Today is my mother’s birthday. She is not here, but has gone on ahead to some place where I imagine she can eat all the bowls of ice cream and popcorn she wants, without having to put down her book, even. Knowing her, she’s been playing Christmas music for a month already (Johnny Mathis, Singers Unlimited) and is dancing around the room to it. Maybe she’s finally polished “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” on the piano which, along with “The Impossible Dream” makes up her entire piano repertoire since she never had lessons and taught the two songs to herself by ear.
I miss you, Mom. Dad’s new wife was probably hand-picked by you and is a fabulous, fabulous grandmother to my kids and friend to me. But I still remember your smell and I think of it when I am sick, staring up at the ceiling in bed yet again. I don’t know what kind of relationship we would have now, but I like to think that we would be friends, having forgiven each other of all of our clumsinesses those first twenty years, having both realized that we were both doing the best we could.
The thing I want you to know today is that when I picture you, I picture you enjoying things. Enjoying that piano, that good book, that Christmas music. I picture you full of joy. You taught me that, Mom. Life—not just this life, but all existence--is for joy. And, when all is said and done, what better definition of a successful mother could there be than one who has taught her children that?
I love you, Mom. You did a good job. Happy birthday.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Talent
So I got the immense satisfaction of attending the 4th grade talent show at the elementary school last week. My second son has taken to the trumpet like a fish to water and now, after a mere three months of school band lessons, felt ready to display his talents in a public setting. He really has become quite good quite quickly, if I do say so myself. His partner, a buddy who took up the trombone at the same time, was not so much of a natural, though. So the duet was, er, interesting. Let’s just say that one of them ended about two measures and eight seconds after the other. We all clapped very hard.
The whole event was vastly entertaining. Two burly fourth-graders (weighing more than I did at nine months pregnant, I’m sure) did some sort of a dance/chant that the local high school’s football team performs at the beginning of every football game. Another big kid brought a video of himself shooting deer-shaped targets with his crossbow in his back yard. An Olympic hopeful (really!) brought a video of herself ice-skating. There were several young girls singing solos with their karaoke machines and way too many piano pieces. (One poor girl was dramatically affected when another girl sang her very same song before she did. But we smiled and listened to it twice.) Two boys sang “I Got it on E-Bay” along with Weird-Al. All in all, a very satisfying morning. Isn’t America great?
When I was a kid my mom forced me to participate in every Reflections contest and every talent show. One year I memorized “Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day” and recited it, monologue-style, in my pajamas. (I believe I won a “special award” that year.) Another year I had to sing “My Teacher Told Me I Should Never Tell a Lie,” choreographed, with my two sisters. Come to think of it, I think we won an award that year too. (Hey, wait a minute: did every kid that participated win an award, like the local community center soccer program? No way! What a crock!) I actually won first place in the Reflections contest for my poetry every year. (My poetry was pretty bad, but it always scanned and rhymed perfectly. It wasn’t until high school or so that I realized that I really knew nothing about actual poetry. All I could write was cute rhymes.) There’s even a sort of little memorial hanging up at my old elementary school—they framed the poem that went the furthest in the state competition and it’s still hanging up in the hallway. It’s called “Behind the Gates of Tomorrow.” You should go check it out. When I am famous, I will go back there and present them with a copy of my latest published book, autographed, and a picture of myself to hang next to the poem.
p.s. Go Cougars!
. . . and I have to say a big thanks to my father-in-law, who is a die-hard Utah fan, for gracefully letting me and my blue-wearing sons come over to his house and cheer for "the enemy" right in front of him. What a guy.
The whole event was vastly entertaining. Two burly fourth-graders (weighing more than I did at nine months pregnant, I’m sure) did some sort of a dance/chant that the local high school’s football team performs at the beginning of every football game. Another big kid brought a video of himself shooting deer-shaped targets with his crossbow in his back yard. An Olympic hopeful (really!) brought a video of herself ice-skating. There were several young girls singing solos with their karaoke machines and way too many piano pieces. (One poor girl was dramatically affected when another girl sang her very same song before she did. But we smiled and listened to it twice.) Two boys sang “I Got it on E-Bay” along with Weird-Al. All in all, a very satisfying morning. Isn’t America great?
When I was a kid my mom forced me to participate in every Reflections contest and every talent show. One year I memorized “Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day” and recited it, monologue-style, in my pajamas. (I believe I won a “special award” that year.) Another year I had to sing “My Teacher Told Me I Should Never Tell a Lie,” choreographed, with my two sisters. Come to think of it, I think we won an award that year too. (Hey, wait a minute: did every kid that participated win an award, like the local community center soccer program? No way! What a crock!) I actually won first place in the Reflections contest for my poetry every year. (My poetry was pretty bad, but it always scanned and rhymed perfectly. It wasn’t until high school or so that I realized that I really knew nothing about actual poetry. All I could write was cute rhymes.) There’s even a sort of little memorial hanging up at my old elementary school—they framed the poem that went the furthest in the state competition and it’s still hanging up in the hallway. It’s called “Behind the Gates of Tomorrow.” You should go check it out. When I am famous, I will go back there and present them with a copy of my latest published book, autographed, and a picture of myself to hang next to the poem.
p.s. Go Cougars!
. . . and I have to say a big thanks to my father-in-law, who is a die-hard Utah fan, for gracefully letting me and my blue-wearing sons come over to his house and cheer for "the enemy" right in front of him. What a guy.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Happy Thanksgiving!
HAPPY THANKSGIVING! Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I hope you'll enjoy yours.
Thanks to my mother-in-law, who is loved for many reasons, for the comic.
And while we're on the subject (of, er, breasts), and just because I am thankful for my loyal blog readers, here is a thanksgiving gift for you:
Angels of Mercy
By, well, me.
The Seventh Ward Relief Society
presidency argued long and soft
whether Janie Goodmansen deserved
to have the sisters bring her family meals.
It seems that precedent was vague—
no one was sure if “boob job” qualified
as a legitimate call for aid.
Janie herself had never asked for help—
a fault they found it harder to forgive
even than the vanity behind
the worldliness of D-cup ambition.
But in the end charity did not fail.
The sisters marched on in grim duty
each evening clutching covered casseroles
(for, after all, it wasn’t the children’s fault).
More than once, though, by some oversight
the dessert came out a little short, as if
by some consensus they all knew
that Janie’s husband, Jim, could do
without a piece of pie that night.
Friday, November 16, 2007
What I've Been Up To
So here are some things I’ve been doing lately.
Today, after waiting a week to hear from the doctor after a test, I called his office. Of course, you can never talk to someone right away but have to wait for the little assistant to call you back. So on my answering machine (of course she called during the twenty minutes I was out) is the message: “This is Carla from Dr. Fenton’s office. We have no record of the test results you’re asking about. In fact, our records show that Dr. Fenton never ordered such a test for you.” Hah! Well, that explains why they didn’t call! (Of course he ordered it. How else would I have gotten it?)
A couple of weeks ago, Rog and I used the certificate that came with our new bed (Intelli-Gel) to spend an evening at the Anniversary Inn. You may know that the Anniversary Inn is one of those theme-suite bed-and-breakfasts that cost and arm and a leg to spend a night in. But this certificate was part of the bribe to get us to buy the mattress over Mother’s Day weekend and we were darn-well going to use it and enjoy it (especially since the bed has been a disappointment—sigh).
So. Roger picked out the Egyptian Suite. It had a rock waterfall shower and big jetted tub and great big TV and statues of Egyptian guys all over the place. Sound like paradise?
It didn’t take us too long to realize that these places are better when you are a little tipsy. (Well, we imagine, anyway.) Because the first thing we noticed was how inconvenient the room was. For example, there were no lamps or light switches near the bed, so that you had to turn off all the lights and then make your way to the bed (up two steps, even) in the dark. Also, no nightstand or shelf near the bed, so you there was no place to put your glasses, drink of water, chapstick, or whatever, near you when you were in bed. And the bed itself was built on a short pedestal that stuck out six inches beyond the bed all the way around it—perfect for stubbing your toe on.
All this wouldn’t have been that bad if it hadn’t been for the Drunken Neighbors in the jungle suite behind us. From the moment they arrived (and believe me, we knew when that moment was), they blasted their TV and voices all night and then started up in the morning. Twice I went down to the front office to complain, once even convincing the poor girl at the front desk to follow me up to the room and listen for herself. “Yep, it’s loud,” she said. “I’m sorry about that.” And then she left.
We didn’t sleep at all. I can’t figure out why we didn’t just pack up and leave at 11:00 p.m. or so when it became apparent that the noise was going to continue all night.
Bleh. (Did I mention that the bed is a disappointment, too?)
To be fair, I wrote a complaining note to the Anniversary Inn and they sent me an apology and a certificate for another night there. I’m not really thrilled at the thought of trying it again, but Roger says another room might be just fine.
While we were there, we watched a little T.V. (something we never do at home) and saw this show about psychics. It was some sort of reality show in which psychics competed against each other in little challenges. It was really interesting. Do you believe in psychic ability? I actually do, at least to a point. Not because of that show, though. Although one or two of them made an impressive showing.
Let’s see. Oh, I have two poems in the most recent issue of Dialogue. Here’s one for you:
Patriarchal Blessing
The boy, sixteen, is taller than his mother, taller than
the creaky man with shining eyes and trembling hands.
Mother comes fasting, something she's good at,
years of honing her physical yearnings
into empty bowls to catch spiritual manna.
And now she is empty of all but her hope
of hearing the voice of God through this old man.
Her son, the first-fruit of her labors,
a rough-cut stone but the best she could do—
and would God touch this stone with his finger?
Her son folds into the chair with a quick glance
at her, an echo of the glance he gave her long ago
the day he stood to join his father in the font.
And maybe now the father will join them
in spirit? She, longing, glances to the corners of the room.
The trembling hands are stilled on the boy’s head,
as if the words of power give them weight—
the words that dart like lightening in the air
and dance upon her eyelids. She opens them
to watch the old man, ageless, shine like sun,
his voice a whisper still but piercing bright.
The mother sits and holds the hand of God--
for once she feels she's truly not alone
in her sweet knowledge of her son's good heart.
She weeps to hear God tell her of the man
he will become, this boy she's nursed with blood
and milk, and tears,
this boy, a shining sword, a man of God.
And in the silence when the blessing's done
the son stands up and shyly takes her hand.
The old man, feeble now, stands at the door,
winking in the glitter of the stars.
For days those flashing words will dance like sparks
around her ears, behind her eyes and in the air--
as if she walked with diamonds in her hair.
And here’s a recipe for you. I make this every year, to the consternation of my kids. I really think it’s good, though, and it’s a great holiday tradition.
Soup in a Pumpkin
2 ½ c. breadcrumbs
2 c. minced onion
1 stick butter plus 2 T.
1 6-7 lb. pumpkin
1 ½ c. grated swiss cheese
2 qt. chicken stock at a simmer
½ t. sage
pepper
1 c. cream or sour cream diluted with milk
½ c. fresh parsley
Slow cook onions in butter until tender and translucent (15 min.). Toss crumbs into onions and cook 3 min. Prepare pumpkin: cut top, remove seeds and strings, rub inside with soft butter. Set on buttered cookie sheet. Put crumbs into pumpkin, mix in cheese, fill to 2” from top with hot stock. Season. Put on lower level of oven rack. Bake 1 ½ hours at 400. Don’t overcook or pumpkin will collapse!
Serve: heat cream and stir into soup just before serving, followed by parsley. Scrape flesh and serve with each serving. (Note: you can keep the pumpkin warm up to 30 minutes in an oven at 175.)
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Today, after waiting a week to hear from the doctor after a test, I called his office. Of course, you can never talk to someone right away but have to wait for the little assistant to call you back. So on my answering machine (of course she called during the twenty minutes I was out) is the message: “This is Carla from Dr. Fenton’s office. We have no record of the test results you’re asking about. In fact, our records show that Dr. Fenton never ordered such a test for you.” Hah! Well, that explains why they didn’t call! (Of course he ordered it. How else would I have gotten it?)
A couple of weeks ago, Rog and I used the certificate that came with our new bed (Intelli-Gel) to spend an evening at the Anniversary Inn. You may know that the Anniversary Inn is one of those theme-suite bed-and-breakfasts that cost and arm and a leg to spend a night in. But this certificate was part of the bribe to get us to buy the mattress over Mother’s Day weekend and we were darn-well going to use it and enjoy it (especially since the bed has been a disappointment—sigh).
So. Roger picked out the Egyptian Suite. It had a rock waterfall shower and big jetted tub and great big TV and statues of Egyptian guys all over the place. Sound like paradise?
It didn’t take us too long to realize that these places are better when you are a little tipsy. (Well, we imagine, anyway.) Because the first thing we noticed was how inconvenient the room was. For example, there were no lamps or light switches near the bed, so that you had to turn off all the lights and then make your way to the bed (up two steps, even) in the dark. Also, no nightstand or shelf near the bed, so you there was no place to put your glasses, drink of water, chapstick, or whatever, near you when you were in bed. And the bed itself was built on a short pedestal that stuck out six inches beyond the bed all the way around it—perfect for stubbing your toe on.
All this wouldn’t have been that bad if it hadn’t been for the Drunken Neighbors in the jungle suite behind us. From the moment they arrived (and believe me, we knew when that moment was), they blasted their TV and voices all night and then started up in the morning. Twice I went down to the front office to complain, once even convincing the poor girl at the front desk to follow me up to the room and listen for herself. “Yep, it’s loud,” she said. “I’m sorry about that.” And then she left.
We didn’t sleep at all. I can’t figure out why we didn’t just pack up and leave at 11:00 p.m. or so when it became apparent that the noise was going to continue all night.
Bleh. (Did I mention that the bed is a disappointment, too?)
To be fair, I wrote a complaining note to the Anniversary Inn and they sent me an apology and a certificate for another night there. I’m not really thrilled at the thought of trying it again, but Roger says another room might be just fine.
While we were there, we watched a little T.V. (something we never do at home) and saw this show about psychics. It was some sort of reality show in which psychics competed against each other in little challenges. It was really interesting. Do you believe in psychic ability? I actually do, at least to a point. Not because of that show, though. Although one or two of them made an impressive showing.
Let’s see. Oh, I have two poems in the most recent issue of Dialogue. Here’s one for you:
Patriarchal Blessing
The boy, sixteen, is taller than his mother, taller than
the creaky man with shining eyes and trembling hands.
Mother comes fasting, something she's good at,
years of honing her physical yearnings
into empty bowls to catch spiritual manna.
And now she is empty of all but her hope
of hearing the voice of God through this old man.
Her son, the first-fruit of her labors,
a rough-cut stone but the best she could do—
and would God touch this stone with his finger?
Her son folds into the chair with a quick glance
at her, an echo of the glance he gave her long ago
the day he stood to join his father in the font.
And maybe now the father will join them
in spirit? She, longing, glances to the corners of the room.
The trembling hands are stilled on the boy’s head,
as if the words of power give them weight—
the words that dart like lightening in the air
and dance upon her eyelids. She opens them
to watch the old man, ageless, shine like sun,
his voice a whisper still but piercing bright.
The mother sits and holds the hand of God--
for once she feels she's truly not alone
in her sweet knowledge of her son's good heart.
She weeps to hear God tell her of the man
he will become, this boy she's nursed with blood
and milk, and tears,
this boy, a shining sword, a man of God.
And in the silence when the blessing's done
the son stands up and shyly takes her hand.
The old man, feeble now, stands at the door,
winking in the glitter of the stars.
For days those flashing words will dance like sparks
around her ears, behind her eyes and in the air--
as if she walked with diamonds in her hair.
And here’s a recipe for you. I make this every year, to the consternation of my kids. I really think it’s good, though, and it’s a great holiday tradition.
Soup in a Pumpkin
2 ½ c. breadcrumbs
2 c. minced onion
1 stick butter plus 2 T.
1 6-7 lb. pumpkin
1 ½ c. grated swiss cheese
2 qt. chicken stock at a simmer
½ t. sage
pepper
1 c. cream or sour cream diluted with milk
½ c. fresh parsley
Slow cook onions in butter until tender and translucent (15 min.). Toss crumbs into onions and cook 3 min. Prepare pumpkin: cut top, remove seeds and strings, rub inside with soft butter. Set on buttered cookie sheet. Put crumbs into pumpkin, mix in cheese, fill to 2” from top with hot stock. Season. Put on lower level of oven rack. Bake 1 ½ hours at 400. Don’t overcook or pumpkin will collapse!
Serve: heat cream and stir into soup just before serving, followed by parsley. Scrape flesh and serve with each serving. (Note: you can keep the pumpkin warm up to 30 minutes in an oven at 175.)
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Monday, November 12, 2007
Tossing it in the air
Today I’m grateful for my good friend Scott Bronson. I met him through AML, the source of many good things in my life. It was one of those times when you meet someone and feel like you already know them—I was so instantly comfortable with Scott and have always felt like he was a closer friend than the amount of time I’ve known him would warrant. Maybe that’s just because of the kind of guy he is, open and warm. Maybe everyone feels that way about him.
Anyway, he is a wise person and willing to share things he’s learned through the course of some difficult life events. Yesterday, he said what I needed to hear.
I’ve been struggling with my health still. Through all of this I haven’t doubted that I would someday get better—for I have been promised so, and I have great faith in the priesthood blessings Roger gives me. They always, always prove true and sure. But I have had a hard time translating that macrocosmic, over-the-long-haul faith into daily and moment-by-moment faith. Scott told me about a time in his life when the cancer had returned and he had knelt in prayer to discuss the ways that the atonement can help people with illnesses. He came to a point, he says, where he said to God, “Here!” and tossed all of his fear and anxiety over his health and the future into the air like a ball, and just let the Lord catch it. “And it worked,” he said. “I didn’t worry again, even when the cancer returned later. I still don’t.”
So I’ve been trying to analyze just what it is that I fear, and how I can toss that fear into the air for God to catch. I realize that I am not afraid of dying. I’m not even all that afraid of suffering (well, maybe some). But what I’m most afraid of is the effects of my illness, the things I leave undone. Especially, the price my children might have to pay if I’m spending the day in bed yet again or emotionally not strong for them. I worry about them growing up remembering a mom who was always sick.
I also fear when a new little health problem appears. Oh no—is it something new? A new manifestation of the same old thing? Is it something I should tell a doctor about because it might be significant in getting the right diagnosis? Or is it just a little ache or pain like those that are a normal part of living in a body and it doesn’t mean anything? Which is it? Which is it? There’s a lot of panic surrounding each little twinge these days. I’m making myself crazy with it.
So I realized that I need to toss these things to God as well. New little pain? Fine. Toss it to God. He’ll make sure that, if it’s significant, I’ll know it at some point and be able to do something about it. I don’t need to worry about how important it is. Or my kids—I have to toss them to Him as well. Maybe they will grow up with memories of my being sick. That’s part of their own story with God. He’ll be able to take care of them, too, right? It’s really none of my business, as long as I’m doing what I can. I have to have faith that if they have a problem with what’s going on, they can toss things up to God, too.
When I take my youngest with me to do errands in the mornings, he rides in the car with me, not caring where we’re going next. He’s just there with me. I’m trying to be childlike in that way—just riding in my carseat while God drives. What does it matter where we end up? I’m just here with Him. So maybe one of the errands involves a new little pain, or having to stay in bed again. Whatever. Got’s got the ball.
Anyway, he is a wise person and willing to share things he’s learned through the course of some difficult life events. Yesterday, he said what I needed to hear.
I’ve been struggling with my health still. Through all of this I haven’t doubted that I would someday get better—for I have been promised so, and I have great faith in the priesthood blessings Roger gives me. They always, always prove true and sure. But I have had a hard time translating that macrocosmic, over-the-long-haul faith into daily and moment-by-moment faith. Scott told me about a time in his life when the cancer had returned and he had knelt in prayer to discuss the ways that the atonement can help people with illnesses. He came to a point, he says, where he said to God, “Here!” and tossed all of his fear and anxiety over his health and the future into the air like a ball, and just let the Lord catch it. “And it worked,” he said. “I didn’t worry again, even when the cancer returned later. I still don’t.”
So I’ve been trying to analyze just what it is that I fear, and how I can toss that fear into the air for God to catch. I realize that I am not afraid of dying. I’m not even all that afraid of suffering (well, maybe some). But what I’m most afraid of is the effects of my illness, the things I leave undone. Especially, the price my children might have to pay if I’m spending the day in bed yet again or emotionally not strong for them. I worry about them growing up remembering a mom who was always sick.
I also fear when a new little health problem appears. Oh no—is it something new? A new manifestation of the same old thing? Is it something I should tell a doctor about because it might be significant in getting the right diagnosis? Or is it just a little ache or pain like those that are a normal part of living in a body and it doesn’t mean anything? Which is it? Which is it? There’s a lot of panic surrounding each little twinge these days. I’m making myself crazy with it.
So I realized that I need to toss these things to God as well. New little pain? Fine. Toss it to God. He’ll make sure that, if it’s significant, I’ll know it at some point and be able to do something about it. I don’t need to worry about how important it is. Or my kids—I have to toss them to Him as well. Maybe they will grow up with memories of my being sick. That’s part of their own story with God. He’ll be able to take care of them, too, right? It’s really none of my business, as long as I’m doing what I can. I have to have faith that if they have a problem with what’s going on, they can toss things up to God, too.
When I take my youngest with me to do errands in the mornings, he rides in the car with me, not caring where we’re going next. He’s just there with me. I’m trying to be childlike in that way—just riding in my carseat while God drives. What does it matter where we end up? I’m just here with Him. So maybe one of the errands involves a new little pain, or having to stay in bed again. Whatever. Got’s got the ball.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Voting (Written on Tuesday, of course)
I voted today. I’m sure you can all guess how I voted. But what I want to say about was this: it’s a cool thing. I saw Stephanie there. Five minutes before, she had picked up her daughter who had been playing at my house. She didn’t mention, when she picked up her daughter, that she was heading over to vote. I didn’t mention that I had been waiting to vote until she got her daughter. But there she was, pulling into the parking lot behind me. I smiled and waved, and then waited in line not far from her.
But we didn’t talk. She didn’t ask me how I was voting, and I didn’t ask her.
That was what was cool to me. It was almost like being in the temple, really. We were doing something very sacred and very private. I didn’t want to know whether she agreed with me, because it had nothing to do with our friendship. I liked seeing her there, seeing that she cared, and that was enough. I could leave her alone to do her thing. I love the privacy of voting, and the weight of it. I love this country, even with all of its evils, even in all its commercial and capitalistic glory. Today I am grateful to live here, even as I don’t yet know the results of the vote.
Added later:
Although I like the outcome of the vote, I have some major discomfort over the whole thing. I can’t believe how many people voted who were uninformed. The reasons people gave for voting against vouchers, for example, often showed that the voters didn’t understand the issue in its specifics at all. (Pro-voucher people also sometimes mistook the details and ramifications.) I’m glad vouchers didn’t pass, but I wish that the vote reflected the wishes of well-informed voters.
That said, and at the risk of contradicting or making a fool of myself, I have to say this: the thing I hate most in any disagreement is when someone uses the argument, “If you don’t agree with me, you must be uninformed/brainwashed/lacking intelligence.” I saw an interview with what’s-his-name-at-Overstock.com right after the vote and he said, “Well, this issue was basically an I.Q. test.”
Ouch! Could you be more personally insulting? I disagree with you, buddy. So I must be dumb.(And it wasn’t just the pro-voucher people throwing that stuff around, I admit. Both sides were doing it. Also both sides were equally guilty of generalizing the issue to the point of obfuscation in order to get their little soundbites. You sum things up for us in stupid ways and then accuse us of being stupid when we vote according to your little soundbites!)
In college, an acquaintance once tried to convince me of a particular interpretation of a gospel doctrine on which I disagreed with him. He began his argument with, “I know I’ll convince you, Darlene, because you’re an intelligent person, and I’ve never failed to convince an intelligent person on this issue.” Well, there you go. He’s put me in a box so that I can either agree with him or prove my stupidity. There’s no arguing with that. Yuck!
But we didn’t talk. She didn’t ask me how I was voting, and I didn’t ask her.
That was what was cool to me. It was almost like being in the temple, really. We were doing something very sacred and very private. I didn’t want to know whether she agreed with me, because it had nothing to do with our friendship. I liked seeing her there, seeing that she cared, and that was enough. I could leave her alone to do her thing. I love the privacy of voting, and the weight of it. I love this country, even with all of its evils, even in all its commercial and capitalistic glory. Today I am grateful to live here, even as I don’t yet know the results of the vote.
Added later:
Although I like the outcome of the vote, I have some major discomfort over the whole thing. I can’t believe how many people voted who were uninformed. The reasons people gave for voting against vouchers, for example, often showed that the voters didn’t understand the issue in its specifics at all. (Pro-voucher people also sometimes mistook the details and ramifications.) I’m glad vouchers didn’t pass, but I wish that the vote reflected the wishes of well-informed voters.
That said, and at the risk of contradicting or making a fool of myself, I have to say this: the thing I hate most in any disagreement is when someone uses the argument, “If you don’t agree with me, you must be uninformed/brainwashed/lacking intelligence.” I saw an interview with what’s-his-name-at-Overstock.com right after the vote and he said, “Well, this issue was basically an I.Q. test.”
Ouch! Could you be more personally insulting? I disagree with you, buddy. So I must be dumb.(And it wasn’t just the pro-voucher people throwing that stuff around, I admit. Both sides were doing it. Also both sides were equally guilty of generalizing the issue to the point of obfuscation in order to get their little soundbites. You sum things up for us in stupid ways and then accuse us of being stupid when we vote according to your little soundbites!)
In college, an acquaintance once tried to convince me of a particular interpretation of a gospel doctrine on which I disagreed with him. He began his argument with, “I know I’ll convince you, Darlene, because you’re an intelligent person, and I’ve never failed to convince an intelligent person on this issue.” Well, there you go. He’s put me in a box so that I can either agree with him or prove my stupidity. There’s no arguing with that. Yuck!
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
New AML Forum
Well, some of you have been asking about the cryptic reference I made to a brouhaha over at AML. (Others of you already know what I’m talking about.) So here’s just a little summary of what happened from my perspective.
The board, of which I am secretary (notice I said secretary, not president, or anything very powerful at all), decided quite a while ago that something needed to be done about the List. The List is an e-mail conversation we’ve been running for years. How it works is that you get all the posts (on ANY topic) coming to your e-mail in-box. When you want to comment on a topic, you send your comment to the general address and it goes out to the e-mail boxes of everyone who has subscribed. The results of this kind of format is that you get an awful lot of e-mail on a lot of different topics that may or may not interest you. Lately, we have felt that the quality of conversation has been going down, and that the List seemed to be dominated by several very profuse writers (“the loudest voices”) while some of the less vocal participators seemed to be dropping out. We wanted to revitalize the discussion and also provide greater variety in voice and topic. We decided to move to a forum format.
We knew that this choice would be popular with many people and unpopular with others. Some people like getting everything delivered to their in-boxes so that they don’t have to go somewhere on the net to check for new posts. Personally, I like being able to follow the topics I’m interested in without having to follow others. Also, I think a forum format allows the more timid people to feel more comfortable commenting because it’s not as if your comment is going to the in-boxes of hundreds of people.
At the same time as all this discussion was going on, we have also been discussing the problem of decreasing membership in AML. We’ve been losing the academics for a long time and lately seem to be losing others as well. We need to figure out how to expand. We know there are a lot of people out there who might appreciate what we’re doing, if they knew about us. But publicity requires man-hours and money, and with very few people bothering to pay for membership, we are definitely limited.
Hey! Maybe we could solve two problems with one solution: there are lots of people enjoying the conversation on the List who never bothered to become members. Maybe, when we move to the forum, we could require that people become members in order to post. That would limit the discussion to people who really care about AML, for one thing, and might immediately improve the quality of conversation as a result.
Then we made two mistakes: we decided to make both changes at once (moving to the forum AND requiring membership), and we didn’t give an awful lot of notice about the change.
People were furious.
I can’t really blame them—we were taking away their candy and then charging money for it. What floored me, though, was the WAY people protested. People were thoughtless, rude, and downright nasty. They said horrible things about the board (“who are these people in their secret meetings passing down rulings,” etc.) The things they said hit me like a kick in the gut because I have put in so many hours serving an organization that, at times, almost fell apart into nothing. Suddenly I saw things as they were: no one seemed to care about what the board had been doing all along to keep the organization going. No one seemed to know the work we do and the hours we put in. At least, if they did, it didn’t matter. No one seemed to care about AML itself, but just about continuing the List.
OK, I admit, there were only a few very vocal people being so negative. I was surprised, though, about which people had nasty things to say. Some people I expected it from; others I didn’t.
It was really, really depressing. I wanted to quit. Still do, actually.
Anyway, Eric (our president) and Boyd (our president-elect) discussed it and decided to eliminate the membership requirement for the forum. They ran it by us and most of us agreed (I did). After all, the goal is to expand, not limit, participation. Let’s let everyone participate who wants to. So that got changed, and now anyone can comment at the forum.
So far, I think the forum is working great. If we look at every comment as something that would have been an e-mail going to everyone, I think we’ve lost very little traffic. Maybe we will gain some now. I have high hopes about that.
If you’ve been interested in AML at all, now is the time to show your support by going over to the forum and joining the conversation. (If you really want to show support, consider joining.)
If you haven’t known much about AML before this, trot on over there and check it out. I think it’s one of the most enjoyable on-line communities out there. These people are, for the most part, faithful readers, writers and critics who enjoy conversation about the future (and present) of quality Mormon literature. I’d like to hear what you think.
(The address: forums.mormonletters.org )
The board, of which I am secretary (notice I said secretary, not president, or anything very powerful at all), decided quite a while ago that something needed to be done about the List. The List is an e-mail conversation we’ve been running for years. How it works is that you get all the posts (on ANY topic) coming to your e-mail in-box. When you want to comment on a topic, you send your comment to the general address and it goes out to the e-mail boxes of everyone who has subscribed. The results of this kind of format is that you get an awful lot of e-mail on a lot of different topics that may or may not interest you. Lately, we have felt that the quality of conversation has been going down, and that the List seemed to be dominated by several very profuse writers (“the loudest voices”) while some of the less vocal participators seemed to be dropping out. We wanted to revitalize the discussion and also provide greater variety in voice and topic. We decided to move to a forum format.
We knew that this choice would be popular with many people and unpopular with others. Some people like getting everything delivered to their in-boxes so that they don’t have to go somewhere on the net to check for new posts. Personally, I like being able to follow the topics I’m interested in without having to follow others. Also, I think a forum format allows the more timid people to feel more comfortable commenting because it’s not as if your comment is going to the in-boxes of hundreds of people.
At the same time as all this discussion was going on, we have also been discussing the problem of decreasing membership in AML. We’ve been losing the academics for a long time and lately seem to be losing others as well. We need to figure out how to expand. We know there are a lot of people out there who might appreciate what we’re doing, if they knew about us. But publicity requires man-hours and money, and with very few people bothering to pay for membership, we are definitely limited.
Hey! Maybe we could solve two problems with one solution: there are lots of people enjoying the conversation on the List who never bothered to become members. Maybe, when we move to the forum, we could require that people become members in order to post. That would limit the discussion to people who really care about AML, for one thing, and might immediately improve the quality of conversation as a result.
Then we made two mistakes: we decided to make both changes at once (moving to the forum AND requiring membership), and we didn’t give an awful lot of notice about the change.
People were furious.
I can’t really blame them—we were taking away their candy and then charging money for it. What floored me, though, was the WAY people protested. People were thoughtless, rude, and downright nasty. They said horrible things about the board (“who are these people in their secret meetings passing down rulings,” etc.) The things they said hit me like a kick in the gut because I have put in so many hours serving an organization that, at times, almost fell apart into nothing. Suddenly I saw things as they were: no one seemed to care about what the board had been doing all along to keep the organization going. No one seemed to know the work we do and the hours we put in. At least, if they did, it didn’t matter. No one seemed to care about AML itself, but just about continuing the List.
OK, I admit, there were only a few very vocal people being so negative. I was surprised, though, about which people had nasty things to say. Some people I expected it from; others I didn’t.
It was really, really depressing. I wanted to quit. Still do, actually.
Anyway, Eric (our president) and Boyd (our president-elect) discussed it and decided to eliminate the membership requirement for the forum. They ran it by us and most of us agreed (I did). After all, the goal is to expand, not limit, participation. Let’s let everyone participate who wants to. So that got changed, and now anyone can comment at the forum.
So far, I think the forum is working great. If we look at every comment as something that would have been an e-mail going to everyone, I think we’ve lost very little traffic. Maybe we will gain some now. I have high hopes about that.
If you’ve been interested in AML at all, now is the time to show your support by going over to the forum and joining the conversation. (If you really want to show support, consider joining.)
If you haven’t known much about AML before this, trot on over there and check it out. I think it’s one of the most enjoyable on-line communities out there. These people are, for the most part, faithful readers, writers and critics who enjoy conversation about the future (and present) of quality Mormon literature. I’d like to hear what you think.
(The address: forums.mormonletters.org )
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