How to impress a boy (the Mormon way)

As I listened to a talk by an EFY speaker, I thought I might try to write a talk in a similar style--funny, upbeat, and targeted to today's youth. This is my first draft, and I know it could use some smoothing out and a nice introduction, but that will come later. Let me know what you think. 

•      Be yourself. Once I was dating a boy who was older, a stock broker, and had a jeep.  But he could not stand country music. I was raised on a farm—what other kind of music would I listen to? But he insisted on introducing me to the rock icons I should have been listening to all my life. In fact, when I said I was a country music fan, his response was, “Oh, we’ll break you of that.” Like it was a bad habit like biting my nails, not a preference. Although he was nice and fairly wealthy, he wanted someone who fit HIS definition of perfect—and I wasn’t going to force myself to change for him. We stopped dating.
•       Don’t flaunt your assets. Whatever assets you might have—money, talents, good looks, nice skin, etc.—the right boy will be impressed by your overall personality and not the flashy side of you. For example: tank tops. I think tank tops are a shirt that is solely designed to flaunt your assets. It shows your skin on your shoulders, your chest, sometimes your cleavage. This is why they are considered immodest—they attract, usually, the wrong kind of attention. I learned this lesson the hard way. I worked one summer at a lake, taking the entrance fee as people pulled in the gates with their boats and campers and picnic gear. Now I had never worn tank tops before this summer—my parents didn’t allow it. But I had bought one white tank top at Kmart or someplace. I would wear it under my work shirt, then take off my work shirt when I got too hot. What did this do for me? Attracted attention from the wrong kinds of boys. I had one guy ask me for my number—and I wouldn’t give it to him. All I told him was the street I lived on and that my mailbox was painted to look like a cow. He showed up on my doorstep a day later, having driven up and down the street for hours looking for a cow-like mailbox. He asked me on a couple of dates—and I went—but he was so not the right type of guy. Now I, in my 18 year old incredibly wise rationale, had thought that if wearing a tank top was the worst of my sins, I would be ok. But I learned that it was my overall image I was projecting that would lead into worse and worse situations.
•        Be truthful and bold in standing for the right. Another boy, same summer: only this one was almost 30 and was a plumber. I was not too impressed, and this time I didn’t give him my address, just my phone number. But he was too smart and reverse searched the phone number, found my address, and showed up at my house. Now I had been given some advice by a girl in my ward who was older and more popular. She said that no matter how bad you don’t want to date a boy, you should at least give them one “pity” date, just so you don’t crush their little hearts. Wrong! Girls, let me tell you that it’s ok to say no to anyone who does not meet your standard—not just because he’s not tall enough, not cute enough, etc. But when it’s important—say, when they haven’t been to church in two years—then I suggest graciously letting them know you are not interested. But like I said, I’d been given the opposite advice, and agreed to go with the 30 year old inactive plumber to the state fair. He took me on so many carnival rides I almost puked on him. Finally the night was over and he brought me home. Then I said I did not want a second date. He said he might start going to church if we dated. Um, the answer is still no. So he showed up at my work the next day. He showed up the next week. He came to my house. He called and called. Finally I had to have the park rangers at the lake tell him to not bother me at work anymore. Being stalked by a plumber was not high on my list of ideal relationships. If I had been truthful (no, I don’t want to date you or even give you my phone number) and bold (get off my front porch), I would have been happier. And just so you know, he got over my rejection: he sent me a wedding announcement a few months later.
•        Be friendly and think of others. When I was in high school, I was labeled a “geek.” I was smart, I was driven to take advanced classes and get a scholarship. I even wore glasses. However, I was too shy and embarrassed about who I was. I thought no one would want to be friends with me because I was labeled. So I never talked to anyone new. I never stepped outside my little circle of friends. And that was a mistake. One day as I was walking between classes, a boy who was in several of my classes actually made eye contact with me and said “hi.” I was shocked. I was so surprised I am sure it showed on my face. But what do you think surprise looks like on someone’s face? It looks an awful lot like, “I’m stuck up and too good for you.” Especially when you don’t say hi back. So even though I passed this boy on the way to my class every day for the rest of the semester, he never said hi to me again. I once heard a talk show host explain that being shy is the same thing as being self-centered. And I thought, “No way. You’re just shy. You can’t help it.” But in reality, you can. Instead of thinking, “I am so embarrassed, I’m not good enough, I’m not popular enough,” think about the other person. How do they feel? Doesn’t everyone like to be noticed, accepted, thanked, acknowledged? Then do that for that person, and don’t think about yourself.
•        Be in the right places at the right times. Two experiences here that are total opposites: First, I was into country dancing in high school. My sister and cousins enjoyed it, too, so we often went together. One night we went to a new dance place. I wasn’t expecting this to be different than my other regular places I danced, but it was. There was smoking right out the back door. There was loud music and a crowded dance floor. And when I got asked to dance, the man who took me out on the dance floor immediately sucked my body up so close to his, that there was seriously NO ROOM for the Holy Spirit. There was just me and him and some sweat. Now if I had been bold (see point #3) I would have said, “Get away—gross!” But I was sheepish. I danced with him. And then he wanted to date me, and his friend wanted to date my cousin. And she was smart enough to say, “No way.” And I used her as my excuse—I can only double date, so if she doesn’t go, I can’t. Be bold! And be in the right places where you can meet the right people.
•        Experience #2: My cousin was attending a singles ward, while I still lived at home with my parents. In this ward they had just formed Family Home Evening groups. She invited me to go with her to their first activity and meet the people in her group, and I said ok. This sounded like the right place, right time. Monday night with a bunch of LDS single adults. Can’t get any better than that, right? We were told that the “father” of this group, James, would be waiting in the driveway to let everyone know where their apartment was, because it was hard to find. Well, we drove back and forth and finally found the address, but there was no James. We went in and found out he was taking a shower (and I thought, great, not only does he not keep his promises, but he’s stinky as well). But the group of people were friendly and talkative and the boys were cooking a Chinese dinner for the girls (AKA ramen noodles). 

     Then he walked in. That was the first time I saw James, and he saw me. Now six months later this is how he told the story: “I walked in and saw her sitting there, and a light shone down from heaven, and the angels sang and blew their trumpets and they said, ‘there she is!’” What did I do to impress him that night? Nothing. I was just my ordinary self—I wore an old but clean and modest outfit, I was a little bit shy but I smiled and tried to make friends. After meeting him three other times at FHE group, he asked me out. And in five months we were engaged to be married. Just being in that place, where the spirit could dwell among friends, and being myself, I met the man I would marry. And that was the best decision I would ever make. 

Hypothetical question

Q: What would you do if you had an extra $100,000 a year to live on?
A: This is a challenge I have always wanted to try. Could I be humble, frugal, and the same "down-to-earth" me, if I was as wealthy as I wanted to be? Give me the test, please! See if I pass.

I would imagine that this "trial" would come as a result of hard work, not a sudden windfall (I don't play the lottery), so I think I'd have a few months of adjusting to the new income. In this adjustment period I'd like to do a few things: set up auto pay for all my bills, set up a savings and retirement account, fix anything broken or needing to be replaced in my home (I'd replace the broken lawn mower, and I could really use a new mattress!).

Once these things were out of the way, I think the extra income would allow me to live with more freedom: freedom to help others in need and give to charitable institutions, such as my kids' school, our church, cancer and juvenile diabetes research foundations, etc. Freedom to buy a larger home so all my children could have their own bedroom (instead of Jimmy sleeping in the room with the dryer and deep freeze). Freedom to have a reliable, newer, still-under-warranty car (imagine that!). Freedom to take a modest family vacation to Disneyland or Canada.

I am fairly certain I would not spend much of the extra income on clothes/shoes/accessories. I have found that these items don't bring me much joy. I do enjoy sewing a new dress for myself and Abby, so I'd probably still sew. I would like each of my children to have new shoes instead of garage sale/D.I. shoes. But I don't want to have to add lots of closet and storage space to my home because I have absorbed more "things" into my life.

I don't think I'd spend money on anything exorbitant: jewelry, furniture, flashy sports cars, recreational vehicles or boats, etc. That just doesn't seem like me. I like simple things... because simple means less complicated, and I don't want to complicate my life and lose appreciation for the simplicity I now enjoy. You've got to admit, being broke means you live a very simple lifestyle!

One final thought: I think money is well spent if it brings your child or family an "experience" rather than a "thing." For example, being able to afford swimming lessons means your child enjoys being at the pool or lake for the rest of his or her life. The same thing can go for a special summer camp, musical instrument lessons, a bike or skates that can be used all summer, or a weekend fishing or camping. If you gain a special memory or a lifelong skill, it enhances your life. If all you get is another toy in the toy box or an item in the closet, perhaps that's not the best use of the money.

What would you do with an increase in income? Leave a comment and let me know.

Grandpa's Sunshine

This week I have been thinking of influences in my life, past and present. My heritage, my family, my ancestors... they have more influence on who I am and what I do today than I really give credit for. 

In particular, I was thinking of my Grandpa Johnson. He died April 18, 1988... 24 years ago! So last night I was thinking of him and this story I wrote about him. I sent this story to my dad as a Christmas present several years ago. I was told that he couldn't even read through it all the way because of his tears... he handed it to my sister to finish... she began to cry and couldn't read it... so she handed to my brother who was too little to remember much of my Grandpa. It is a rather sentimental memory, but full of the love and longing for family that I had surrounding me as I grew up. I hope you enjoy it.

Grandpa’s Sunshine

Grandpa Johnson was very tall, with a tan, weathered face that had smile lines around the eyes. He always wore overalls, rubber chore boots and a cap from the seed company or dairy co-op. His long forehead, which seemed even longer because he was mostly bald, had a permanent hat line across the middle. Grandpa and Dad farmed together on our few acres of paradise.

            We lived one hayfield away from Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Every day my sisters and I crossed the field, walked through Grandpa’s garage, across his garden and on to the dairy barn where Dad was milking cows. We’d get our buckets, fill them with warm milk and head out to feed the calves. Often Grandpa would be out there, helping Dad by feeding hay or irrigating fields. Grandpa always had advice to give us, whether it was how to get our calves to eat better or why we should go put on a jacket.

            My favorite times were when my older sister, Rachael, and I would prance over to Grandma and Grandpa’s on a spring morning, then proudly sing songs for them in their kitchen. We especially liked singing “Popcorn Popping on the Apricot Tree,” because we could point right out the kitchen window to where our apricot tree was blooming in the garden. Grandpa would always smile his wrinkly smile, and his blue eyes seemed to laugh.

            Our only concern was when Grandpa had a headache. Some days we’d come noisily walking in, only to be hushed by Grandma. Grandpa would be sitting in a kitchen chair, his eyes closed and his head resting against the wall. Every noise seemed to bring him more pain, and since it was hard to be quiet, we soon went home.

            By the time I was 11 Grandpa seldom came out on the farm. As hard as it was to “retire” after farming all his life, his poor health forced him to give up the heavy work. On some mornings, he’d be watering the garden, leaning on his shovel as he watched the water flow down the ditch. After it rained, he’d dig little trenches so Dad wouldn’t have to drive the tractor through big puddles. But he could no longer be Dad’s partner in working the farm and caring for the cows.

            Then the news came that Grandpa needed surgery. Everyone was worried, but he soon came home from the hospital and we all hoped for the best.

            That evening I had a violin concert. My parents had to take me to an elementary school in a neighboring town to perform with a beginning youth orchestra. I struggled during the performance, but I had done my best. As we were driving home I begged for a milk shake as a reward.

            “No,” Dad said. When I complained, Mom told me to stop it and cast a worried look at Dad. Only then did I notice that Dad knew something was wrong. We sped home down the freeway.

            As we walked in the front door, all my sisters and brothers jumped up from where they’d been waiting at the kitchen table. The story came in jumbled pieces: Grandma had called. Grandpa had fallen in the bathroom. Dad wasn’t home, so she called Uncle Dale. An ambulance had come.

            Dad had barely heard the end of the tale before he was out the door. A sick feeling came over me. If I hadn’t had this concert, Dad would have been able to help. And I had been complaining …. I sat with my sisters, feeling a pain of guilt inside me, waiting until my parents returned.

            It was dark when Mom led us over to Grandma’s house, telling us on the way that Grandpa had died. As I entered the dark back hallway, Dad reached out and hugged me tight. He was crying — I’d never seen him cry before. And he said he loved me, which was something I’d rarely heard spoken out loud. The whole family of aunts, uncles and cousins gathered in the living room and a prayer was offered — a plea for comfort. I remember the sobs of grief, and wondered how the room could be lit so brightly and still seem so dark.

            After Grandpa’s funeral, the first one I’d ever attended, we climbed in our van and drove slowly out to the cemetery. It was April, and it was appropriately raining. As a crowd of over 60 relatives gathered around the gravesite, I felt a little lost, and still very sorry for ever having a violin concert.

            Uncle Dale and Uncle Philip sang a duet, their tenor voices blending smoothly, then cracking, as the music drifted across the damp lawn. Then it was time to pray and dedicate the gravesite. We all bowed our heads and closed our eyes. The prayer began. Suddenly a warmth spread over me, and I had to peek. The rainclouds had parted just enough to bathe this corner of the cemetery in a bright yellow beam of sunshine. The sunshine had the same brightness of Grandpa’s smile. It was only then that I accepted the reassurances that had been given. Yes, everything would be fine. Grandpa was sending his comfort to us. From now on he would be able to watch us and help us, whether we were doing chores on the farm or traveling far down life’s paths.

           

            Ten years later, my first son was born on Grandpa’s birthday. As I held his small body and examined his perfect face, I noticed his eyes and forehead bore the resemblance of my father and his father, Grandpa Johnson.

            Later reflection led me to believe that a circle had been completed, wherein grief was replaced by joy, and death replaced by birth. As a child, I had known Grandpa knew how to make things grow. As an adult and a new mother, I realized he’d planted seeds inside me that would only sprout years later. And he’d taught me how I, too, could begin sowing seeds. Thanks to Grandpa, there will always be a little bit of spring sunshine to help those seeds grow.

Ways to save money

I love being a stay-at-home mom! (Some political people recently said they think being Mom doesn't qualify as work; well, it does, but I also worked for six years in a corporate job before staying home. I know stay-home moms truly work, and work much longer hours!) For me, one of the hardest aspects of being a mom is balancing a budget. You're stuck with one income (by choice), and you search for ways to get the "extra" in your life without sacrificing too much time or comfort.

I have gathered 15 various ideas for saving money on everyday things, from clothes to household cleaners to food. Some may work for you, some may not, but all can save you money if approached with a practical mindset.

1. Replace ingredients in your recipes with less expensive ones (see my Creamed Soups post for more info). You can replace fresh onions with dehydrated ones, which last longer and still give onion flavor. You can replace sour cream with a little milk, or buttermilk with sour milk (1 c. milk plus 1 T. lemon juice). Look for substitution lists at the back of your recipe book.

2. Buy furniture on Craigslist or at thrift stores or garage sales. If the piece is in good shape but not the color you like, make it over with paint or by sewing a slip cover.

3. Speaking of sewing, making things homemade can often save money (if you don't spend too much on fancy materials--you have to be careful to buy your supplies at good prices). I make my daughter's dresses, shorts and tops. You can make greeting cards, wrapping paper (or use the comic's page from the newspaper), shopping bags, quilts, wreaths, or flower arrangements. These are all healthy creative outlets, too.

4. Grow a garden. Then can or freeze your harvest to make the goodness last throughout the winter. If gardening is out of the question, at least try buying produce from a local co-op or a service such as Bountiful Baskets.

5. Use coupons. Even better, get your coupons from your newspaper for free by doing a paper route (earns you a little money, too). Any coupons you don't use, you can sell on ebay (yes, people actually buy coupons!).

6. Get laundry detergent for free (and toothpaste, shampoo, vitamins, makeup, etc.). There are many home businesses where you can buy these items, then by recruiting other customers, you get a paycheck that pays for your items. I have been a Melaleuca customer for 8 years, and I built up a small home business the first year. Since then, I've gotten all my products for free (costs me $100 a month, and I get a check for $150+). I do not recommend making your own cleaners or detergents. People are employed as chemical engineers for a reason--they know how to make effective products.

7. Combine errands onto one day so you limit your driving. Try setting aside two days a week as "no driving" days to save on gasoline costs.

8. Share babysitting. Find another family with kids of similar ages or similar hobbies, and swap babysitting nights. Or, if you have older kids, have them do babysitting to swap for lessons in sewing, music, piano, etc.

9. Use hand-me-downs. I ask people with kids just older than my family to consider giving me their outgrown clothes. Then I save them in plastic storage tubs for the younger children to grow into in later years.

10. Instead of buying new books, trade used books for credit at a used book store. There are many stores that also take trade-ins on DVDs, video games, and music CDs for store credit and sometimes cash.

11. Even better, get a library card and borrow books, movies and tapes for free. (Just don't let them get overdue! The fines can really add up.)

12. Recycle aluminum cans, newspaper, and corrugated cardboard. The money from the recycling company can offset the cost of buying soda pop or your newspaper.

13. If you can't recycle your newspaper, consider burning it in a wood burning stove to help heat the house in winter, or in an outdoor fire pit in the summer. Wood can often be gathered from certain public lands for free, too, so that would help add fuel to your winter store.

14. Get rid of satellite or cable TV. We are nearing the end of our TV contract, and we are planning to discontinue our $80/month service and replace it with $9/month Netflix that will stream directly to our Bluray player. Technology is wonderful! The cost of the Bluray player ($148) will be recouped after only 2 months of going without TV.

15. Repurpose old items. Old jeans can become a handbag. Strips of old t-shirt material can be braided into a headband. Pieces of old wood make nice picture frames or shelves. Again, with a little creativity and effort, you create something beautiful and save money.

Budgeting and saving money is an art form in and of itself. I hope you'll find joy in the search for ways to save money and improve your life, and that blessings will come to your family.

Old traditions and sayings

I was thinking recently about how some things should be kept traditional, while some absolutely should be updated.

For instance, this web post:
http://www.slate.com/articles/technology/technology/2011/01/space_invaders.html

If you still type two spaces after every period in a block of text, you need to read this article! The only reason I was taught as a teen to type with two spaces was because of that ugly Courier font, aka., typewriter font. I took typing in 7th grade on a real typewriter. It was the last year the school ever used typewriters; they switched to word processors the next year. However, I continued with the two-space habit until I got a job in the publishing industry. The first day I worked there, they told me to stop using two spaces. With modern fonts, one space is clear and appropriate. And since then I have retrained my thumb to do only one space. It's a normal thing... only one space is in between words, so why not the same for sentences?

My son is learning to type at school, and they have taught him to put in two spaces after every period. It makes me want to scream! He is using a computer with the latest version of Windows, is learning to do PowerPoint, Word, and Excel, but they want him to use an archaic two spaces after every period? Crazy. When he brings his work home I go on a space hunt and do a search and replace throughout his document, leaving one clean, clear space between each sentence.

One other thing I've been meaning to discuss...
The name of my blog, "Many true words," comes from an old phrase, "Many a true word is spoken in jest." I like this saying because, basically, it's true. So many times people use sarcasm or "just kidding" or, in electronic media, a winky face ;), to soften a harsh comment or intimate that what they are saying is just a joke.

I was thinking back to elementary school when "just kidding" became a catch phrase. I don't know why, but it was all the rage to insult your friends then say, "Just kidding!" and laugh. For instance, "You're so ugly. Just kidding! Ha ha ha ha ha..." It was the lamest form of communication ever to hit the playground. It was even spread through notes, via the "j/k" abbreviation appended to many snide comments. I hated this fad and avoided it. Being shy and without many friends, when I said something I wanted it to count and build goodwill... not hide an undercurrent of pettiness or unkindness. I endured the years of silliness, silently wondering how many true words were being spoken in jest.

Unfortunately, mastering the art of sarcasm is the specialty of the teenage years. And then it was my turn to inflict sarcasm on my children (not knowing, until my husband took psychology in college, that children have no understanding of sarcasm until they are much older, say 11 or 12). For instance, I told my daughter this morning she had "a really long verse" to read in the scriptures, then directed her to read Jacob 6:12. She looked it up and said, affronted, "That's not a long one!" Evidence that sarcasm is grasped only at older ages (she's 8). (And in case you don't want to go look it up, the verse reads, "O be wise; what can I say more?")

And that is my diatribe for today. J/K. ;)

Sacrifice, modesty, and raising a nag.

I will warn you upfront, this entry comes from me, standing on my soapbox, which is labeled "Opinionated Mama." So if you don't want to hear my opinions you needn't read any further; however, I welcome comments and counter-opinions, because I really am not sure I am right.

Sacrifice

I had an opportunity to make a choice recently, which required sacrificing time with my family for taking part in a church meeting. I chose to spend time with my family.

Normally, this is not really a big issue. But I opened my big mouth and shared my opinion with someone else, and then it was shared with someone else, etc. until I was told I was causing offense (unintentionally, on my part, for I thought my opinions wouldn't be shared beyond the intended recipient).

The benefit, if there can be one, from all this commotion I caused was that I began to reflect on the idea of sacrifice. When is it appropriate to sacrifice time from your family? What is the cause that deserves such sacrifice? On one hand, being married in the temple, I am covenanted to spend time with my spouse and children. "Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to love and care for each other and for their children.... Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities." (The Family: A Proclamation to the World) All these aspects of family life take time and dedication.

On the other hand, as members of the church, we are encouraged to sacrifice all we have for the gospel, including time and talents. In last week's General Conference, Elder Oaks spoke on sacrifice. He said (and I quote this from the conference archives at lds.org):


"Today the most visible strength of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the unselfish service and sacrifice of its members. ... Truly, our lives of service and sacrifice are the most appropriate expressions of our commitment to serve the Master and our fellowmen....We have no professionally trained and salaried clergy in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As a result, the lay members who are called to lead and serve our congregations must carry the whole load of our numerous Church meetings, programs, and activities. They do this in more than 14,000 congregations just in the United States and Canada. Of course, we are not unique in having lay members of our congregations serve as teachers and lay leaders. But the amount of time donated by our members to train and minister to one another is uniquely large. 


"Perhaps the most familiar and most important examples of unselfish service and sacrifice are performed in our families. Mothers devote themselves to the bearing and nurturing of their children. Husbands give themselves to supporting their wives and children. The sacrifices involved in the eternally important service to our families are too numerous to mention and too familiar to need mention.... I believe that Latter-day Saints who give unselfish service and sacrifice in worshipful imitation of our Savior adhere to eternal values to a greater extent than any other group of people. Latter-day Saints look on their sacrifices of time and means as a part of their schooling and qualifying for eternity. This is a truth revealed in the Lectures on Faith, which teach that “a religion that does not require the sacrifice of all things never has power sufficient to produce the faith necessary unto life and salvation. … It [is] through this sacrifice, and this only, that God has ordained that men should enjoy eternal life.”

So in this situation, did I make the right choice? I have obligations as a "lay member... called to lead and serve our congregations" to attend such meetings. And yet, nurturing my children is also an example of "unselfish service and sacrifice." Which sacrifice is greater, most appropriate, and most likely to bring eternal reward? I don't know. I chose my family because that is what my heart told me to do... that I could not bring back this moment of 2012 to try and do it again later and create memories with my children at a more convenient time. In my view, it was meeting vs. memories and I chose not to sacrifice making memories.

Modesty

I read a blog recently from a convert to the Church. She shared an experience when she had just joined the Church and wore a sleeveless dress to Sacrament meeting. A "helpful" member told her she shouldn't wear a sleeveless dress, so this woman ceased wearing it, although it was comfortable and not revealing. That in itself is interesting, but the comments from others on her blog were varied in their opinions.

I am a mother who outlaws sleevelessness in its entirety. My boys don't wear sleeveless jerseys or tank tops. My daughter always wears a tee shirt under her jumpers; any dress has to have at least a cap sleeve or a jacket worn over the sleeveless bodice.

Why? First, because I remember as a young girl my mother making me little spring tops with ruffled straps instead of sleeves, and my sisters and I would say how "sexy" we looked and pull the straps down off our shoulders... and we were four or five years old! The attitude that went with a cute and probably innocent style was not the same as a style with sleeves. Second, I don't let my children wear sleeveless shirts because I want them to be in a habit of wearing temple-ready clothing their whole lives. I think it shows a double standard to say tank tops are ok until you are endowed, then they are off limits. If I couldn't wear that style now, I don't want my children wearing it, either. And  thirdly, I know there are perverts out there who will look at any amount of exposed flesh on my daughter and get aroused, so I keep her covered up.

Some arguments on the blog I read said that by being hyper-modest we are teaching our children there is no innocence in the beauty of the body, that it's all designed to attract evil. I do believe the body is a beautiful creation by a loving Father, and that its attractiveness is natural and God-given. However, I still want my children covered up. I never want to encourage an attitude of, "If you've got it, flaunt it." I guess only time will tell if my stance on modesty is effective or overdone.

Raising a nag

I certainly didn't plan on raising a nag. I guess it must be a reflection of my naggishness... my level of nagging... that I am seeing it already in my daughter. Today she got after her little brother (really, he's the only person she can nag, being the only one younger). "You don't like spicy food, so why did you take that chicken wing? If you say you like spicy food that means you like all spicy food, even the really hot stuff. Now you have to eat it." (He did eat it.) Later... "You have to pull out your chair before you try to sit on it. No, not that far! Now you can't reach your food." She got up and pushed in his chair to what she felt was the right distance. "Why don't you listen to me?"

Do I sound like this? I really need to speak more kindly to my children if I do! And heaven help her future husband...

After a few days off...

I took a few days off to see my family down in Utah. I took the children and went to my sister Valerie's house, who was just married, and then to my other sisters' houses, Rachael and Marian. It was a nice couple of days to enjoy spring break. My daughter spent two extra days with her cousin Taylor and then, in order to return her to the family, Rachael and I met in Lava Hot Springs and swam for a couple of hours in their hot pools. Then we swapped back kids and went home to real life. :(

As I spent time at Lava Hot Springs, I had a chance to make sure I had the details and descriptions of the place correct for a scene in my Persuasion book. This is the scene; for those who have read the Jane Austen original, Lava in my book correlates to Lyme, England in Austen's tale. The only part that is "fictional" is the lifeguard... I didn't see a lifeguard at Lava, but surely there's someone with emergency training who works there, right?

By 10:00 everyone had eaten, Doug had arrived, and they all got ready for a visit to the hot springs. Fred came up to tell the girls they were ready just as they walked out the door. He paused on the stairwell.

“Fred!” Lisa exclaimed, walked down two stairs, then jumped over the remaining three to land in his arms. She laughed, delighted that he’d been forced to wrap his arms around her.

“Whoa, warn me next time,” Fred cautioned, caught off balance.

They all got in Fred’s car and drove the few blocks up to the hot springs. As they got out of the car, a big pick-up truck with the words “Teton Springs Ranch” was just pulling out of the lot. The driver tipped his hat then turned onto the street. “Is he familiar?” Henna asked.

“I think he’s the guy we saw last night,” Anne said. Then a connection was made in her mind—Teton Springs Ranch was just down the street from their home in Driggs. She might know this guy, or at least his family. She’d have to find out more when she went back home from Christmas.

The six of them hurried across the street and down the hill to the hot springs entrance. They paid their fees, then Henna, Lisa, and Anne walked into the ladies’ dressing room to change into their swimsuits. As they emerged, they shivered in the chilly air and slight breeze, wrapping their towels more tightly around them. Steam rose in wavering columns from each pool, and the girls walked between the pools until they spotted Fred, Benwick and Doug. “Hey, girls!” they called and waved.

“Oh, it’s hot!” cried Henna as she dipped her toes in.

“But it’s so cold out here!” chattered Lisa. “Give me your towel and get in.” Lisa grabbed her towel, dropped it on a plastic pool chair with her towel as well, then scurried to the edge of the pool. “I’m coming in!” she called, then with a little hop jumped over the edge and into the pool. The splash brought up the arms of everyone else to shield them from the spray.

“Anne, are you coming in?” Benwick called.

Anne had taken her time folding her towel and removing her sandals. She felt very shy in front of three guys in just her swimsuit, and had hoped to slip in unnoticed. Now, however, she had all eyes on her. She tiptoed to the edge of the pool and slipped in under the hot, bubbly water, sinking in up to her neck.

“This is one of the cooler pools,” Benwick explained. “The water runs continuously through the pools, then empties into the river. You can go tubing down the river in summer, and the water’s as warm as a bathtub. Even in winter they have the polar bear event, where you raft down the river then run back up in the snow!” Everyone laughed and commented on the insanity of such a sport.

“You should buy the tube rental company,” Doug suggested. “That would make you rich.”

“Sure,” said Benwick. “Maybe I’ll do that after my first million has been made,” he joked.

They found that sitting continuously in the pool made you feel too hot, so they’d sit on the edge or move to another pool every five minutes. Each time they switched to a different pool, Lisa wanted to wait until Fred was down the steps and in the deeper water, then she’d jump down to him. The pools had gravel bottoms, so they weren’t too slippery, but the deck surrounding the pools was wet from the misty air and the ins and outs of swimmers.

“Let’s move to the big pool,” Henna suggested. “It’s a bit cooler, and we can play a game or something.” They all assented, trotting along the heated stone deck to arrive at the last, large pool. Again everyone took the steps down into the water except Lisa. She waited for Fred, then jumped with a splash right next to him.

“Catch me again,” she said, bounding back up the stairs immediately.

“No, Lisa, just come in the water,” Fred cajoled.

“No, I’m going to jump. Here I come!” But as she spun toward the pool and began her jump she slipped on a smooth, wet spot. Fred could not reach her—everyone cried out—but all could only watch her feet fly forward and her head crash down onto the cement.

“She’s dead!” screamed Henna as they all scrambled out of the pool to Lisa’s side. “She’s dead! What do we do? Oh, Lisa!”

Fred and Benwick were at her side but frozen, staring in horror at her completely still form. Anne moved to her head, gently lifting it and examining each side. “She’s breathing. She’s not bleeding,” she said. “But she may have a head or neck injury. Henna, what do you do for a head injury?”

“I don’t know!”

“Come on, you’re in nursing school!” yelled Fred. “Think!”

“I can’t! I don’t know!” She began sobbing in great, heaving gasps. Doug took her and sat her down on a pool chair.

Anne still knelt at Lisa’s head. Benwick and Fred just stared at her. “Guys, we need a paramedic. Benwick, you’re more familiar with this place. Go to the front desk, get a phone, do something—get an ambulance here!” Benwick was off in a flash, disappearing into the steam clouds.

“Fred, I need you to help me. You’ve got to put your arms under her neck and head and don’t let them move an inch. I’ll get under her shoulders and we’ll move her away from the edge of the pool.” He nodded and put his forearms carefully alongside her head and neck. “Ready?” Anne said. “One, two, three, lift.” They slowly moved her a few inches away. “Doug, hand me a towel. Let’s put these over her.” She and Fred covered Lisa carefully. By that time Benwick was back with a lifeguard. 

“What happened?” the lifeguard asked, and Anne gave him a quick summary. He checked her pulse, lifted her eyelids and looked at her pupils, then placed his ear near her chest to monitor her breathing. Then he pulled a radio from the waist of his shorts. “The victim is female, about…how old?” he asked Anne.

“Twenty,” she answered.

“Twenty,” he radioed again. “She is unconscious, possible head injuries. No bleeding.”

“Anne already told us that much,” Fred muttered. “Where are the paramedics?”

“We’ve got a volunteer ambulance service here. It will just take a few minutes. Help me put her on a back board and we’ll move her inside to keep her temperature stable.” All the guys were called over and instructed to carefully lift at the same time. The guard then strapped her on the board, and they all carried Lisa into the main entrance area to wait for the ambulance. Anne followed behind with her arm around Henna, continuing to support her in her near-hysterical state. The lifeguard found some smelling salts, waving them under Lisa’s nose. She stirred, her eyes fluttered, and then was still again. They all sighed and murmured, relieved to see some signs of life.

Anne quietly gave guidance to the group as the interminable wait dragged on. “Fred, Benwick, you get changed while Doug and I wait with Henna.” When they were back she left Henna with them, got her clothes on, and gathered Lisa’s things from her locker. Then she persuaded Henna to leave Lisa’s side and get changed herself. Doug led her away, quickly changing too, then waited for her outside the dressing room. A large group had gathered in the building, staring and whispering about the seemingly dead girl who lay under blankets and towels.

The ambulance pulled up and there was a rush of movement. The crowd was shoved aside, the paramedics bringing a gurney down the stairs. Anne, Fred, Doug and Benwick grabbed their coats and bags. The patient was examined and an IV was started. Then they rolled the gurney out the door and worked it up the stairs. Henna began her hysterics again upon seeing the ambulance doors close with Lisa inside. Doug held her close to his chest while she sobbed. The ambulance pulled away, turned, and went down the hill to the highway.

“Dear, sweet Lisa!” whispered Fred. “I should never have given in to her. But she was so resolute….”

 “Doug, Fred, we need to get our cars,” Anne said. “We can follow the ambulance to the hospital.” 

Speaking of creamed soup...

This is a true story.

As I said goodnight to this handsome, tall young man after our first date, I knew I wanted to see him again. Like any good LDS girl, I also knew we needed to meet in a group setting. So I asked my date, James, if he would be going to our singles wards' Thanksgiving potluck the next night.

"Uh, sure," was his response. So I said I would see him there, and tried not to look too eager.

The next night came, and I stressed (again) over what to wear. I finally ended up with a vest/t-shirt/jeans combo that was very 90s in style. I also worried about what to bring... this was a potluck, after all, and I needed to provide something. However, I was living at home with my parents, still going to their ward, and the only time I attended this singles ward was to join in the activities with my cousin or sister. I hadn't been to a Sunday meeting, and thus hadn't "signed up" to bring a specific dish. So what does a young lady bring on short notice to a potluck?

I looked around my mom's kitchen. I had ten minutes until I was supposed to be at the church building, which was seven minutes away. I hadn't time to bake pies, rolls, casseroles... what to bring? I decided on a classic: creamed beans. Two cans of green beans, one can of cream of mushroom soup, microwave for five minutes. Done.

Now I called to see if my cousin was going to the potluck and I could get a ride. She wasn't planning to go. My sister was doing something else. I had never been to this ward by myself, so I felt nervous. But I thought, "James will be there," and drove over to the church building where we were meeting.

I walked into the building and quickly surveyed the crowd... probably 100 young adults were there, but not one of them was James. And I quickly realized that I knew absolutely NO ONE. I felt painfully shy, embarrassed, and out of place. I put my bowl of beans down then stood at the back of the line as the crowd began to sidle down the potluck table. I felt like I could cry... why did I even come? What was I doing here with all these strangers? Maybe I should take my creamed beans and go home...

Just then the girls in front of me introduced themselves, began learning a little about me, and asked me to sit with them for dinner. I began to relax, filled my plate, and sat at the end of a long L-shaped table arrangement (carefully making sure that one empty spot was right next to me, just in case James came).

I was  midway through the meal when HE came. My heart sped up, my palms grew sweaty. He was here! He and his roommates walked in and started filling their plates. I lost all track of conversation among those sitting near me at the table. I carefully arranged the chair next to me so it was obvious it was open. I watched as he took some turkey, took some mashed potatoes, took some salad, DID NOT take any creamed beans. Hmph.

Then he was at the end of the serving table. He had his plate in his hands. He walked toward me where I was sitting... closer and closer... I was so nervous I couldn't meet his eyes... he was two feet away... then he turned and walked right past me and went to sit on the OPPOSITE end of the table! I leaned forward and looked down the table... he and I had thirty people between us. Conversation was impossible.

Now I was absolutely certain I shouldn't have come. I finished my dinner. I wanted no pie. I sat silently while the conversation around me dwindled and people started to leave. As I got up, I saw James get up too. He walked away from the table... and a group of five girls approached him. He talked with them, then walked away. The five girls followed him to the other end of the gym! He talked with them, then with some other fellows. Then he went to the exit of the gym. I decided I would at least say hi. But then he was surrounded again by the knot of five girls! I inched my way closer... I squeezed between all these girls and the wall... I reached between two girls and barely touched his elbow, saying timidly, "I just wanted to say hi before I left."

James turned and grabbed my arm. "There you are!" he called. "I've been looking for you. Can you wait a minute? I wanted to ask you something." Five pairs of female eyes glared at me. I stepped back and pressed against the wall, happy but confused, embarrassed and elated. He finally dismissed the group of girls with a "good to see you again, yes, thanks" and turned back to me.

"Did you just get here?" he asked.

"No, I was here before you. I saw you come in."

"Oh. My roommates were late and I had to get a ride with them. I'm sorry I didn't see you."

"It's ok. Did you like your dinner?"

"Yeah, it was good. Did you bring something?"

"Yes, I brought the creamed beans. Did you have some?"

"Uh, no... I must have missed them." A look crossed his face, something between disgust and relief.

"Oh, well I was just going to get my bowl and go home."

"Well, that's what I wanted to ask you..." and James proceeded to invite me to watch a movie with him and another couple later that night at his apartment.

He may not have liked creamed beans, but it didn't stop him from asking me for a second date. In the end, it all worked out alright. (And now we've been married for 15 years... and I have never again made creamed beans.)