake vary smoothly under different feelings from what I passed in 1841 with my family wreked on the Chesepek.
August 1st We stoped at Milwaka & racene. The lake smooth, But some spirits rough. We begin to feel in bondage among the gentiles. We arived in Chicago in the evening. Put up for the night in the lake street house. Had good accommodations and Cheep Breakfast and lodging. 37 1/2 cts. Distance from Buffalo to Chicago 1,100 miles.
2d Left Chicago friday morning. Took Stage for Galena. Paid fare $8. Rode all day and all night through a delightful farming Country but we had a bad road. Had to walk some. Had a heavy load. We did not rest much during the night.
3d Continued our Journey through the day and night still through a splendid Country. The Country began to be rough as we drew towards Galena. We arived in Galena Sunday morning about 8 oclok. Distance from Chicago to Galena by Stage 160 miles. Fare $8. Board $1.75.
Sunday 4th We all arived here almost exhausted with fatigue, being 48 hours in the stage without stoping ownly to take our meals & over a rough road. We stoped for the day and night at the America House, washed up, changed our clothing & spent most of the day abed trying to get some rest. I walked out through the evening in the town to take a view of Galena. It is built in the side of a mountain on the bank of the river. A rough place. I should judge about 3,000 inhabitents. The buildings generally small. Some good houses. I dreamed during the night of seeing Br Asahel at Farmington Ct. at fathers house.
Aug 5th Monday This is the day of election in this state. Their will probably be some fighting and perhaps some blood shed as men are geting wicked and about ripe for judgment. Their was some fighting in the bar room below last evening but nothing vary serious. Elder Kimball had a dream last evening. Thought he was preaching to a large Congregation. Said the Prophet Joseph Smith had laid the foundation for a great work and it was now for us to build upon it. He thought Br Joseph was present and appeared natural. We took the steemer st Croix and left Galena for Nauvoo. We had a plesant sail through the day and evening, though some unplesant feelings during the evening.
6th We stoped at various places on the river among others Burlington, after which we prepared our minds to once more behold the City of Nauvoo & embrace our families & friends. We arived in the city of Nauvoo at 8 oclock in the evening at the upper stone house. We were hailed with Joy by all the Citizens we met. I accompanied the quorum of the Twelve to their families after which I was conveyed to my own and truly felt to rejoice to once more embrace my wife and Children.
I spent the night at home with my family. Thus it is with me. I have not spent but one summer either at home or with the church, for the last 10 years as my lot has been all the day long in the vineyard. I go and come from year to year. Distance from Galenia to Nauvoo 250 m.
When we landed in the City there was a deep gloom seemed to rest over the City of Nauvoo which we never experienced before.
Aug 7th 1844 I went forth this morning through the city of Nauvoo. Saw many friends & met with the quorum of the twelve at Elder Taylors. We were truly glad to see each other. Br Taylor was getting well of his wounds that he recieved in Jail in company with Joseph and Hiram Smith when they were murdered. We were glad to see Dr Richards who escaped unhurt. We were recived with gladness by the Saints throughout the city. They felt like sheep without a shepherd, as being without a father, as their head had been taken away.
We spent the fore part of the day at Br Tay-lors, and in the afternoon, we met in Council at the Seventies Hall, viz the Twelve, High Council, and High Priest &c. & we herd Sidney Rigdon tell his Story and message which he had to us and the Church. A long Story it was a kind of second Class vision. He said he was appointed to come and offer himself to lead the Church, and many things was said. He was followed by Br Brigham Young and he showed that their could not be any one before the Twelve. A conference was appointed for the whole Church to come together on Tuesday next at 10 oclok.
8th Their was a meeting appointed at the grove for the Church to come together for Prayers. But in consequence of some excitement among the People and a dispositions by some spirits to try to divide the Church, it was thought best to attend to the business of the Church in the afternoon that was to be attended to on Tuesday. The Twelve spent their time in the fore part of the day at the office and in the afternoon met at the grove. The following is the business of the day:
{) All the authorities of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in and about Nauvoo met in a special Conference in the grove in Nauvoo at 3 oclock. The quorum of the Twelve, Councillors S. Rigdon & A Lyman, the High Council, and others occupied the Stand. The High Priest quorum, & quorum of the Seventies and Elders, Bishops, Priests, Teachers & deacons appeared in their several quorums and took their seats and also a vast Congregation of Saints.
When all was seated that Could get seats President B. Young arose and said Attention. All this congregation makes me think of the days of king Benjamin when the People was so great that they Could not make them hear. But we want your attention.
Wm. W Phelps was called upon to address the throne of grace which he did do most fervently. President B Young again arose and said let none complain because of the situation of the congregation. We have all done the best we could.
For the first time in my life for the first time in your lives, for the first time in the kingdom of God do I step forth to act in my capacity in connexion with the quorum of the Twelve as Apostles of Jesus Christ unto the People and to bear of the keys of the Kingdom of God in all the world. And for the first time are you Called to walk by faith not by sight. For always before you have had a Prophet as the mouth of the Lord to speak to you. But he has sealed his testimony with his Blood.
I now want to ask each of you to tell me if you want to chuse a gardeen, a Prophet evangelist or sumthing els as your head to lead you. All that are in favor of it make it manifest by raising the right hand. No hands raised. All that wants to draw away a party from the Church after them let them do it if they can, but they will not prosper.
I now wish to speak of the organization of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints; Sidney Rigdon and Amasa Lyman were Counsellors to Joseph. I ask whare is Joseph? He is gone beyound the vail, and for them to act in their office as his Councillors they must go beyond the veil whare he is.
Their has been much said about President Rigdon being president of the Church leading the People, being the head, &c. If the People want President Rigdon to lead them, they may have him. But I say unto you that the quorum of The Twelve have the keys of the kingdom of God in all the world. They stand next to Joseph and are the Presidency of the Church, and hold the keys and would have to ordain any man unto that appointment if one that should be Chosen ie. if one was to be chosen. You Cannot appoint any man at our head. We should have to ordain him. You Cannot appoint a man at our head. But if you want any other man to lead you, take him, and we will go our way to build up the kingdom in all the world.
Perhaps some think that president Rigdon would not be honord. But if he does right he will not act against our Council nor we aginst his but act together. But I repeat again No man can stand at our head. The Prophet Joseph has lade the foundation for a great work, and we will build upon it.
Do you want a Patriarch for the whole Church? It would have been the right of Samuel Smith if he had lived, but he is dead. William is left and John Smith. It is their right. Do you want a trustee in trust? If so look at a bishop. It is their place to attend to temporal matters. They never yet have acted in their Station.
Elder S. Rigdon Claims to be a spokesman to Joseph. Vary well he is. But can he now act in that office? If he wants now to be a spokesman to the prophet, he must go [to] the other side of the veil for the Prophet is there. But Elder Rigdon is here. Why will Elder Rigdon be a fool?
Let those who holds the keys of the Kingdom of God build it up in all the world. If their is a spokesman if he is a king and Priest let him go and build up a kingdom. This is his right, and it is the right of many here. But who is the head? The Twelve. If one Thousand rise up and say they have the Prophets Joseph shoes I know they are impostures. If you know how the Church is organized I wish to ask a question. Now If you want Rigdon Lyman or Law to lead you or any body els, you may have them. But I tel you in the name of the Lord, that no man Can put another between the Twelve and the Prophet Joseph. Why? Because Joseph was their file leader and he has Committed into there hands the keys of the kingdom for all the world. Dont put a thread between the Priesthood and God. I will ask who has stood next to Joseph and Hiram? I have and I will stand next to him. We have a head, and that head is the Twelve and we can begin to see the neccessity of the Apostleship. I will now Close and give way for my brethren.
Br Reuben Hedlock address in Liverpool is 36 Chapel st. J. Hardy is 91 Commercial st Boston. I had a present of a Coat from sister Jones of Boston.
Br Samuel Dam wished me to send him all the Times and seasons Bound and the covenants & Book of mormon & he will pay the money. He spoke of Bying a lot of me. I spent the night at 57 Temple st.
20th I left Boston in rail car to westfield & Buggy to Br Ashbel Dewey’s on little River street.
Expenses $3. Spent the night with Br Deweys. 120 m.
21 Sunday I Preached in the school house forenoon and afternoon, & broke bread unto the Saints. They made me a contribution of $10 and Ashel Dewey let me have $10 on Br Sparks Book account, which I gave him an order for on Br Sparks. I recieved $1 dollar for the Temple from John J. Stocking. I recieved $1 dollar for the Temple from Elizabeth Easton. I recieved $4 dollars for the Temple from Maria Dewy. I recieved $10 dollars ina letter to go to a man in Nauvoo from Vinson Shirtliff from Russell Russell Depo Mass. Call upon Titus Billings & he will tell whare the letter is to go.
I took the parting hand with the Saints and rode to Simsbury. Called upon Aunt Cosset. Found her still deranged but better. Spent the night at Phelps Tavern. 25 miles.
22d (Home)(Home) I parted with the friends in Simsbury and rode to my Fathers house in farmington and was truly glad to once more behold the face of my Father and step mother. I found them alone not a child with them in their decline of life to watch their cares. I had but 24 hours to spend with them. I happily improved it. I never enjoyed a better visit with them.
My mind had been deeply impressed for weeks that I had sumthing to do for my parents before they died. Now was my time. My father was near seventy years of age. I might never see him again. That night I shall never forget while time endures. Eternity alone can ownly unfold the strength of its deeds. As the Sable Shades of night drew her Serene Curtin ore the earth to still the cares of day we met alone; none but congeniel spirits their.
Wilford arose and with the spirit of a Joseph towards his father Jacob opened his heart to his father and spoke his mind. The sentiment was re-cieved. I lade my hands upon my Father Aphek head (And according to the authority of the Priesthood and Apostleship confered upon me by the Revelations of Jesus Christ under the hands of the Twelve Apostles, President B. Young being mouth upon the cornor stone of the house of the Lord in far west in the land of Zion,) I ordained My father Aphek Woodruff unto the office of an high Priest and Patriarch after the order of Melchezedeck. I sealed him up unto eternal life. I placed upon his head the seals of the covenant. [indecipherable]
When all was oer it was right, my soul was satisfyed. I had accomplished what my soul longed after. My Dear father and stepmother retired. I was left alone: Alone did I say? No not alone. A congeniel spirit, A kindred spirit dwelt with me, around my * bed upon my briest, within my heart. 0 glorious night. Sleep departed from me. Meditations, seenes and visions of by gone days and days to come, formed my covering, my curtain. Who knows the sweets of obedience, the gospel, eternal truth? The Ancient Patriarch’s. So do we.
I shall never forget the last night I spent beneath my fathers Roof. I may never spend another there. O God protect my aged father, through life. Let the strength of Parental obligation rest with due wait upon my head. Console the heart of her who has watched my wants, my youth, my life, and when my mother rises from the grave let the union of my father be like a three fold cord not easily broaken. Let him stand in the linage of his fathers in his exhaltations. What I say unto one I say unto all. Watch, for thoughts dwell deep, but words pass away. (Vera amieitia est sempiterna.) 15 m.
23d Tuesday I took the parting hand with father and mother with great Satisfaction. A pecu-lier Charm was thrown around my soul as I left the threshhold of my fathers house, having the confidence that if I never see my father in the flesh again I shall meet him in the first resurrection. I had a desire in my heart that all the ordinances of the fulness of the gospel might also be administered unto father and mother Carter that they may sleep in peace. May God grant the request.
I rode in company with Landlord Phelps to the railroad depo in New Briten. Took rail road to New Haven. Spent 10 hours in the place mostly at Mr Tuttles. Was with Br Terrill. Did not see Br Davis. Took Steem Boat at 10 oclok. Arived at New York next morning. Distance from Farmington Ct. to New York 150 miles.
Bishop Brown, the same good man who drove my TARDIS moving truck from Washington State to Washington DC two summers ago (if you need an adopted father, I cannot recommend Bishop Brown highly enough) prepared dinner for his flock- and introduced me to the finer aspects of southern vinegar barbecue sauce, and the divine alchemy of brine-cured dills atop a pile fresh slaw. I cannot bite into it without tears of happiness welling at the corners of my eyes. This recipe is my July gift to you.
Rub the roast with the spices, throw everything in a slow-cooker or crock pot in the morning, and let it cook all day on low. That’s it. It’s so simple.
Whisk all the ingredients in a bowl, and set aside in the fridge until the pork is done. Adjust seasoning to taste. I like the tang of vinegar, some like it sweeter. You can also, if you feel like it, use a store-bought sauce in a pinch, and it’s honestly almost as good.
Shred the cabbage and carrots and set aside in a large bowl. Whisk remaining dressing ingredients in a bowl, then toss with cabbage/carrots. Cover and refrigerate for at least two hours.
Go buy some good brine-cured kosher dill pickles. Most commercial brands are cured with vinegar, and they’re great too, but a refrigerated brine pickles is a whole new party. Trader Joes carries a good brine pickle. So do most nicer grocers. If you can’t find them, regular ol’ pickles will still be really good. While you’re at the store, pick up some really yummy looking soft buns- something better-looking than regular hamburger buns, but those will work in a pinch.
When the roast is done and utterly falling apart, usually perfectly around dinner time if I started it before about 10 am, turn the slow cooker off and lift the roast onto a plate. Save the liquid in the cooker. The roast will fall apart- that’s a beautiful thing. Shred it with some forks, and return to the slow cooker. I usually add some of the pot broth back to make the pork super moist, but do what you think will taste best given your roast and your broth. Pour the barbecue sauce over the shredded pork and toss it all together. Is your mouth watering? Mine is, just thinking of it.
To serve, pile the sauce soaked shredded pork on a bun, add a heaping scoop of the freshly made slaw, and top with some thin slices of your briny pickles. This is one of those particular dishes where the whole is sublimely greater than the sum of the simple parts.
I usually serve it with baked beans and follow with Ree’s Texas Sheet Cake, which is simply truly the best sheet cake ever. I won’t even try to top it. Now go watch fireflies and hang out with your friends while you all marvel at what a good cook you are!
NB: As a person with a bad gluten-allergy, I skip the bun and have everything else in a bowl like a salad. It’s just as good. Beware of hidden gluten in commercial barbecue sauces.)
There are some deep stirrings and upwellings from the long-undisturbed layers in my bedrock. I haven’t figured out yet what they mean, or where they will take me, but it feels like it’s the roadmap for the next chapters of my life. What does one who learned how to breathe and swim and make a life in chaos and upheaval do with peace and stability? I don’t know yet. I suspect, like everything, it’s about trust.
Learning to be a wife again, to share parenting duties and household burdens and joys, to incorporate a life with five children instead of just three. Learning to share space and time again, and dropping the no-longer necessary armor from my solo-parenting years. It’s all a process, all about trust.
I’m comfortable in the space of uncertainty. Oddly enough, that fact gives me some certainty in navigating these new shoals of my life. There is stability where for so long there was nothing beneath my feet, and even though that stability is still so unfamiliar, comfort with uncertainty in my surroundings is something of which my navigational skills are finely honed and bedrock confident.
I feel like a mobius, both coming and going. A paradox, this because of that, but not that without this. I am laced in finely wrought tension, where the creation is beautiful beyond comprehension, now brought forth from the stored, vulcanized silks spun my entire life.
We walked all over the house & took a view of the furniture. It could not have Cost much less than one hundred thousand dollars to have furnished it.
After tea we walked to meeting in a hall in Washington st opposite Boydston hall. Elder Hyde had advertised to Preach upon the murder of Joseph and Hyram Smith and take up a collection at the close to pay his expenses home. The following is a brief synopsis of the same:
The speaker read the 24 Ch. Matthew 9 to 14 verses as the foundation of some remarks. Said he would much rather leave the strife of men, and spend his time in speaking of the gospel of Jesus Christ But it is my design to night to speak upon the death of the Prophet & Patriarch. Some might think because of the death of the men it would put a stop to the work but not so. When God has sent a man men at any time they were opposed by the world. For any generation, that has a prophet of God in their midst they see his weakness as touching human nature & the people are watching for iniquity & they spend all their time talking about any thing they see him do that does not accord with their traditions & tell a great many falshoods about him but entirely forget and overlook all the good he does.
It was so with our Savior. Men looked upon him as an impostor and Beelzebub the Prince of devils, and when he was crucifyed they were not satisfyed with his dying merely but went and thrust a spear into his side and their came out Blood and water. But how is it now with the Savior? All profess to believe on him. They dont talk about what his persecutors said were his bad deeds but his good ones.
When a man dies his bad deeds die with him and his virtues live and grow brighter. The gentiles say if I had lived in the days of the Savior I would not have killed him but would have rejoiced. But imagin yourselfs living in the days of an inspired man. How would you look upon him? As the worst of men the same as they did.
A man told me he dreamed that some man spoke to him and said Lama, Lama, and he looked and it was Joseph Smith retreating from him and saying those words, the interpetation of which is my God my God & when Joseph Smith was shot he repeated those words. So with the Savior when he was crucified. He said Lama, Lama, Sabacthana.
As the Jews were not satisfied with killing Jesus Christ, but must thrust a spear into his side so with the gentiles. They were not satisfied with shooting the Prophet but stabed him with a dagger in the breast. As soon as they killed them they all fled and in an hour their was not a man left in the place. But the wicked flea when no man persues.
But why did the people murder this Prophet? What were they afraid of? O if he lives he will take away our power of goverment get the rule in his own hands and we will be distroyed. But they were mistaken. If they had let him alone or had recieved him he would have saved the nation from ruin and destruction. But now the nation has got to answer for his blood and the blood of his brother both of which were the Lords anointed. Besides the nation will now be deprived of the benefit of that wisdom and intelligence which the Prophet seer & revelator would have brought to light that would have been used for the benefit of the nations.
But now their die is cast and doom is sealed, & their judgment will come in an hour they are not aware of. It was so with the Jews. They said if we let Jesus alone he will come and take away our state and Nation so they crusifyed him shed his blood and said let it be upon us and our Children. And the judgments came upon them. Their city was laid in the dust, & the inhabitants fell by the sword & famine and the remnant was scattered throughout the gentile world, while if they had recieved Jesus Christ he would oft had gatherd together the people & saved the City.
When the nations of the earth send their messengers or ministers to any people & they are not recieved but treated lightly and killed will not that nation take vengance on their enemies? Is God then of less consequence than man? When he sends his Prophets, messengers & servants to the world with a message & the people Cast them out stone shoot and kill them will not God take vengance on that nation? Yea he ever did and ever will, and this nation will not escape.
John said in pouring out the plagues upon the earth 16 ch. 3 v. that he poured out his vial upon the sea and it became as the blood of a dead man and evry living soul died in the sea. And the third angel poured out his vial upon the rivers and fountain of waters and they became blood. And the Angels Said the Lord was righteous in so doing for they have shed the blood of Saints and Prophets and thou hast given them blood to drink for they are worthy. 6 v.
Some say it was in the days of Jesus Christ, But it was not in the days of Jesus Christ for John lived after and saw things in the last days. It seems that the waters was turned to blood because they had shed the Blood of Prophets and Saints. Their was to be two Prophets in Jerrusalem slain, for they tormented them. Prophets are always a torment to the People for they tell them the truth, reprove their transgressions speak of the Judgments that are to come. When those prophets were to be slain the people all would rejoice & send Presents to one another because the prophets who had tormented them were slain. But in three days they stood upon their feet & the Joy of their enemies was of short duration.
It is so now. Their is a secret Joy in the hearts of the Priest and many people that the Prophet and Patriarch is murdered and some manifest their joy openly. It is always a dark time Just before day. It is a dark time now but it will soon be light.
When Christ was crucifyed it was a dark time. They were ready to go to their farm fishing and merchandize and Peter sent to inquire if he was the one or if we should look for another. The answer was go and tell them what you see and hear. Feel my body I have arisen. And Joy immediatly arose in their bosom. As soon as the Jews found he had arisin they bribed the guard to say that while they were asleep his deciples stole him away, which saying is believed among the Jews untill the present day. And they are taken in their own snare for it has been that vary key that has Chained them untill the present time, & so it is with this nation. They have sealed their damnation by shedding the blood of the vary man that holds the keys of this last dispensation and consequently their destiny.
A word about Br Joseph being killed. Some have thought he could not be killed. But the Lord never said so neither did Joseph say so. So did Peter say to Jesus when he told him that he would be slain or offered, far be it from thee. This shall not come upon thee. Jesus said get the behind me Satan. Thou savoreth not the things that be of God but of men.
In the first instance The Prophet crossed the river to Iowa & while there he inquired of the Lord what he should do and the Lord told him to return and give himself up. He appeared to be aware that he would be slain. The covenants convey this same idea concerning Joseph. See Page 159 4 par. Behold I grant unto you eternal life if you should be slain. Page 126, 1 & 2 Par.
It is supposed by some that the Govornor had a hand in this affair. At first they were not ready to recieve him for the plan was not finished how to dispose of him. The Govornor had taken away all of the state arms, & was in Nauvoo requesting them to give up their private arms at the same time that they were murdering our brethren at Carthage Jeal. As soon as the word Came the govornor fled. The women and Children removed so as to stir up the world to come and destroy the place but this failed.
In consequence of the death of the prophets the Editors seem to get the spirit of prophecy and say the work is done & will stop, and die. But as I am in the midst of the Prophetic Editors like Saul I ketch some of the spirit of Prophecy, & so I will prophecy that instead of the work dying it will be like the mustard stock that was ripe that a man undertook to throw out of his garding and scattered seed all over it and next year it was nothing but mustard. It will be so by shedding the blood of the prophets. It will make 10 saints whare their is one now.
Some said that he would be President, but is now dead. Now what will he do? The Revelator Says He that overcometh will I give Power over the Nations and he shall rule them with a rod of Iron. I dont know but he may hold the keys of the Plagues that are to be poured out in the last days upon this and other nations. Angels appeared anciently to John who were his fellow servants. The prophet Joseph may appear in this day to his brethren.
This gospel of the kingdom must be preached in all the world for a testimony. Then shall the end come. Though they should be persecuted if they endured to the end they should be saved. This generation speak much about the clouds and weather. They disern the face of the sky but why can they not disern the signs of the times? The fig trees are leaving and all things indicate the second advent of Christ.
Elder B Young arose and Said he felt disposed to add his testimony. Be of good cheer. The testi-ment is not in force while the Testator liveth. When he died it was in force. So it is with Joseph. On the day of Pentecost their was but 120 of the Saints, but at that time their were added 3,000 souls. When God sends a man to do a work all the devils in hell cannot kill him untill he gets through his work. So with Joseph. He prepared all things gave the keys to men on the earth and said I may be soon taken from you.
I recieved an extra Nauvoo Neighbor during the evening which gave an account of the death of the Prophet & Patriarch. At the close of the meeting I went home and spent the night with a brother.
We do not obtain one word from any of our friends so that we can obtain anything Correct upon the subject. I hope we may get sumthing soon. I expect the mails are stoped. Mob spirit is rising through out the Country. Philadelphia is full of it. War is again Proclaimed against Texas by Mexico & the world is sheding the blood of Prophets, Patriarch and Saints in order to fill up their Cup.
14th I held meeting with the Saints to day in Franklin hall franklin st Boston. I preached in the forenoon administered the sacrament in the afternoon & Preached again in the evening. We had an interesting time. I had the spirit of Preaching. I spoke in the forenoon from Luke 21 ch. in the afternoon to the saints from the doctrins and covenants & my Journal, in the evening from Rev 14 Ch 6 7 & 8 verses & Rev 6 ch. 9, 10 & 11 verses. The house was Crowded through the day. I spent the night at Br Phelps.
15th I sent Mrs Phebe W. Woodruff Benn weekly herald containing cuts and accounts of the Philadelphia riots & of the death of Joseph & Hiram Smith.
16th As I arose in the morning Sister Phelps handed me two Letters one from Snow and one from J. E. Page both Confirming the death of the Patriarch and Prophet Joseph & Hyram Smith. I immediately wrote three letters & sent to Brigham Young one to Peterboro N.H. one to Lowell & one to Brab-ford Mass. I then went to the Post Office & took out a letters directed to G. A. Smith written mostly by his wife. Mrs Woodruff wrote a few lines in it to me the first intelligence I had from her since I left home. She related the following dream that Joseph Smith had a few days before he sealed * his testimony with his blood, about Wm. & Wilson Law:
He thought they bound him and cast him into prision a pit or well as Joseph was anciently. He struggled hard & got up so he could look out & he saw the Laws a little distance off one of them in the hands grasp of a tiger & the other a snake. They called to him to come & help them. He told them they had bound him & they could not. He thought a brother soon came along & took him out of the pit. *
I called upon Sister Voce 57 Temple St. Saw Sister Ruth Sayers who was with her. She also recieved a letter from her husband this day Dated Nauvoo June 30th & still confirmed the death of Joseph & Hiram Smith. Gave the whole particulars Concerning it.
17th I have never shed a tear since I heard of the death of the prophets untill this morning but my whole soul has felt nerved up like steel.
Elder B. Young arived in Boston this morning. I walked with him to 57 Temple st and called upon sister Voice. Br Young took the bed and I the big Chair, and I here veiled my face and for the first time gave vent to my grief and mourning for the Prophet and Patriarch of the Church Joseph and Hiram Smith who were murdered by a gentile mob. After being bathed by a flood of tears I felt composed. Elder Young left the city. I spent the night at Br Phelps.
It was in a tiny studio apartment kitchen in Capitola-by-the-Sea where I first realized I could cook. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen as a kid— my mother is an exceptional baker, and like all kids, I “helped” her, but baking requires measuring, care in amounts, and a degree of precision that often made my attempts fall flat. Literally. While my mom’s baking skills are renowned, I took my failure to reproduce her fineries to mean a general failure in the kitchen. It wasn’t until I had my first apartment (shared with the daughter of a Beach Boy. Not even kidding.) that I realized cooking and baking are like Mars and Venus. Not even the same world. The first savory dish I ever attempted was a broccoli and cheddar soufflé. (Yes. I am Soufflé Girl.) It was spectacular. All these years later, I can still remember the gulls crying out my upper-story window and taste the salty Pacific air as I pulled the perfect soufflé from the oven, astonished that it actually worked!
My love of cooking was born. Right there, in that moment. It’s kind of cool to have a rubicon where I can clearly pinpoint a turning point in life. I went from being timid and skeptical to feeling like SuperGirl, in one divine moment of alchemy between egg, vegetable and sharp cheddar. I’ve never looked back.
Since then, I’ve gotten better at baking, but it’s still not my passion. Too much carefulness is required, and it annoys me that humidity, temperature and precision can all turn something lovely into a lumpy dumpy mess. Cooking is instinctual. Baking is science. (I bet Abby will take after her Grandmas.) Plus, adding in the whole “flour will kill me” issue kinda takes the joy out of baking.
For all of my adult life, the kitchen had been my realm. I’m a good cook— I can wing it, make my own recipes, and I have the instincts to combine things successfully into good food. More than that, I utterly enjoy it. Going into the kitchen is relaxing and calming for me- holding my Wustoff ten-inch chef’s knife (it’s been with me longer than my children) and slicing, chopping and julienning are transformative, therapeutic acts. The knife rocks over the scarred wooden boards of my block, and it becomes a meditation. My kitchen tools are loved, and most of them have stories, memories, and people attached to their acquisition and use. Sure, sometimes I toss dinner together from freezer-fixins’ just like everyone— but really cooking remains a simple joy.
Now… for the first time in my adult life… there’s another person in the house who loves to cook. And I don’t know what to do.
My dad didn’t cook. None of the men in my life have ever cooked. I don’t think my brothers made their own toast for breakfast until they were adults. And all of the sudden, there is a large man in the middle of my kitchen. He likes my knives, and how honed and heavy they are. He likes my thick cutting boards, scarred with time and memories. He notices the All-Clad pans that were worth the investment long ago. He appreciates the solid clay bowls, and the wooden spoons made in France. He himself chose the five-burnder gas stove for the kitchen I now call mine. He notices and enjoys the fineness of my tools. And he cooks.
He cooks. He bakes. He does the dishes. He sweeps up after dinner. When he’s in the kitchen, he’s not “helping” me— he’s just… in the kitchen, enjoying cooking as much as I do. I catch myself standing like a deer in the headlights, caught between movements, words half-formed and unsure what to do with my limbs as I find him once again effortlessly navigating the finer points of kitchen alchemy. I’ve been doing this alone for so long, my patterns are well established, and I keep tripping as I turn to do something, a step of the kitchen dance, and find I now have a partner in this timeless domestic rhythm.
He gently laughs at me, as I stall mid-movement, unsure for the first time in years what to do next. This is all new.
I suppose there is always an adjustment in a new marriage, in a new family. We seem to be doing really well in many ways- my kids adore him, and have for a long time. Both of our families are very happy with our choice of each other and have fully embraced us. His kids, while not here as much as mine, seem happy with us and are acclimating to having new siblings. Our belongings have melded together beautifully in the house. There’s a whole lot of harmony.
I just have to get used to a man in my kitchen. A man who is a much better baker than I am…
July 9th 1844 I left Scarboro in the morning in company with Father Carter & Elder M. Holmes & rode to Portland, & dined with Ezra Carter & made preperations to take the steam boat in the evening for Thomastown & fox Islands.
But about 2 oclok P.M. We obtained the Boston Times of July 9th Containing the solumn & awful information of the Death of President Joseph Smith the Prophet Seer & Revelator of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Also the Death of Hiram Smith his brother the Patriarch of Said Church. They were shot dead in Cartha[ge] jail by a company of anti mormons & a guard that Governor Ford placed over them 200 men American citizens painted like indians.
Great excitement Prevailed & it was expected that the Nauvoo Legion would be exasperated & avenge their Blood, by rushing to battle against the Govonor & his guard that was camped 7 miles from Nauvoo & also against Carthage & Warsaw & the whole Country was rushing to arms & could not tell whare it would stop. The families of warsaw had gone to Quincy. The bells of the town were ringing & men were Called to arms, but where the end would be time alone must detirmin. The foregoing items I draw from the papers. We shall look for terrible accounts each day untill the Close of the Seene
We also recieved a hand bill in the evening Concerning the mob war excitement &c in philadelphia which was tremendious. In fact the nation seems to be ripe for Judgment.
I spent the night with Sister Foss. I lade hands upon her & asked the Lord to Bless her. She felt Sorrowful about affairs in the west. Felt anxious about Phebe and the Children. My prayer is that God will prepare our minds for the worst & that we may maintain our integrity untill death, that we may overcome as Jesus has overcome.
I took out the letter from Portland P.O. that I sent to Mrs Woodruff on the 8th & Br Elbridge Tufts wrote to his Brother in Law Nathan Pinkham of Quincy Ill. to take his family in Charge if they were breaking up & removeing from Nauvoo. I also requested him to take Charge of my family if they needed the favor. He keeps tavern by the side of the quincy house. Distance of the day 20 miles.
10th I walked to Father Carters & spent the fore noon. Dined with them & took the parting hand with them, & rode with Sister Foss & Calvin & Br Tufts to Saco. Called upon Sister Rhoda. Luther was from home. Much anxiety was manifest about Phebe.
I here took the Cars for Boston. Arived at 9 oclock with Elder Stodard. Distance 100 miles. Sister Foss gave me $1 Calvin 50 cts Rhoda Scammans $2.50 cts to help bear my expenses home. I had to pay $2.75 cts to Boston.
11th All accounts from the west Confirm the report of the Death of the Prophet & Patriarch of the Church viz. Joseph & Hiram Smith & some reports say that Elders Richards & Phelps were killed & others Contradict it.
I wrote a letter to Mrs Woodruff & sent by Elder Stodard. I also sent by him the letter I took out of the Portland P.O. Br Stodard started for New York. He let me have: 8 Hymn Books 40 $3.20
6 Priesthood 20 $1.20
Total $4.40
I spent the fore part of the day at Br MeAllisters. Several Elders were present who felt to mourn the death of the Prophet & Patriarch.
I attended meeting in the evening with the Saints in Boston. They felt to mourn the loss of the prophet & Patriarch of the Church, yet they were strengthend in the faith & we had a good time. I spent the night at Br Phelps.
12th I wrote a letter to the Editor of the Prophet giving a word of exhortation to the Saints abroad, to maintain their integrity & keep the faith and Patience of the Saints untill death. The accounts still Continue to Confirm the death of the Prophet and Patriarch to be a cold Blooded murder.
When I first heard this, I admit that I was skeptical. In my experience, the more attention you give children, the more they want. Whatever amount of attention you manage to give them one day becomes the new standard by which they measure every other day. If you pay less attention to them today than you did yesterday, they think they are starving. Admittedly, though, it has been quite some time since I’ve tried giving my children undivided attention. Once I realized what what greedy little attention hogs they were, I started giving them mostly divided attention, or otherwise I would not have been able to get anything done. So upon reflection, realizing that I had twelve weeks of no-school days ahead of me, I decided I would try this undivided attention thing and see if it resulted in my children feeling attention-sated.
What this “give your child 15 minutes of undivided attention and they’ll leave you alone” theory fails to take into account is that it is impossible to give a child undivided attention if you have any other children in the house. Someone else always wants something while you’re trying to provide their sibling with your undivided attention. It doesn’t matter if attending to the other child takes only five seconds, if you’re only dividing your attention long enough to say, “Shut it! I’m paying attention to So-and-so!”–once you have divided your attention, the damage has been done. I guess a clock resets. Maybe. I wouldn’t know. After hundreds of hours of data collection, I have yet to give anyone fifteen minutes of undivided attention, and I have come to the conclusion that it just isn’t going to happen and I may as well start ignoring the children in favor of more rewarding pursuits.
(Just so we’re clear, I don’t actually tell my kids to “shut it.” Usually.)
My clogging group has adjourned for the summer–called a recess? Something like that. Usually we meet through the end of July because usually we perform at the county fair in July, so we are practicing up until then. But this year we are not doing the county fair because too many of us were going to be out of town that week. Also, several cloggers were heavily involved in the LDS Portland Youth Dance Festival, which finally happened a couple weeks ago, and after a year of constant dance-related toil, they were ready to take a sabbatical. So there has been no clogging since May ended, and my body feels deprived of regular exercise. My intention was to get a lot of practice in this summer so I’d be the clogging equivalent of tanned, rested, and ready come September, but so far there has been none of that.
The reasons for this are several-fold. No, actually, it just comes down to one thing: I have other priorities. There are the usual chores–laundry, dishes, shopping, cooking–and there’s the divided-attention-giving. That takes up a lot of time. But there are also things like eating and grooming. Some days I skimp on the grooming. Okay, let’s face it–most days I skimp on the grooming. Some days I don’t just skimp, but I skip the grooming. But other days I feel like if I don’t get some grooming in, I may lose my humanity. So I decide to groom instead of exercise because I only have so much time. Is it worth it? I don’t know.
I’d muse on this some more, except it’s time to take Elvis to his swim lessons.
As I wander through my new (to me) home, slowly unpacking boxes, I keep swallowing hard. Since the day I lost Big House so many years ago, I’ve lived temporarily— knowing there would be further moving, further upheaval, further kitchens and closets, further schools… I’ve carried a box of my grandmother’s china from one coast to the other, never breaking the thin plastic packing tape keeping the precious dishes safe inside. More than many, I’m keenly aware of the sharp edges on the margins, of how tenuous life can be… particularly this past week, and I step softly through the rooms in a house I am now invited to consider my home.
Not a single room in the home is the same as it used to be- every single wall has been lovingly painted, and each paned window has been stripped of fussy draperies and box-valances, to be freshly dressed with simple iron curtain rods and pale cotton and linen curtains. The air is lighter, the sunlight cascades easily through the now open windows, and makes the warm wooden floors gleam. It’s more than I ever dared hope for…
The kids bounce and giggle on the trampoline in the backyard, and I can stand again at my kitchen window, hands covered in verbena-scented suds and watch them through the lacy pattern the giant oak leaves cast in the summer sun. One by one, I open the boxes of dishes and beloved kitchen tools; an old wooden recipe box from a great aunt, filled with treasured, yellowing handwritten recipes with directions like “use a medium hot oven…” I find a place in my kitchen, and open another. My mother’s antique clay bread-rising bowl is unpacked, safely transported thousands of miles now, and no worse for wear. The few cake stands that escaped the giant moving sale are removed from their bubble wrap, and join the recipe box on the shelf… and on it goes.
Every so often, my breath catches in my throat. I have to stop, squeeze back the tears, and remind myself that it’s okay to exhale. Unpacking those boxes is more than just moving my valued belongings into a structure. Unpacking, for me, is an exercise in faith.
Unpacking means faith in my new husband, and in my newly minted marriage. Unpacking means faith in the deeply good man who has opened his heart and life to me and my children. Unpacking means faith that I won’t have to uproot my children yet again, and that they can make friends and establish patterns and call this new place home. Unpacking means faith in myself to manage a blended family where we can love and grow together. Unpacking means having faith that this is all real, and that it’s not a dream I will wake from, teary and steeped in sadness. Unpacking means being vulnerable.
Today, I am unpacking my grandma’s china. It’s the last box.
Moving sucks. It seriously sucks. Even in my tiny two-bedroom townhouse, you wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff we’d managed to amass in less than two years. I donated piles of stuff, went through all the kids’ stuff and culled and sorted, and I still had more than I’d imaged. Gone are the days of packing it all in a Volkswagen and taking off… Mercifully, many boxes were never unpacked from the last move. Who needs great-grandma’s china and silver in a house so tiny we don’t have room for the regular dishes?
Behold, the chaos. I think I took this at about 2 am one night. So stinkin’ tired.
In a concerted effort to get my cleaning deposit back on my place, we spent two solid days cleaning, including shampooing the carpets. That’s above and beyond, right? The place was spotless when we left- and I’d always had good interactions with my landlords. They’re nice people. But now it appears they might like to keep my deposit. I’m waiting, and trying to be patient… but seriously? Look at the place!
The deposit is a lot of money to me, and I even washed all the curtains. The fridge looks new! I cannot fathom what else I could have done. Do landlords just look at the cleaning deposit as extra cash? Because I could really use it, and I kind of feel like it’s mine, and I fulfilled my part of the deal. I’m really hoping they refund it.
Along with all of this, Jeffrey had his end of the year Band Concert- he’s getting really good at the Baritone Tuba, and has taken to playing the Emperors Theme at random times, like maybe when Bean is in trouble, or we’re running late. It adds to the general ambiance of the home. When I’m not trying to be mad, it’s really funny.
In the middle of packing, Abby was conducting science experiments (but so help me, none of them left marks on the townhouse!) I would be throwing things in a box, and find something that looked like this:
To which, the following conversation would occur:
Me: Abby? What… is this?
Abby: It’s nothing mom, I’m trying to extract the iron from the cereal- I’ll be using magnet once it’s saturated.
Me: Um… oh.
Because that’s what everyone thinks of doing while in the midst of moving, right?
The day of the wedding (we made our bouquets ourselves) I found this beautiful Magnolia flower in my new neighbor’s yard. I left it on the tree, but it was too beautiful not to capture. The Virginia humidity may totally suck in the summer, but there are some upsides.
If you are interested and aren’t on the mailing list, you can contact Stephanie Ogden at the Salt Lake City Deseret Book Store (801-328-8191).
Until Jon, I had not dated anyone seriously enough to let them meet my kids. You want terrifying? Introduce someone you really like to the three most important someones in your life. I knew almost immediately that this was something different. I decided to protect this tiny fledgling of a hope– not for public consumption. Not this time. It wasn’t just my three kids, who had been through so much, but he also has two children, and everyone needed to be handled with such care.
One of the things that drew us to each other is that his oldest and Bean have the same Aspergers diagnosis. I didn’t have to explain about Bean, or interpret or run interference with my peculiar kid- he totally got it, and he rolled with it. You want a direct line to the heart of an ASD mama? Love her weird kid. You want a guarantee? Have that weird kid totally love you. Bean, who seldom takes to anyone, would wait for him at the front window, running to jump into his arms when he’d push our gate open. Jeffrey and Abby were only slightly more reserved. I was melting, and quickly.
The thing about second chances and second marriages is, it’s a whole different animal than it was the first time around. You’re no longer dewy and star-crossed, naive and giddy. You know how hard it can be to make things work, how hard it is to raise kids, (particularly kids with special needs) and if you’re divorced, you know the pain and sorrow that goes with that severing, regardless of the certainty of your decision. You also appreciate things you may have taken for granted or not realized were important when you were younger. These were common ground.
Nothing about this journey has been fairy-tale or idyllic. There were ups and downs, and there were times I doubted everything. When you come out of the ashes of a terrible divorce, when you battle back to the light to stand on your own two feet, the idea of moving back into a space of trust peppered with mutual dependance can be terrifying. I knew I could continue on doing it by myself. It was safe. It was the known.
But I also knew ‘safe’ was a cop out. This man was everything I had ever dared hope for. I wasn’t capable of turning away— it was time to take a deep breath and say yes to life again.
So when he sent a dear friend to pick me up for a lunch date and she instead turned the car towards downtown, and when we walked towards the Lincoln Memorial and instead found a young man strumming an acoustic guitar, and when Jon walked across the footbridge and gently took my hands in his and knelt down, there was no other. I was looking love in the face. It was time to say yes.
All of that culminated last Wednesday when, with little fanfare, five kids, four friends, and our bishop, we were married. It was simple, small, and ridiculously happy. My family and friends adore him, and the love and support shown by his entire family not only to me, but to my children has made my heart burst with joy.
Madhousewife: What do you need a cell phone for? Who would you call?
MB: Well, you are going to get me a cell phone when I go to high school, aren’t you? You’ll have to because I’m going to be a social butterfly. All the girls are going to call me and be like, “Hey, Mister Bubby, want to go on a date?” And I’ll be like, “Sorry, ladies. Not until I’m 16. In two years I’ll take you all out on a date. At the same time.”
.
You know what’s the worst? When you have a dream at night that you have to do something, but you can’t get it done, and you’re running out of time, and you keep trying to do it but you can’t and the time is getting shorter and shorter and you keep trying and trying but you just can’t and it’s so frustrating, and you just dream like this all night until you wake up, exhausted.
Last night I dreamed that I had to write an essay for a college class I couldn’t remember going to at all, but apparently I had done a rough draft of this essay that the professor said I needed to make significant improvements on, and I thought, “Okay, I can do that,” but when I went to write it again, I couldn’t make my hands form letters. Yes, I was writing it out longhand. Because I didn’t have a computer or anything. I thought to myself, “This would be so much easier with a keyboard,” but I had to write it longhand, and my hand kept seizing up and I couldn’t write whole words before the muscles in my hand would just start cramping and I couldn’t get a whole word down on paper before I had to stop and take a rest.
You don’t think this dream was symbolic of anything, do you? Because I’m pretty sure it was just random.
I did wake up extremely frustrated and tired. It was almost as bad as the time I dreamed I was moving and I spent hours and hours packing up a room full of toys and art supplies and other crap–just tons and tons and tons of crap, sorting it and boxing it up so I could put it on the truck–and I woke up with very mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was very glad that I was not actually moving and under any obligation to sort and box up my crap. On the other hand, I’d gotten a lot of work done in that dream, and now it was all for nothing. I felt robbed, actually.
There are only nine days of school left. More like eight, since this school day is almost over. Then it will be summer vacation for twelve weeks.
Here’s what I like about summer vacation:
* Sleeping in.
Here’s what I don’t like about summer vacation.
* Everything else.
More specifically:
* Kids home all day, requiring entertainment, refereeing, or a (figurative) whip to spur them to do the chores their father expects them to get done while he’s at work.
* Driving kids even more places than they usually have to go.
* Swimming lessons.
* Everyone wanting me to make them lunch–which wouldn’t be so bad if they’d all sit down and eat the same lunch at the same time, but no, that’s not how they do. Yes, I know, they should make their own damn lunch, which is pretty much what I tell them, and some of them will, but not all of them, not always. I still end up spending a significant portion of the day managing their stupid eating schedules. WHY DO PEOPLE ALWAYS HAVE TO EAT, EVERY DAY? It’s so tedious.
* “I’m have nothing to do.”
* “I don’t WANT to do THAT!”
* “Fine, I’ll just go live in a different family!” But she never does.
* [Whining]
* [Screaming]
* [Eventual fisticuffs]
* Having to lock myself in my room to keep from killing them, and they keep pounding on my door anyway. No, you can’t come in! It’s for your own safety!
* The going-away part of summer vacation, where I have to pack up all our belongings so we can spend all day together in an unfamiliar location, where I usually don’t get my own room to lock myself in.
This year for going-away summer vacation, we are going camping. This is the first time we have ever gone camping together as a family. I know. Sugar Daddy and I have been married for 17 years, and this is the first he’s suckered me into going camping. I don’t remember how he did it. I don’t remember why I agreed. Because if I didn’t agree, he’d make me plan vacation. Yes, that sounds familiar. The only thing I hate more than going on vacation is planning a vacation. I’m a good follower. I’m good at doing what people tell me to do. Within reason. (In case my husband is reading this and wondering why I still haven’t cleaned out the closets. Some people can kiss my big toe.) So that is how I’ve come to be scheduled to go camping for the first time in…I can’t think how many years. When was the last time I went camping with my family of origin? I want to say 1986. That might be right. I’m not convinced it’s gotten any more glamorous or convenient in the intervening years. But at least I don’t have to plan it.
You know what my ideal vacation plan would be? I stay here, you all go have a good time. (My husband doesn’t accept this variety of vacation plan. So he may as well do it himself.)
SD and I are also planning to go away for a couple days by ourselves this summer. Well, it’s a little less romantic than you might think. My niece is getting married in Salt Lake City, and I thought I would go to the wedding. I didn’t know if SD would care about going or not. But he said he wanted to go, and while we were at it, why not make a long weekend of it or whatever. Okay. So we’re going to have our romantic getaway in Salt Lake City in August. You know, even now that I’ve explained it, I still don’t understand what happened there.
Time to possibly eat lunch before picking up my high schooler.
.
Mister Bubby: Mom wants to be a bus driver.
Mad: No, I don’t.
MB: Why not? It’s a respectable profession.
On Saturday, July 26, the ADE Breakfast will feature a presentation on the Louisville Underground Music Archive (LUMA) of the Archives and Special Collections department of the University of Louisville libraries. The LUMA project, an unusual and exciting effort to capture evidence of the recent past, is documenting the city’s underground music scene from the 1970s to the present. And what visit to Kentucky would be complete without sipping some fine bourbon and sizing up some thoroughbred racing stock? Be sure to sign up for the optional post-meeting tour on Saturday, when fellow meeting-goers travel into the heart of Kentucky’s Bluegrass Region to visit a bourbon distillery and horse farm.
To register for the meeting and make your hotel reservation, follow the links on the Annual Meeting page of the ADE website: http://www.documentaryediting.org/wordpress/?page_id=71. There are two options for online registration, one that allows you to register and pay online and one that lets you register online and mail a check with your payment.
I hope to see everyone in Louisville for what promises to be a stimulating and rewarding ADE Annual Meeting!
Cordially,
Jim McClure
ADE President
P.S. Mark your calendars now for the 2015 Annual Meeting, which will be held in Lincoln, Nebraska, on June 17-20, 2015, at the Embassy Suites Lincoln and the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. This will be a special joint meeting of the ADE and the Society for Textual Scholarship (STS). Please note that the 2015 meeting will be in June, not July.
/endselfadvert
2. She hates shopping. This is why I don’t take her shopping–because I also hate shopping. She and I go shopping, and it’s “See anything you like?” “No.” “Fine. We’ll leave, then.” Somehow her dad manages to get her to try things on and buy them. And he always gets things on sale. Okay, now this is saying more about her dad than about her, but all I meant to do was highlight the difference between her relationship with her dad and her relationship with me. I’m here for empathy. Her dad is there for persuasion.
3. She is mostly over the breakup of My Chemical Romance, especially since Gerard Way will soon release a solo album. But she is also getting into some other music. She is going a little retro. She is very into the Cure right now. She asked me if I’d buy Pornography for her. Now she says she’s addicted to it. “Mom, I think I may be a little too into Pornography.” She thinks that’s a very funny joke.
4. Her latest major obsession is Frozen. Her favorite character is Olaf. (As her 13-year-old brother admitted, who doesn’t love Olaf?) She pretty much has the movie memorized. You wouldn’t think the music would be her cuppa, but she sings all the songs too (although she is less fond of “Love Is an Open Door,” possibly because she hates Hans–and she says she never liked him from the start, even before [SPOILER REDACTED]). Her love of this movie has allowed her to bond some more with her younger sister.
5. There is a boy in one of her classes who has a crush on her, but she can’t decide how she feels about him.
6. I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone about her latest crush, so you’re just going to have to use your imagination.
7. Politically, she has a wide libertarian streak, which isn’t surprising, given the political leanings of her parents. However, she is intensely anti-abortion–which is a little bit surprising to me, abortion not being a super-popular topic of conversation in our household (at least not until she became interested in it). She is adamant that she is pro-life not for religious reasons, but for scientific ones. In fact, she’s incredibly frustrated that most pro-life groups are comprised of religious nutjobs (her characterization, not mine–no angry letters, please!) and she belongs to all these Facebook groups like “Riot Grrrls for Life,” Secular Pro-life,” and “Badass Pro-life Feminists.” Recently an anti-abortion group protested in front of her high school for three days. It was one of those religious nutjob groups, which upset her, so she had sort of a counter-protest…or a counter…counter… protest, where she held up signs that said things like, “May the fetus I save be gay” and “For the embryology textbook tells me so.” It was probably one of the highlights of her life so far. My daughter, the nuanced protester.
8. When I picked her up from the aforementioned protest, one of the members of the organizing (alleged religious nutjob) group told me, “Your daughter has a very sharp mind.” Yes, she does.
9. She still hates church. I guess I’ll let you know when she stops.
10. She is taking a foods class this term, and one of her assignments was to make an entire meal at home from scratch. She made Indian food, including naan, from scratch. It was delicious. She only cooks vegetarian food, not because she is a vegetarian (she is decidedly not), but because she doesn’t like handling raw meat. And who can blame her? Raw meat is gross.
11. She is trying to incorporate more color into her wardrobe. Most of her clothes are still black, white, and red with a smattering of purple, but now that she is embracing nautical fashion themes, she has a little bit of blue in there too.
12. She still likes to play fashion dress-up games online.
13. She spent a great deal of time learning how to put her hair up in victory rolls. She has really long hair, so I’m very impressed with this accomplishment.
14. At the same time, she is still not very good at brushing her hair.
15. She worries a lot about the future of our country. Particularly the economy. She’s afraid she’s not going to be able to get a job that will support her in the manner she’s become accustomed to. This might be partly our fault.
16. She is sixteen years old today.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRINCESS ZURG!
http://www.documentaryediting.org/wordpress/?page_id=14
Nominations should be made by letter. Supporting letters from members of the Association are encouraged. Send toAll materials should reach the committee chair by 15 May 2014, sent either by e-mail or by post.
Send to:
Gregg L. Lint
Adams Papers
Massachusetts Historical Society
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If I were a better person, I would have made my kids clean it this weekend. But I’m at best an average person; therefore, all I can do is whine about how messy things are.
Maybe I couldn’t possibly be happier. Maybe this is as happy as my average-person self gets.
But this is no time to get bogged down in philosophy.
Today I went to my clogging class for the first time in three weeks. We didn’t meet during spring break, and then after spring break I got sick. Or rather, during spring break I got sick and was not better enough on Monday to dance for an hour and a half. I confess I was not looking forward to going today. I haven’t practiced at all, and I thought it would probably hurt to start again. It didn’t hurt that much. It was driven home to me, yet again, that I really need to practice some more. I’m so bad right now, I am starting to be embarrassed by it.
And I don’t embarrass easily.
It’s fortunate that I don’t embarrass easily because Princess Zurg had a semi-public breakdown this weekend. I say semi-public because we were at the church, but not many other people were there at the time–and not really anybody we knew. If your daughter has a psychotic episode in front of strangers, is it still humiliating? I shouldn’t say “psychotic episode.” That is hyperbole and inaccurate. What shall I call it? A total loss of self-control and rational thought, which included screaming and profanity. I realize church has that effect on a lot of people, but I’m still concerned. It happens at home too, you see. And yes, I realize family life has that effect on some people. Like me, for instance. But I spend weeks and months repressing it and only let it out occasionally. PZ lets it out all the time, and it doesn’t seem to help her at all, so I’d rather she did more repressing. Do you think it’s possible to teach someone how to repress stuff? I have a natural talent for it, so it’s hard for me to explain how it’s done, but surely there are professionals out there who could offer their assistance.
I had a talk with my husband yesterday about several things, but one of the things he brought up was my writing, and it put me in a rather unhappy mood. I was actually already in an unhappy mood because of the PZ situation, but I was repressing it pretty successfully, and then my husband’s innocent inquiry about my writing forced me to confront my fear of failure, which I suspect is a fear that grows more rational every day, and that put me in an unhappier mood. And here I am now, writing on this blog for no reason except to prove to myself that I can. But it isn’t very interesting, is it?
I’m hungry, and I need to do more laundry. Gentle reader, I apologize for how often I talk about the laundry. I know it has to be annoying. But I keep needing to do it, and there’s just nothing else going on in my life right now. Except that PZ’s birthday is coming up, and she wants to have a party but she doesn’t know what she wants to do, specifically, and I certainly have no ideas because I’m not a party-giver. Also, I’m apparently not an idea-haver, or I would be writing a lot better than I currently do. But that’s treading too closely to the matter I’m trying to suppress.
Tomorrow night is a baby shower for a woman in my clogging group. I feel like I should go because I like her, and perhaps I should get out of the house, but I’m afraid I’ll go and not have a good time. I kind of hate baby showers. But I feel obligated to make some effort to be social with people sometimes. I don’t know. I suppose I could go and if it sucks, I could leave. No one would notice or care. And I will have fulfilled my social obligation. So I guess I’ll go. Maybe. We’ll see.
Now I’m really hungry, and that laundry isn’t washing itself.
Well, actually, I have a hard time imagining any of you are wondering any of this. You probably have your own lives to lead. I, by contrast, do not have a life to lead. I have ennui to…have. Maybe it’s one of those malaise things that used to trouble the country during the Carter years. (I’ve heard. I wasn’t super-conscious of national events during the Carter years. In fact, when I heard there was a presidential debate between Ford and Carter, I imagined that President Ford was debating Gabe Kaplan.)
So what have I been up to? Just reading a lot of books and doing a lot of laundry. Occasionally bothering to parent a child here and there. Sometimes I even make dinner. It’s kind of lame.
I was going to inform you that for most of the time I’ve been gone, I’ve also been doing some actual writing–the kind that I don’t randomly post on the internet because it’s Serious. Also, it’s crap. I mean, that’s the bad news. The good news is that its being crap hasn’t stopped me from writing it, which is good because one of the problems I’ve had to get over as a writer is my fear of writing crap. Well, there’s no more fear of that anymore. I’m writing, and it’s crap! And the world hasn’t come to an end just because I’ve written some crap. Unfortunately. Sometimes I wish the world would come to an end, because then I could be like, “Ah, well, I never did manage to become a great writer, but how can I be sad about that when the world’s just come to an end?”
Actually, no, I never wish for the world to come to an end. I sometimes wish for the laundry to come to an end. More frequently I wish my obligation to make dinner would come to an end. I really, really don’t like making dinner. And yet I still do it. I think I should get extra points for the obstacle of reluctance.
My two younger children are off school today because of parent-teacher conferences. I don’t have a conference with Elvis’s teacher because we just had his IEP in February. I’m assuming. I never got any solicitation for conference appointment-making from the school or his teacher, and I’m assumed it was because we just had his IEP and there’s nothing new to talk about. I don’t think I am expected to hear that the kids have two days off of school because of parent-teacher conferences and take the initiative to contact the school and set up an appointment. That’s never been how it worked before. I do have an appointment with Girlfriend’s teacher. Elvis seems a bit disturbed that there is no parent-teacher conference scheduled on his behalf. This has caused me to question my assumption that if his teacher wanted to meet with me, she would have expressed some concern that I had not yet made an appointment. That is how it’s always worked in the past. One shouldn’t live in the past, of course. But that’s neither here nor there.
Well, speaking of Elvis, he is demanding that I play Monopoly Junior in the short time I have between now and when I have to go to Girlfriend’s conference. If there weren’t a limited amount of time, he would be demanding that I play regular Monopoly. So thank God for parent-teacher conferences.
2. He just earned his Webelo in cub scouts. Now he is a Boy Scout. I never sewed any patches on his uniform shirt because I’m a terrible human being. (Actually, this isn’t quite true. I sewed a few patches on his first uniform shirt, which he quickly outgrew. I never got around to sewing patches on his second uniform shirt. I’m still a terrible human being. But this post isn’t about me.)
3. He still gets up every Wednesday morning at 6 a.m. to watch the garbage trucks. The recycling and the yard waste trucks come before he has to go to school. The regular garbage truck comes while he’s at school, but he’s always excited to come home and see how many of the neighborhood’s garbage can lids were left open by the trash man. He still plays with toy garbage trucks and trash cans.
4. He is still fascinated by traffic lights and all rules of the road. He always knows exactly what the speed limit is and makes sure you follow it. He is definitely going to pass his driver’s test the first time.
5. Usually he whines when he’s frustrated, but sometimes he whines just because he likes the way it sounds. Unfortunately, he is alone in that sentiment.
6. He’s been following college football for a long time, but recently he started following pro football too. His father and brother both favored the Broncos in the Super Bowl, but Elvis liked the Seahawks. He was very pleased with the outcome of that game.
7. Now he follows college and pro basketball too. He went to his first Trailblazers game this year.
8. He is obsessed with the weather. For a while he was keeping meticulous records of temperatures, whether it was sunny, cloudy, partly cloudy, etc.
9. He enjoys dancing. He has some pretty sweet moves.
10. He wears a men’s size 10 shoe. The kid’s a freaking moose.
11. He is eleven years old today.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ELVIS!
The clerks at the office copied the blessings during the 1850s and they ran into so many repeated phrases that they simply noted them with “&c.” His blessing consists of 133 words. This blog post has roughly 180 so far.
If you have ancestry in the church, you can retrieve their patriarchal blessings from the Church History Library by going to history.lds.org. Click on the Services link to find “Patriarchal Blessing Requests.” It’s a chance to connect a little with the life experience of your DNA. Go for it.
Russian Mathematician Grisha Perelman was awarded the Fields Medal in 2006 for completing Richard Hamilton’s program (Ricci flow-Poincaré Conjecture) in 2002-2003. Poincare posed his conjecture in 1904.[1] Science named it the breakthrough of the year, but that was a sort of miraculous understatement, even though it was the first time a mathematical proof received that title. For the Poincaré proof, Perelman was also awarded the first Clay Millennium Prize (one million dollars) in March 2010. Perelman did not publish his results in the usual sense. He posted the proofs online.[2]
Perelman is a purist in a number of ways. He eschewed the established way to communicate research – through refereed journal articles. And perhaps more extraordinarily, he rejected both the Fields Medal (essentially the Nobel Prize in mathematics) and the Millennium Prize. A collaborator and friend Mikhail Gromov:
[I understand] Perelman’s logic: “To do great work, you have to have a pure mind. You can think only about the mathematics. Everything else is human weakness. Accepting prizes is showing weakness.” Others might view Perelman’s refusal to accept a Fields as arrogant, Gromov said, but his principles are admirable. “The ideal scientist does science and cares about nothing else,” he said. “He wants to live this ideal. Now, I don’t think he really lives on this ideal plane. But he wants to.”[3]
Admittedly, Perelman seems a little extreme. But does “balance” equal mediocrity?
Our society generally admires those who can multitask, if not brilliantly, at least competently.[4] We even assign titles to people who fail spectacularly (congressman) and to those who seem to succeed in spades (super mom?). “Bringing your work home” is a practice which is panned everywhere it seems, especially in Church videos (though it’s the focused overachiever who ends up on the news).[5] However, successful grad students do it all the time, if not literally, then mentally. Scholars dream about their work. But at BYU for instance, we don’t want faculty who achieve tooooo much. And so we don’t have many who really do. They go home and have family night.[6]
In the Church we make priority lists. What’s more important? 1. Family. 2. Job. 3. Church. 4. Whatever. Obsession be da*ned (*does* it damn you?). [2. and 3. got inverted a while back.]
I’ve got an obsession or two. Everything else seems to squeeze through the cracks between them. (Even Perelman plays table tennis.) Where do we draw the line? Is a pure mind necessary for *great* work? (In the link, 1:43+ esp.) The answer is yes, I think.
I once heard Neal Maxwell say “the Church priority list” applies only to non-GAs.
J. Reuben Clark came home from work, ate dinner, went up to the office and worked until bedtime.[7] The kids came into the office to say goodnight. For the rest of us, maybe it’s case by case? Quality not quantity used to be the overachiever’s mantra. Now quantity is back in vogue.
Polygamy anyone?
——————————
[1] Poincaré’s conjecture: The most famous problem in topology. Any closed 3-D manifold in which any embedded loop can be contracted to a point is equivalent (in a technical sense) to a 3-D sphere. The problem can be stated in higher dimensions, but is easier to solve in the affirmative there. [3-D = three dimensional.]
[2] A few people do this now. I do it, but not because I’m in Perelman’s class. Just because I have reservations about the process. But my resolve is fading mostly because the university doesn’t like it.
[3] The quote is from an August 20, 2006 article in The Telegraph by Nadejda Lobastova and Michael Hirst.
[4] When the fragments of P. Joseph Smith were returned to the Church in 1967, many members anticipated that President McKay, not Hugh Nibley would be having a look, maybe through an antique seer stone. You know, Joseph Smith and all. And the recent recession has (politically) hammered the POTUS, the Federal Reserve, the congress and just about every other institution in sight mainly because they weren’t savvy or plugged in enough to see it coming. I get this same kind of thing when the toilet leaks or the fridge breaks down.
[5] The negative side of focus seems to always play out in Church devotional materials (dad’s never really there and the kids go bad, nearly, until dad comes to his senses). But it would be hard to find a more focused person than Joseph Smith. (See happenings of March – April 1832.)
[6] I was going to say “any” but that seemed too inflammatory. I’m not claiming the goal is bad. But I wonder if it isn’t paradoxical in some Mormon ways. Merrill Bateman to me: “We don’t want Nobel Laureates here.” But we (I include myself) sure don’t mind the idea of a national championship.
[7] First Presidency member 1933-1959. See D. Michael Quinn’s bio.
Abraham’s family life is the stuff of Jew, Gentile, and Mormon legend. But, I’m not going to break into that territory much. It’s too complex and I don’t have the mental space for it now. But, who is Iscah? The name appears once in the Hebrew Bible, just after the genealogy of Abram:
And Abram and Nahor took them wives: the name of Abram’s wife was Sarai; and the name of Nahor’s wife, Milcah, the daughter of Haran, the father of Milcah, and the father of Iscah. [Gen. 11:29, KJV]
Just so you get the family tree here:
Terah (has three sons)
↓ ↓ ↓
Haran Abram Nahor
Haran (has two daughters)
↓ ↓
Milcah Iscah
Haran dies, Abram and Nahor get married. Who do they marry?
Abram marries Sarai. Nahor marries Milcah. Moreover, Milcah is identified as a daughter of Haran. So Nahor marries his niece. Right? There is a lot of water under this bridge, arguments about whether “daughter” means “daughter” or relative, etc. The text itself doesn’t give a clue there. Now, Sarai sort of appears out of the blue and Abram marries her.
Then there is Iscah. She is designated Milcah’s sister apparently (observe that Hebrew meanings assigned to Milcah and Sarai are usually “queen” and “princess” respectively). To avoid violating the short format inherent in the blog world, I’ll just say that the traditional interpretation among Jews and Christians here was that Sarai and Iscah are the same person. For various reasons, over the last hundred years or so, people began to dispute that tradition, unlinking Iscah and Sarai. One reason is Genesis 20:12,
And yet indeed she [Sarai] is my sister; she is the daughter of my father, but not the daughter of my mother; and she became my wife.
Here Abram (now Abraham) identifies Sarai (now Sarah) as his half-sister. Now take your pick. Niece or sister. People have discussed the two positions a lot, and the possible meanings of the text here, but this is not my interest now. (For instance, see Genesis in Anchor Bible series, and the literature since that argues against it.)
Here is a passage from the Book of Abraham as it appears in it’s first printing, clearly edited by Joseph Smith himself:
Now the Lord God caused the famine to wax sore in the land of Ur, insomuch that Haran, my brother, died; but Terah, my father, yet lived in the land of Ur, of the Chaldees. And it came to pass that I, Abraham, took Sarai to wife, and Nehor, my brother, took Milcah to wife, who were the daughters of Haran.[1]
So Joseph Smith tells us in his translation/revelation called the Book of Abraham, that Sarai is the daughter of Haran. This gives some weight to the Sarai = Iscah idea. Indeed, at the critical moment when Iscah makes her one and only appearance in the Hebrew Bible, she is replaced by Sarai.
This is interesting not just for following the Talmudic literature, Josephus, and other sources. Three earlier (c1835) Book of Abraham manuscripts reflect the Genesis text and so run counter to the 1842 first printing.
The first printing of the text was not altered (in the wording of the present passage) through the various successive printings of the Book of Abraham (another in 1842 in England, followed by a fair number of 19th century editions, mostly as part of the Pearl of Great Price) until 1981. While there is no published source for the editing process for this edition, it seems clear that two things happened:
1) The Times and Seasons text was consulted and
2) the four extant earlier manuscripts were consulted. The reading that was decided upon follows the Genesis text:
And it came to pass that I, Abraham, took Sarai to wife, and Nahor, my brother, took Milcah to wife, who was the daughter of Haran.[Abr. 2:2, current edition of the PoGP.]
Well, Iscah makes no appearance here, nor did she in the original text, but this new text does make way for the biblical reading. Personally, having studied the events surrounding the original publication rather carefully, I tend to go with the Times and Seasons reading as reflecting Joseph Smith’s final version of the text. Altering that by virtue(?) of manuscript versions in this case is not the same as appealing to some family of Greek New Testament MSS for a Bible translation. On the other hand, since the present text was canonized in 1981, it is the official version. Furthermore, it does not contradict the Times and Seasons text, it merely contains less “information.”
So there you are. The tiny Mormon story of Iscah. Who is she? Danged if I know.[2]
—————-
[1] Nehor appears a couple times in the Book of Mormon as a person and place name. All Book of Abraham manuscripts follow the KJV spelling (Nahor) save one. I believe the Times and Seasons spelling was probably a typo.
[2] If you want to say this discussion is pointless because these people are not historical figures, well, go ahead. But it’s still an interesting textual weave. Anybody can appreciate that much. Personally, I’m rather in favor of a historical Abraham and so I don’t blanch a bit at Sarah, or Iscah, no matter how the stories evolved.
February 1 was Elvis’s basketball tournament. Elvis participates in a basketball program originally sponsored by Special Olympics but now under the purview of our school district’s special education department. I think. It’s hard to keep track. Anyway, this is his third year as a player. Last year Mister Bubby was a peer coach, and this year both Mister Bubby and Girlfriend are peer coaches. In previous years Elvis had good basket-shooting skills but little ball awareness. Over the last few months he’s been playing NBA Live on the PlayStation and now understands the game very well. He’s one of the better players on the elementary-age team.
The job of the peer coaches on the court is to keep the players engaged (e.g. make sure they’re running in the right direction) and facilitate play (depending on the strengths/weaknesses of the players). Mister Bubby is very assertive about getting the ball for his team and giving his players opportunities to shoot, so rebounds and assists are his game. Elvis has gotten really good at getting rebounds and passing the ball as well. He scored a lot of points and was fully engaged in all three games he played. (In past tournaments, he was only able to pay attention to the first game.) Girlfriend, while not as aggressive as MB, acquitted herself nicely, especially considering she was one of the smallest kids on the court.
Everyone had a good time. My mother-in-law’s courtside manner was somewhat embarrassing. But I got over it. Except I have to relive it every time I watch the videos I took that day, and I took quite a few because in the past I’ve always managed to miss whenever one of my kids did a good play, and I was determined to get footage of something worth watching this time–which I did, but I’ve had to sift through quite a few videos to find those moments so I can post them on our family blog. It’s tedious work, but someone has to do it, i.e. I have to do it. Well, I don’t really–I guess I could just not, but I took all these videos, so I may as well.
Our team got third place in its pool–which was last place, but that was mainly because one of the other teams had its coaches doing all the scoring, which was uncool. We probably would have beat them otherwise. I mean, I’m guessing we would have because if they had players who could score, they would have let them, wouldn’t they have? One would think, but whatever. We had fun, and that’s what matters most.
Groundhog’s Day: Don’t remember it.
We got snow in Portland that first full week of February. The school district decided to close schools two hours early, but that was probably two hours too late, at least for the middle schools, which didn’t get out until 1:40 p.m., when the snow was really coming down. Buses didn’t start showing up until 3 p.m. and most buses didn’t show up until after 5 p.m. So instead of getting out two hours early, middle school students ended up staying two hours late, which sucked for them. Poor Mister Bubby.
Elvis’s school got out at 1 p.m., but he was home in a timely manner. As soon as he came in the house, he announced he wanted to play in the snow. So he goes back out in the snow and about fifteen seconds later he comes back in and says, “It’s. FREEZING!” He had tried to make a snowball but had forgotten his gloves. So he put on his gloves and went out again and stayed out for much longer.
The next day school was canceled. (Good call, school district.) As chance would have it, this particular weekend was one where I had planned a road trip with a friend of mine to see Biffy Clyro in Vancouver, B.C. It’s a long story. Would you like to read it? Well, apparently you have nothing better to do, so why not? My friend lives on the east coast and is a huge Biffy Clyro fan and was coming out here to visit family and see Biffy’s shows in Vancouver and Portland, and she wanted someone to make the drive with her. I had not really any experience of Biffy Clyro, aside from my friend’s constant Facebook posts about them, but you know me. I’m open to new experiences and excuses to get out of the house. (Sometimes.) So back in December I said, “Sure, I’ll drive to Vancouver, B.C., to see Biffy Clyro with you,” not having any idea that there would be all this snow the first weekend in February and the roads would become hazardous. Because who could have predicted that? No one. Because it never snows in Portland, except when it does.
And it really wasn’t that much snow–I mean, it was a LOT of snow, for Portland, but not compared to places where it actually snows as a matter of course. But because it never snows here, no one is prepared and there are no plows and we just have to wait for the snow to melt, basically. I mean, that’s pretty much the case. So my friend flew in to PDX Friday night, 10:30 p.m.-ish, and I met her at the car rental and we started driving north. On the plus side, there were no cars on the road. On the minus side, the roads hadn’t been plowed and there was all this snow and we could only go about 35-40 mph on the freeway. On the plus side, once we got to…Chehalis, I think? everything was clear. We arrived at my sister’s house, just north of Seattle, around 3 a.m. and crashed there for the rest of the night. We woke around 8 a.m. and drove into Seattle to eat breakfast with some other Biffy fans my friend knew but I had never met before. We took two of them to Vancouver with us.
The roads were fine. The border guard was a bit confused as to how the four of us from four different states managed to end up in the same car going into Canada, but we weren’t flagged as terrorists, so it all worked out. Unfortunately, by this time I had a splitting headache. The original plan was for my friend and me to drive back to Portland directly after the concert. It became apparent that this might be a poor idea. Fortunately, one of the women riding with us had had the foresight to book a hotel room in Vancouver for that night, and she invited the rest of us to stay with her. So we had this hotel room, so I got to lie down and nurse my headache in the hotel room while the other, more hardcore Biffy fans went out to explore the surrounding area and hang out around the venue where Biffy was going to play. One of them held a place in line while the other two came back to the hotel to get me, refreshed and ready to rock (mostly). We waited in the cold for about an hour for the doors to open. Then we waited for another hour or so for the show to actually start.
The good news is that we were in the very front. Truthfully, I didn’t care that much about being close to Biffy, but I did appreciate having the barrier to lean against when I got tired. It was a good show. There were some drunk dudes moshing or slam-dancing or whatever it is the kids do these days, and my sneakers got stuck to the floor, but I was able to peel them off and walk again when it was over. Between the opening act (Morning Parade, also very good) and Biffy, the show didn’t let out until around 12:30 a.m., at which time my friends (old and new) wanted to hang and wait for the band to come out and see if they could get autographs and whatnot (because this is what they do). Because I’m open to new experiences and didn’t want to walk back to the hotel room alone, I stayed with them. But the band didn’t come out and the band didn’t come out and it was cold and while it hadn’t been that bad to wait in the cold at 7 p.m., it was much worse to wait in the cold at 1 a.m., and I was really tired, so I walked back to the hotel and probably fell asleep. I don’t remember. Sometime in the middle of the night the others came in too. (They had gotten to see the band members and went to get something to eat, since none of us had eaten since breakfast that morning. I was too tired to be hungry.)
Because the woman with the foresight to book the hotel room had not foreseen that she would be inviting three people to stay with her, what we had was a small hotel room with one king size bed. So three of us slept in the king bed and the fourth took the extra pillows and made a pallet on the floor. It didn’t occur to me until much after the fact that I was sharing a bed with a person I had just met that morning. Well, she was nice and she didn’t snore. (And yes, I was in the middle.)
We drove back on Sunday, dropped the other two ladies off in Seattle, where it had snowed a little bit, and then went on to Portland, where the snow had developed a crunchy, icy surface upon which had fallen more snow. But it didn’t really get uncomfortable until we were on the freeway headed toward the suburbs, and it didn’t get really bad until we got into my actual neighborhood, where apparently no one had left their houses since Thursday, and then it was somewhat harrowing. But we made it.
School was canceled again on Monday, although it did stop snowing (finally). Sugar Daddy and I had tickets to Biffy’s Portland show, so that evening we met my friend (and new friends/bedmates) at the Doug Fir Lounge and I got to see the show a second time. Afterwards, Sugar Daddy had a brief chat with the lead singer of Morning Parade, who complimented him on his jacket, a vintage Sears apparel item he inherited from his grandfather. (It’s pretty badass.) On Tuesday I was very tired.
Valentine’s Day: I attended the Valentine’s Day party at Elvis’s school. I usually try to avoid class parties, if at all possible. I usually try to avoid going into my kids’ schools at all, if possible. But Elvis wanted me to come to the Valentine party, so I said I would, and I was glad I did. For one thing, I was merely a guest and didn’t have to actually do anything. Well, that was really the whole thing. I don’t mind going to a party where I’m a guest. (I did ask the teacher if I could bring something or help out, and she said I could bring beverages, so I brought beverages. That was easy.) Elvis was very pleased to see me. As he told me that morning, “I will hug you when you come to the party.” And so he did. Many times throughout the party, actually. The kids played bingo and delivered their valentines and did some dancing (yes, dancing) and ate some treats. Then they cleaned up and went home. It was awesome. Every party should go so smoothly.
Speaking of Elvis, I have an IEP meeting this afternoon for him. We will be discussing transition to middle school. Can you believe it, gentle long-term readers? Elvis is going to middle school in September. That’s hardcore. You know what else is hardcore? Sick children. I have one of those too. Princess Zurg is sick with a headache and sore throat. I’m taking her to the doctor in about 40 minutes. I’m hoping it isn’t strep because strep is horrible, but on the other hand I’m kind of hoping it is because if it is, at least there’s antibiotics for that. The worst is when you just have to suffer with something and aren’t able to do anything about it but just wait and wait and wait for it to end. Le sigh. Oh, crap. I just remembered I have to buy some pizza sauce for Girlfriend to take to her church activity this afternoon. It’s a good thing I typed that for posterity. Now I’ll remember it long enough to do it. Maybe.
I should eat lunch before I take anyone to the doctor. Gentle readers, I hope you all have a great George Washington’s birthday this weekend.