Happy Birthday to Me!

I've never before written a post about my birthday, mostly because there's never been anything to write. My birthdays are generally pretty boring. Sometimes Isaiah or Eli (whichever one was working at Albertson's at the time) would bring home a cake from the bakery. I've been most appreciative of those cakes, even though by the time I see them, a slice or two has already been eaten. "Mom, it's your birthday cake, but we just couldn't wait." That's just about the extent of my birthday celebrations.

Until this year!

A week ago on October 20th, Shulamith planned the most amazing birthday ever; it lasted the entire day. I don't teach on Thursdays, and she had the day off for Utah Ed. Association (or something like that), so we were totally free. And we took full advantage of that freedom. We slept in until 8:30 and then headed out to one of our favorite breakfast spots, Park Cafe. It's a tiny, locally owned establishment, and all the food there is incredible. We always get the "French Toast Foolishness," which consists of fluffy eggs, lean pepper bacon, home-style potatoes, and of course, delicious french toast.

From there, Shulamith surprised me with a facial. Neither of us had ever had one before, and let me just say that I highly recommend the experience. Imagine soft creams, exfoliating scrubs, hot steam, and warm towels draped across your face, one after the other. Mmmmm. It was sweet.

We took our newly cleaned and moisturized faces to a movie next, "50/50." It had excellent reviews which proved to be spot on. A lovely film. After the movie, we headed to the mall. It's not a girls' day out without shopping, right? I found a cute skirt at Down East, light pink with ruffles, for only $14.99. Score!

After shopping, we met up with Mathew and Seth for dinner at Red Robin. I'd been dieting for the four weeks prior to my birthday, and more than anything, I wanted a burger and fries. It was so good; you don't even know.

Then we took off for my next surprise. Shulamith had tickets for "Thriller," a dance show on the U. of Utah campus. That was a treat for sure with excellent, excellent dancing.

On the way home, I felt a bit sad that our day was soon to be over, but when we arrived, I was surprised once again. Matt had bought an ice-cream cake from Cold Stone, complete with candles in the shape of question marks. Isaiah was even there. Perfect!

Happy Birthday to Me! Thank you, Shulamith. I will never forget that day.

Rhetoric Rant - The Fourth Installment

Greetings from the world of dangling modifiers, comma splices, sentence fragments, errors in pronoun-antecedent agreement, faulty parallelism, and misspelled words. Can you tell that I just finished grading my first set of essays for this fall semester? Along with these major issues (I call them the "horrible crimes"), there are also the misdemeanors, the smaller mistakes. Don't misunderstand. These are still important, and we all need to understand them. They just don't break down writing to quite the same extent the horrible crimes do. One such misdemeanor is the chronic misuse of the apostrophe.

So let's talk apostrophes, shall we? When do we need them? And when we need them, where do they go? The two times we use apostrophes are (1) in contractions and (2) in possessive nouns. I'm not going to waste your time (and mine) dealing with contractions. Most people get those right without any help from me. And in formal writing, we prefer to avoid contractions anyway.

So what about possession? It's fairly simple. We put an apostrophe in a noun when it owns or possesses the following word in the sentence. On which side of the "s" does the apostrophe belong? It depends on whether the noun is singular or plural. I'm going to copy/paste a section of a post from two years ago called, "Whose Bright Idea Was This?"

Typically, how do we know where to place the apostrophe in a noun to indicate possession? It depends on whether the noun is singular or plural, right? Yes, almost always. In singular possessive nouns, the apostrophe goes inside the 's,' and in plural possessive nouns, the apostrophe goes outside:

"The girl's bike" means ONE girl.
"The girls' bikes" means more than one girl.

Simple.

EXCEPT.

There are a handful of nouns that are irregular (and I mean ridiculously irregular) in the way they form their plurals, and they happen to be some of the commonest nouns in the English language: man, woman, child, person.

One man, but two.....men. One child, but two....children. One person, but two.....people.

And this is the stupidest one of all: One woman, but two....women? Whose bright idea was this? We change the pronunciation of the first syllable, but not the spelling. And then we change the spelling of the second syllable, but not the pronunciation. How utterly insane. Can you imagine being a foreign student and trying to figure this one out?

It would be so much easier just to say "two mans, two womans, two childs, and two persons." And if I were grammar queen, that's exactly how it would be.

As for possession, because these words (men, women, children, and people) are already plural without an 's', the apostrophe goes inside the 's' when they become possessive. Sorry! I know it's confusing. My students think so too.

So there you have it, the basic rules of apostrophes in possessive nouns. It really is easy, but even so, mistakes are everywhere!! One that bugs me the most is when people use an apostrophe in the word "parents." I see this all the time on Facebook, and it about makes me nuts, so let's clear it up once and for all, okay? Here is what I often see:

"I'm going to my parent's house for the weekend."

Ugh! What is wrong with this? You tell me. How many parents are we talking about in that sentence? Yeah, most likely two. If a person had only one parent, he or she would almost certainly say "my mom's house" or "my dad's house." We generally do not use "parent" in its singular form. Therefore, because there are two parents, the apostrophe belongs on the outside of the "s," like this:

"I'm going to my parents' house for the weekend."

Can we now say we've solved this problem forever? I really hope so. Similarly, I often see these signs on the outside of houses, announcing the last name of the family living inside. They look something like this:

The Smith's or The Anderson's or The Johnson's

Now a good argument could be made that these signs need no apostrophe at all (my preference) because they don't show any possession. So just leave the thing out. Others would argue that because the signs appear on houses, what is implied is "The Smith's House," and thus the apostrophe is needed. Okay, fine. I can live with that. What I can't live with is the apostrophe appearing on the inside of the "s," meaning only one person named Smith lives there, when it's actually a whole family. If you insist on the apostrophe, at least get it in the right place:

The Smiths' or The Andersons' or The Johnsons'

That's it. End of rant for tonight.

Charity

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to do one of my most favorite things. I got to speak in Sacrament Meeting at church. Those of you who are unfamiliar with the structure of our church should know that because we do not a paid clergy, the "sermons" (which we call "talks") each week are given by members of the congregation. Everyone gets the chance at one time or another. And I love it when it's my turn! Sometimes I joke that I missed my true calling as a Protestant pastor (hello, Rebecca!). They get to speak every week and they're paid to do so. Could it get any better than that? Okay, back to the topic. When we left Montana, several people warned me that I shouldn't expect to have the opportunity to speak in church very often once we moved. Utah wards are huge, I was told, and sometimes years go by and you don't get to speak. Ack! How awful that would be. Fortunately, that is not the case in this particular Utah ward. We've been here just two months, and I already got to speak yesterday. Hooray!

My talk was on charity, and I've decided to share it with you here. Those of you not interested in church-type stuff might want to skip over this particular post and stay tuned for the next one, which is likely to be a rhetorical rant about the horrible misuse of apostrophes, a subject that has been making me crazy lately.

Charity

Though I speak with the tongues of men, and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as a sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.

And though I have the gift of prophesy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.

And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

Charity suffereth long, and it kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemingly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh not in evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth.

Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

In Paul's letter to the Saints at Corinth, much is required. The way I read it, no matter how smart we are, or how many languages we speak, or how much faith we have, or even how sacrificial we are, without charity, it is all for nothing!

Next, we hear all about what charity is and what it is not:

It is kind, long-suffering, without envy or pride or selfishness. It is not easily angered, and it never rejoices in evil. It bears, believes, hopes, and endures all.

IS ANYONE ELSE FEELING WOEFULLY INADEQUATE HERE??? I don't know about you, but I don't come remotely close to being a person with charity, the way Paul describes it here.

I'm not always kind. I'm certainly not always long-suffering or patient. Just ask Seth! I struggle with pride. I sometimes envy those whose lives seem easier or more glamorous than mine. I get angry, and sometimes I even rejoice in others' misfortune. The Germans call that “Schadenfreuden,” and yep, I'm guilty...sometimes.

So how we can be people of charity? How can we transform the natural man within us to become the charitable people Paul describes in his letter to the Corinthians? Is it even possible?

The answer is yes....with help.

As with everything else, we are fairly hopeless on our own. But with the Savior by our side, relying on the healing power of his infinite atonement, we CAN demonstrate true charity, the pure love of Jesus Christ.

Perhaps the first step in the process is recognizing who we're really dealing with in our everyday interactions. Surely, understanding the individual worth of our fellow human beings will help us to love them more fully and treat them more kindly.

M. Russel Ballard once said

“Brothers and sisters, I believe that if we could truly understand the Atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ, we would realize how precious is one son or daughter of God. At the heart of the English word atonement is the word one. If all mankind understood this, there would never be anyone with whom we would not be concerned, regardless of age, race, gender, religion, or social or economic standing. We would strive to emulate the Savior and would never be unkind, indifferent, disrespectful, or insensitive to others.”

Elder Ballard teaches that if we truly understood what our Savior was willing to do for us, every one of us (you know...those we like, and those we don't. Those we enjoy, and those we find challenging), we would never be unkind, indifferent, disrespectful, or insensitive. Indeed, we would have charity.

We learn in the Doctrine & Covenants that the worth of a soul is great in the sight of God. But does that mean all souls? Even the annoying and rude ones? The homeless? The incarcerated? The mentally ill? With the savior's help, can we come see all people as the beloved sons and daughters of God that they are? I hope so. I hope I can do it.

The second step is similar to the first. To have charity for others, perhaps we also need to understand and appreciate our own individual worth. I'm often awed by the talents of others. I joke that the day the Lord handed out the talents, I was probably sleeping. I really love to sleep. And I sort of missed out on so many of the wonderful gifts that I observe in others. I'm a terrible cook. Again, just ask Seth. I don't know how to bake or can or sew. I know nothing of gardening, I can't do crafts, and I have zero athletic ability. I don't play any musical instruments, and I can only sing if I stand right next to a strong alto to carry the part.

But brothers and sisters, do you know who I am? Do you know who I am? Why, I'm Heavenly Father's kid; that's who I am. And really, that's the only thing that matters. I am a beloved spirit daughter of God, created in his image and with his divine potential. And on those days when I really believe that (and it isn't all the time), that's when I have the true capacity for charity. When I see myself and others the way God sees us, charity is not only possible, but inevitable.

Lastly, charity requires that we endure all things, or as we've heard so many times, endure to the end.

I’m reminded of a great analogy by John Bytheway. He compares a mule with a horse. A mule is a good beast of burden, strong, etc.,..until it doesn’t want to be. Once a mule decides it’s tired, it lies down right where it is, and nothing can move it. Hence the idiom, “Stubborn as a mule.” Compare that with a horse. A horse will run until it literally falls over in exhaustion. A horse will not quit the race despite obstacles that might move him temporarily off track. A horse endures to the end. One day, each of us will stand before our Heavenly Father, the divine father of our spirits, to account for our lives in mortality. Did we show charity? Did we endure?

With the Savior by our side, our moderator, our intercessor, our paraclete, the best lawyer we could ever ask for, we will stand before him. I wonder, will he look us in the eyes and say, “Oh, you might have tried, but you fell short here, and you didn't quite make the grade here, and you failed big time there, and there.” Or do you think instead, if we've tried our best and allowed the atonement to make up the difference when we’ve fallen short, he might look at us and say, “You ran like a horse. You ran like a horse. Well done, thou good and faithful servant: enter thou into the joy of the Lord.”

Brothers and sisters, charity never faileth. May we see the others in our lives as God sees them, recognize our own incredible worth, and run like a horse, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Rediscovery

Have you ever given up a part of yourself so gradually that you didn't really notice, only to rediscover years later that part of you that was lost? That is the best way I can describe what happened to me recently.

As a kid, I dearly loved dogs. We had poodles mostly. My mother had a white toy poodle named Snowy when I was very young. When she had puppies, we kept one, another white one whom we named Flipper. After he was gone, we were dog-less for a few years, until I was in middle school. I wanted a new dog more than anything, so much so that I staged a month-long campaign right before my 13th birthday. I posted signs all over our house that read, "I want a dog." I added the word "dog" to my dad's grocery shopping list. I left notes for him in his car and on the milk carton in the fridge and on the bathroom mirror. To be honest, I really didn't think any of this would work. Both he and my mom maintained emphatically that we would not be getting a dog.

When the day of my birthday arrived, I was all prepared to be sufficiently complacent about whatever my present was. I wouldn't be rude, but I certainly wouldn't be happy. I remember sitting on the couch in our living room, my dad across the room in his chair. He said something like "I know how much you wanted a dog, and we're sorry, but it's just not going to work out right now." As I prepared my despondent look, I noticed something small and black buried deep in my dad's lap. A closer look revealed a tiny, toy poodle pup just eight weeks old. I don't believe I had ever been happier or more surprised than I was in that moment. I took this little bundle of fur in my hands, and all was right with the world. Her name was Misty, and she was all mine.

My love for dogs continued as I grew up. I remember wearing a t-shirt in college that said, "Have you hugged your dog today?" I assumed that as an adult, I would always be a dog owner. I assumed wrong. When I got married, I quickly learned that my husband did not share my love for canine creatures. He really has little use for pets of any kind. He grew up on a small farm, and in that world, animals are good for only two things: food and labor. You raise them to eat, or you keep them because they serve some purpose. They kept cats on this farm to kill the mice, but they didn't even give them names. To me, pets (especially dogs!) were part of the family. Gerald had zero understanding of such a concept. While I never made a conscious decision, I guess on some level I must have decided that as long as Gerald would let me have as many children as I wanted, I would live without a dog.

And so I did. For many years. During that time, I didn't think about it much. It's as if that part of me was lost, but so gradually that I didn't notice. Little by little, I forgot how much I loved dogs. I enjoyed petting other people's dogs, but I never considered having one of my own. Then, about 11 years ago, we were given a Dachshund puppy by our then best friends. I'm not sure how I managed to get that one past Gerald; I think Joanne simply gave her to Shulamith, and there she was! Little Chloe was adorable, but she turned out to be the most difficult dog on the planet. I am SO not kidding about this. I don't even have the emotional energy to go into the gory details, so you will have to trust me. Whatever you're thinking, it was most certainly worse.

We had Chloe for 10 years, and that experience buried my love for dogs deep beneath my consciousness. Moreover, since Gerald's opinion of these animals was only reinforced by our time with Chloe, I never imagined I would own another dog. And I still don't....technically. But pictured above is Kitty, Shulamith and Mathew's 5-month old Boxer puppy. Although she is not my dog per se, she lives in my house, runs in my back yard, takes me for walks (definitely not the other way around), and cuddles with me daily. I love her. It's like the dog lover inside of me has found its way back. That part of me that was temporarily lost has been rediscovered.

Utah Reflections and Peach Jam

It has been just about 11 weeks since we signed the papers for our house, and Seth and I moved permanently to Utah. At the start, Isaiah was here with us, until classes at Westminster began and he moved on campus. About the time he left, Eli came to Utah and spent three weeks with us until classes at BYU-Idaho began, and off he went as well. I was feeling sad about having only one child left at home. Way too close to the empty next. So not ready for that! Fortunately, it did not last long. Just a week or so after Eli went to Rexburg, Shulamith and Mathew moved into our downstairs apartment. Whew! I now have three kids home again. Much better.

This leaves only Gerald left in Montana, and that's becoming a tough situation. We thought it would be very short term, but now, after 11 weeks, it's not feeling so short. Our family has been separated for short periods before; just before Eli was born 18 years ago, the three older kids and I were in Washington for four months before Gerald was able to join us. And again, when we moved to Billings seven years ago, Gerald went first, and the kids and I stayed in Washington for five months as they finished the school year and we worked on selling our house. The difference between those two times and now is that there was always an end point. We knew for sure the situations were temporary. In the first case, we knew Gerald would join us in Washington before Eli was born, no matter what. In the second case, we knew the kids and I would go to Billings by the time the new school year began. But in our current situation, we can't guarantee an end point. Gerald cannot move to Utah until he finds a job here. It feels very indefinite. That makes it hard for everyone.

Other than that, however, we really do love Utah. We love our house and its location. We love our neighborhood and our ward. We love the two shopping malls that are just ten and twenty blocks from us, respectively, in separate directions. Seth likes his school, his primary class, and scouts. He misses Ethan but has made some new friends here. We love having Shulamith and Matt with us. Life is good, and if we could just get Gerald here, it would be nearly perfect.

At times I have to remind myself where I am, that I really do live here now, that it's not just an extended vacation. And at times that part is an adjustment all its own. You see, for the past seven years (since Shulamith first came here for college), Utah has been my party place. I've visited dozens of times, many of which have even been recorded to this blog. Like here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here. Okay, you get the point. I've been here tons of times, and until we moved here, all those times were total party. Just the word "Utah" stirs images of restaurant meals, shopping malls, movies, and more.

But now we live here. It can't be one constant party. I have to do all the normal, everyday things. Like laundry. And dishes. And grocery shopping. And yard work. I have to clean the house and pay the bills and gas up the car and set an alarm to get Seth up for school. And I have to do all these things right here in my party place. I won't lie; it's a bit of an adjustment. We still eat a healthy share of our meals in restaurants. We still go shopping and to movies. But those things are deeply embedded into the regular routine of living. I love Utah, and I'm delighted to call it "home," but at some level, it will always be my "party place."

Okay, in case you're wondering about the peach jam part, a new and exciting element has been added to my life since moving here, thanks to Mathew's mom, Dawn. She is an amazing woman, who does all sorts of things about which I am utterly clueless. She's seriously a gourmet cook. Like really. Everything she makes is crazy delicious. And she knows how to sew clothes and can fruit and make jam, activities that are total mysteries to me. My mom always said about such things: "Why compete with Smucker's?" and while I don't know for sure the answer to that question, I want you to know that a couple weeks ago, I went over to Dawn's house and helped her make peach jam. Don't fall out of your seat. Don't have a heart attack. I'm serious. I really did this. I'm not sure how much "help" I was; I felt much like a young child learning to read or swim or ride a bike, helpless to do anything without direct instruction and supervision. Dawn was incredibly patient as she, over and over, reminded me what we needed to do next. The end result was multiple jars of the most yummy peach jam ever.

And here is the moral of this story. If you want to taste some of this delicious jam, you will need to come to Utah. It is right here waiting for you. You know who you are. I'm waiting right here in Utah, my party place, with my delicious peach jam waiting to share.