What I Learned in the Wilderness

Sisters, sisters. There were never such devoted sisters.
—Irving Berlin

On a Friday night late in September, a good percentage of our Relief Society sisters headed into the wilderness...sort of. It was the Heber Valley Camp. It's mostly a girl's camp, which explains why the camp site areas are named after amazing women (like Abish and Marjorie Pay Hinckley). It also explains the giant flags out front in the colors of the 8 Young Women values. Since girl's camp season is over, we were able to reserve a small campsite for an overnight retreat. And this is what I learned, in the wilderness, with my sisters.

• A coconut bra can also very effectively double as Monty Python style horse hoofs!
• Lemuel was a mama's boy.
• Laban may have been a pirate. Or maybe he had pink eye.
• Apparently we all gravitate toward the stories in 1 Nephi. Or maybe that's just the book we've all read most often!
• My new camera is awesome!
• In the absence of graham crackers, s'mores can be made out of chocolate chip cookies, or Oreos.
• We are all different; and we are all the same.
• Be neighborly. If, for instance, you loan your neighbor a battery powered air mattress pump one night, then the next morning, when you discover you forgot to bring syrup for the pancakes, you can pop over to the next camp and ask to borrow some of theirs.
• The missionary camp hosts might have salt and pepper to loan. And shovels. Never hurts to ask.
• The best way to camp is in a nice facility with cabins, fire pits, hot running water, trash service, propane stoves, and a refrigerator. If only my own bed had been there, it would have been perfect!
• The Book of Mormon is amazing, and powerful. Or rather, the spirit and power of God that are accessible as we come to Him through reading scriptures, particularly the Book of Mormon, is amazing. And powerful.
• There is untapped talent--dutch oven talent, fire-making talent, acting talent, spiritual talent, kindness and compassion talent--among the UF9 NERS sisters. They are completely fantastic and inspiring.

Good times!!

All Alone

Love is our destiny. We do not find the meaning of life
by ourselves alone—we find it with another.
—Thomas Merton

I did some things a few weekends back that I’ve never done before. Now, now, before you get any ideas, let me tell you what I did:

• One: I went to Emily’s wedding. (Of course, I’ve been to weddings before, but never Emily’s, as she’d never had one.)
• Two: I went to a wedding alone. (Which just made me realize I need someone to carry my keys.)
• Three: I hugged a man I just met—twice. (Ok, I’ve probably done that before.)
• Four: I went to a restaurant by myself. (And I didn’t like it. But not for the reasons you might think.)

Did I really just say I’d never been to a restaurant by myself? Yes. Crazy but true. I’m thirty-something, and until that weekend I’d never had occasion to sit in a restaurant by myself. Generally if I’m by myself, I figure I can just as easily be by myself at home. And since I like being at home, that’s usually what I do. But this day was different. Home wasn’t an option.

It was all due to Emily’s wedding. I knew I’d have some time to kill between the wedding and the reception—not enough time to make the drive back home, but enough that browsing Target wasn’t going to cut it. So, I made a plan. I would grab dinner and take my laptop along so I could get some work in before heading to Emily’s reception. It was a good plan. And it worked out well. I did get dinner (at Panda Express) and I did take my laptop, and I did get a little work done. But here’s the thing—between the time I got my food and the time I finished eating and opened my laptop, I did not enjoy myself. Not for the reasons you might think. I didn’t feel awkward, or uncomfortable or singularly single at all. It was just boring. There was no one to talk to. No one to engage with. Sure, I could people watch, and even eavesdrop a little. But really what’s the fun of that when there’s no one to share your observations with or give knowing glances to? And really, sometimes being “alone with your own thoughts” is overrated, and down-right dangerous! Case in point, my first reaction to a young woman clad in very short shorts was, well, not kind. And then I was faced with contemplating whether I was becoming one of those women. You know the kind—those women who are convinced that anyone younger or prettier or whatever-er than them are at best idiots and at worst…something else! It was not a pleasant inner dialogue.

So, yes. It’s true. I don’t like going out by myself. It’s just not an enjoyable use of my time. If I’m going to be by myself, I’d rather be at home. At least there I can rely on the pseudo interaction of email and Facebook and blog comments to feel connected to the world!

Let Them Eat Cake

It matters immensely. The slightest sound matters. The most momentary
rhythm matters. You can do as you please, yet everything matters.
—Wallace Stevens

I'm a pretty linear thinker, most of the time. Except for when I think about calendars. In my mind the year is round, like a clock, with February on the 2 and October on the 10. But words, they're linear—even chronological. If you say The boy threw the ball, my image will be linear, left to right, of the boy, then his throwing arm, then finally the ball leaving his hand.

So it doesn't surprise me that one particular idiom has vexed me most of my life: You want to have your cake and eat it, too. My mother often used this phrase. Usually lightheartedly. Usually when I expressed a wish for two mutually exclusive things—like getting good grades without doing homework, or driving the family car without pumping the gas, or learning to play the piano without practicing.

I knew what my mom meant. I couldn't have it both ways. I could never have both sides of my two-sided wishes—it would be impossible. But I have to confess, the usage of the phrase never made any sense to me. Linearly, the sequence of the sentence is completely logical: first to have cake and then to eat cake. Of course a person ought to be able to have her cake and eat it, too. What would be the point of having cake if not to eat it? That's what cake is for! Whenever anyone said, "You want to have your cake and eat it, too," I've always wanted to respond with an impassioned, "Of course I do! It only makes sense!"

But recently I was enlightened by some very old writings of some very dead white guys:
Would yee both eat your cake and have your cake?(John Heywood 1497-1580)
You cannot eat your cake and have your cake.
(Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra 1547-1616)
Wouldst thou both eat thy cake and have it?
(George Herbert 1593-1633)

Did you notice the change in word order? That reversal from have your cake and eat it to eat your cake and have it was like a revelation. An angel-singing, sunlight-streaming, Sword-in-the-Stone-imitating revelation. Suddenly this pesky idiom made sense! It does indeed ask the impossible—to first eat your cake and then have your cake; in the eating, the cake is gone, and so it can no more be had. Which all seems a much more sensible (and linearly accurate) way to express the idea that you can't have it both ways. Perhaps if my mother had said, "You want to eat your cake and have it, too," I wouldn't have wanted to shout "Of course I do!" I might instead have been inclined to respond with a calm and thoughtful "Ahh, I see your point."

Mmmmm. Now I want some cake.

Did you know this idom helped identify the Unabomber? Apparently he used the more archaic word order (to eat your cake and have your cake) in his Manifesto. According to the NY Times, "His brother David Kazynski was able to identify Ted after reading the Manifesto. Ted and their mother both used the more accurate but older and less popular use of the phrase."

Love Poem (or some other, better title)

Tenderness is greater proof of love than the most passionate of vows.
—Marlene Dietrich

I LOVE writing poetry. And I hate it. Creating, or re-creating, an emotion with words is exhilarating and nerve-wracking; it makes me feel empowered and vulnerable all at the same time. What a strange art form!

This is a 2nd draft of a poem I wrote a few weeks ago, mostly inspired by the Marlene Dietrich quote above. So basically you're seeing it as it came out of my head and heart, with only a few tweaks. I've labeled this post as a WritingWorkshop because I would love your feedback, if you have any. The poem is currently untitled, simply because I have yet to find a title I like. ["Love Poem" was the title of the first draft, but I think that's too heavy handed. Besides, every time I think of that title, I start singing the song: "I'm not going to write you a love song..."] So, here it is, in all it's untitled nakedness:


You spread a blanket for me, asleep
on the couch. Not the one
I would have chosen,
pale blue and coarse,—
but you tucked it so gently
around my shoulders
and over my toes.
So when I woke, I lingered,
quiet and still,
wrapped in softness.

--Susan Baxter

Bargain Shopping

Occasionally, honesty is the best policy. But use it
sparingly, and only when absolutely appropriate.
--Addie Johnson

Every so often my work gives us the option to buy a bag (purse/tote/ laptop, etc) or a planner binder at cost plus 10%. Last week was such a time. There was a bag I'd been eying, thinking it would be great for church. Plus, it was gorgeous. But, since it's nice leather and retails for $220, even with our employee deal, it was still $92. Out of my price range, for sure.

Fast forward to this week, and an inventory-reducing warehouse sale. Same bag. $60. A steal, for sure--but still more than I like to spend. There were other very nice bags that were cheaper, $20 and $30, but this was the one I'd been eying forever, so I decided I'd just go ahead and buy it. It's only money, right?

After picking out a few other little things, I went to check out. Total: $43. Confused, I asked how much the bag was, and the checkout guy said $20. Fantastic! It must have been part of the cheaper tote pile after all!

But wait, here is where the story gets good! As I left, I started to wonder. I was certain I'd taken the bag from the $60 pile. Could the checkout guy have made a mistake? I made it down the sidewalk and to the curb before I turned around and went back in. The exchange with the checkout guy went something like this:

Me: Um, you charged me $20 for this bag, but I think it was supposed to be $60.
Him: Oh, let me see. Wow. Yeah. Thanks for being honest...
Me: Ok...
Him: Wow. Yeah. Don't worry about it. Even if it was ($60), you're good. Don't worry. Wow. Thanks for being honest.
Me: Ok, thanks.
Me: (in my head) SCORE!!

And this is how I come to have (legitimately) purchased a $220 leather bag for just 20 bucks today! Good day!

Tech Support

Opportunity is not a lengthy visitor...
--Stephen Sondheim, Into the Woods

 

I attended a graduation this weekend. More specifically, I attended a graduate hooding ceremony—the culmination of a hard-fought master’s degree program for a good friend. The nostalgia and brief thought of maybe I’ll get a PhD so I can do another one of these hooding ceremonies will have to wait for another day. It was a nice ceremony—but that’s not what I want to tell you about. I want to tell you about what happened before the graduate hooding ceremony started.

I had arrived about 20 minutes early and was sitting near the top of the arena, amusing myself with the Sudoku application I had recently downloaded for my iPod Touch. (Yes. I’m a nerd.) After a few minutes, a man sat down in the row behind me. I didn’t really notice him until he asked jovially, “Are you winning?” He was an older man, and there on the hard basketball stadium seating, he looked about as pooped as if he’d just come in from chasing too many grandkids around the yard and had sunk gratefully into an easy chair. I smiled and answered his question. I was indeed winning. It was, after all, a one-player game. And I returned my attention to it.

Very soon he kindly interrupted me again. “Would you dial this for me?” he asked. “I can’t see it well enough.” He handed me a cell phone, possibly a pre-paid one you buy at the big box stores. You know the kind. Functional. No frills. It felt inexpensive, and looked to be several years old. By that time, his wife had joined him. She stood in the aisle next to him, her eyes scanning the crowd on the opposite bank of bleachers, looking for any sign of the others attending the graduate hooding ceremony. Their others.

“Did you call them?” she asked him.
“She’s going to dial it.”

I looked at the phone in my hand. I was only about 87% sure that I could help. I’m not the most tech savvy person when it comes to navigating a device I’m not familiar with. But I agreed to try, and he started to tell me the number. I pushed the buttons, 8-0-1, and nothing happened. “Is it on?” I asked. I wasn’t really surprised when he didn’t know. It wasn’t, so I turned it on, proud of myself that I knew how to do that by holding down the red button. Three years ago I wouldn’t have been able to get him even that far!

I wish this story ended with me saving the day by dialing their loved ones for them. It would be nice if my actions had actually helped. But when I dialed the phone—nothing. Connection Error was all that the less-than-useful phone had to say for itself. I tried again. Same result. Just as I was about to offer my own phone to make the call, his wife spotted the group they were looking for. With a quick Thank you from them and a Good luck from me, they were gone.

I returned to my game, and I stared wondering: Why did this man assume I could help? I’m not really that tech savvy, and I’m not really that young. I am from the generation granted access to the mystery of setting the VCR, but I’m not from the generation born with a mouse in their hands. And then it occurred to me: I had been playing Sudoku on my iPod. Of course he assumed I was young and hip and savvy. So, thank you, my iPod, for misleading strangers and giving me the opportunity to help—even if, in the end, I didn’t.

btw: Did you know Word doesn’t know the word Sudoku? But Studbook is a suggested alternative. Studbook. Yeah. That might be an interesting download for my iPod. Is there an app for that?

Blog: The First

The Pasture

I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(and wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.

I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.

—Robert Frost

As some of you know, I thought long and hard about what to title my blog. I almost always title my writing last. I mean, I don’t usually know everything I’m going to say before I say it. What if I decided to title a poem Homecoming, and then it turned out to be about leaving home? That wouldn’t do. (Although, I just thought of how that could work—really well—wow.) Anyway, the point is, it’s hard for me to give something a title before I know what it’s going to be. And really, I have no idea what this is going to be.

But I do know what I want to accomplish here. Briefly, and basically, I want to write—to express myself. I’ve keenly felt those muscles atrophy since I finished school and left academia. It saddens me, and I need to do something about it. Blogging seems like a good option. So, essentially I’m blogging for me. I know. Shocking. If you thought it was for you, I’m sorry. It’s for me. It needs to be done—a chore, if you will. But you can come too. In fact, I want you to. It’s a journey I could take alone (as my mother said—why not just write a journal?), but any journey is better with friends along. Besides, I like an audience. Feedback. Interaction. And this is where you come in, see?

Thus, the title I finally settled on comes from one of my many favorite poems by Robert Frost: The Pasture. It is the introduction to one of his early books of poetry. And rather than regale you with insightful literary criticism of this introductory poem (and believe me, I could…), I’ll just say this: For me, at this moment, this poem speaks about doing chores—things that need to be done, and that are even peaceful and enjoyable. And while he doesn’t need company for the tasks, he invites us along—for companionship, for enjoyment, for feedback, for whatever. So, while I’m working on this necessary (and enjoyable) chore of restoring writing to my life, as I clear out the muddy spring and nurture tottering ideas, I echo Frost’s invitation—you come too.

P.S. Some day, remind me to tell you why this is also one of my favorite romantic poems. Hey, Frost DID say his poems can mean whatever you want them to mean!