Hanging Up The Shorts

I'm home but I'm not going to blog. I can't even describe what kind of mixed emotions that sentence brings up but after two weeks with little to no access to email or internet or blogging, I realized that I'm o.k. without it. The possibility for happiness is still there. This isn't my only outlet. In fact, it may be derailing some other opportunities. But to face the computer everyday and decide to blog or not isn't how I operate. So, I'm making the decision.

I hope I come back. I want to. At a minimum, I feel like I have unfinished business. There are eight book reviews burning in my head! And two trips! And my son's baptism coming up (my first as a parent - and that's a big deal!). So many, many reasons to blog.

But there is a nagging voice in my head that I shouldn't. I don't know where it's coming from. I worry it's coming from an important place and I've been ignoring it for some time. But, nothing bad has EVER happened. No strange comments. No weird hits. Nothing. But the voice...it still comes.

All I can compare it to is if I was a runner (and believe me...I most definitely am not) and felt impressed over and over again to stop. Do I? Is it to avoid a future knee injury? Or to prevent getting hit by a car by some negligent driver who decided to text message while turning on a red light? Or is it merely my own insecurities about how I look in those running shorts that split indecently up the side or my inner voice telling me I'm never going to win the Boston marathon so why bother running my three mile neighborhood route? I don't know. I don't know if I'll ever know. And, believe me, I've thought and thought about it. I mean...I really don't want to get hit by a car. I've seen those text-messaging-drivers and they are scary.

I wasn't sure what decision I'd make when I got back. I think either one will leave me curious and dissatisfied. If I continue to blog, I know I'll wonder if I should. If I don't, I'll wonder why I shouldn't. Perhaps time will give an answer.

I've thought about going private and I don't think that's the answer. Although, I admit to being tempted only to see who wanted to read (does that tempt anyone else?). I've also worried about writing this only to pop back on in two days and say, "Changed my mind!" Because...truthfully, I can actually imagine that happening.

I'll miss this part of me. I'll miss this part of many of you.

Until next time...

One For The Road

I'm heading out for the rest of the week and thought I'd do one last update. Beware....this is kind of all over the place.

I watched Kelly's kids on Saturday so she and her husband could celebrate their anniversary by going snowboarding together. Unfortunately for them, Jerry (her husband) strained a muscle in his back and wasn't going anywhere. I had already worked a deal with Jay to spend the day snowboarding (filling up my reserve tank for my nights out) and he had planned on playing a practical joke on them by walking out to their car when they dropped off their kids, snowboard in hand saying, "I'm ready! Let's go!"

It didn't work out very well because both of them eagerly accepted Jay's joke as a legitimate offer and Jay ended up feeling dumb and having to explain that it was only a joke. After everyone was convinced we were on the same page, Jay and Kelly went snowboarding, Jerry went home to nurse his back and I spent the day with six of my favorite little people. I LOVE Kelly's kids. They are great company for my kids, total rule followers and really easy to have around. Her baby is angelic. I'm telling you, after a day holding that sweet little girl, my long dormant "maybe we should have one more" argument surfaced again. I don't know if it'll stick around or bury itself back into the ground, but if I could get one like her, I'd have three more! Seriously sweet.

Henry and Kate were all over baby Sara. Aren't they all adorable?

Of course, then they overdo it.

The older boys had no trouble staying entertained.

I got this sweet good mail package from my old homey, Kristin. Thank you! It's so nice to have these blogs to stay in touch with. Oh...she also sent some fabulous brown Burt Bees lip balm that is hiding at the bottom of my purse. Love you!

I had to go to ward council yesterday knowing I was going to have to give a report on the upcoming ward activity (it's STILL a thorn in my side). The nice dinner/jazz singer theme wasn't working out so we planned on doing an Olympics party with spoof games. But, I realized the day before that general conference and stake conference eliminate ward meetings for the two Sundays prior to the activity and there would be no publicity. That activity was going to take a lot of effort and we probably wouldn't have a great turnout. So, I announced we were going to have a very casual "pizza game night" with a movie room for kids and you would have thought I had told the group we were going to Disneyland. Hey...if they are that easy to please, I have been stressing about the wrong thing. Little Cesar's 5 dollar pizza....here we come.

I forgot about St. Patty's Day. This holiday is low, low, low on my hierarchy of celebrations. I'm not Irish. I'm not Catholic. I've never lived in a place where there is a big population of either. I have one green shirt and it was dirty. I apparently don't buy green clothes for my kids. Seth found a polo that was passed on from his cousin and Sammy called it good with his CTR ring. I found this one shirt that had some green on it for Henry. I wore a charcoal grey sweater. We are seriously lacking in the jolly department.

Henry's green. And yes...he learned to fake smile.
(Please tell me your child's white shirt looks like this at the end of the day too!)

School makes this day a much bigger day than our own home does. Seth did not want to get pinched at school. Sammy saves himself a pinching with his ever-present CTR ring.

I have a funky quadricep injury. On Friday, I made it to the gym and did my circuit training. I don't remember any moment where I could have injured myself but this entire weekend, I have been nursing a sore left quad. But, it's like it's only one of the muscles. Right in the middle. And it only hurts when I climb stairs. It's annoying.

It's the last day to do this, but I'm clocking in at the nick of time. Amber, at Soggy Cheerios, is having a contest at her site. I adore women who can have a side business with their talents. She is a whiz cake decorator and is trying to drum up some new business after her move. If you want to compete with me for a fabulous cake, mention her on your blog and create a link, and then leave a comment for her on her blog. But do it fast! You've only got until tomorrow. I've got my fingers crossed!

Sarah's friend has been doing my hair this year and I had wanted to get a cut and color before I left. The only day she could do it was Saturday, which wasn't going to workout with six kiddos! She sweetly agreed to come to my house to do it which amazingly kinda sorta worked. I mean, it got hairy (yuk yuk!) there at times when everyone was in the kitchen begging for food and Henry wanted to sit on my lap, but, at the end, I was glad she was able to do it. I like the new color. It's a little darker than I was expecting, but I'm totally o.k. with it. Sometimes, unexpected surprises are the best kind of change. Not always. But, thankfully, this time. And it's not a drastic change. Just more coppery...which is sort of fun.

The lighting isn't great and the cut is pretty much the same (I keep trying to grow it out, but I think it's stopped!), but here's my new do.

Here's my reading stash for the week! I'm going on tour with my sister Maureen's choir. We'll be in South Carolina and Georgia until Sunday. Yes, I'm going with 90 high schoolers, but I'm also going for free. Think of me while I visit an old plantation, Ft. Sumpter, a lighthouse, the citadel, and much much more. I don't think I'll be able to read them all (or maybe even half) but you never know. I like to be prepared.

Bring on the cross country flight!

Have a GREAT week and I'll see you all soon:)

A Chorus Girl

"This is what I want to do for the rest of my life."

Lucy, in a cathedral in Europe, 1993

I've always been able to sing. In elementary school, I was usually chosen to sing the solo for the class musical (I had an awesome elementary music teacher. I think it's tragic that schools are eliminating their music programs). Until Misty came along in fifth grade. She had this unusual-for-our-age husky voice that everyone thought was so cool and I was relegated back to being a chorus girl.

I stayed comfortably in my choir role until my senior year of high school. I had done some duets and such for music festivals, but knew my strength came from my ability to read music, learn a part quickly and carry my section. I was the "alto" and the piano player. Those were my things.

My senior year of high school, I signed up for private voice lessons. I don't recall why. I just did and I was surprised by the enthusiasm of my voice teacher. She convinced me I was a singer. She had me sing at a NATS competition and it was the first time I had ever sung a solo in front of a judge. I had been playing piano pieces at District and State Music Festivals for years, but there, you sit at an instrument and play it. Here, I was forced to stand alone, and "play" my instrument from memory. If I was bad, I was bad. Not the piano. Not my fingers. Me. I felt naked.

I sang two numbers and did well. So well that I ended up tying for first place. My voice teacher was shocked (which didn't stroke my ego all that much) and called me a "dark horse" - a term I had to go home and look up. As excited as I was with the recognition, I was more flattered that I was considered an equal to the girl I tied with. She was incredible. I was just an alto.

Shortly after that, I was approached by my high school choir teacher about auditioning for a youth choir that planned to tour Europe that summer. My parents being the ever supportive and fantastic beings they are, told me to try. I sent in a tape and when I received confirmation back, got ready to leave for Europe the day after high school graduation.

Weren't we fetching in our floral concert attire? I mean, with that slimming pink cummerbund, all this dress needed was to be shortened and voila! Another dress for my wardrobe!

Yup...that's me with the fake smile and casual up-do in my usual spot. Back row...middle.

After a week of long and rather brutal rehearsals, our conductor had whoever wanted to audition for the solo in "Amazing Grace" sing the first verse a cappella in front of the rest of the choir. Coming off a fairly recent confidence boost, I tried. Once again, I was surprised and excited to "come in first".

Europe was...amazing. Life changing. We toured for three weeks around the countries of Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Belgium and the Czech Republic. We sang in front of crowds in small village towns, famous cathedrals and outdoor amphitheaters. We sang master works during the first half of the concert and American spirituals for the second half. When it was time to sing Amazing Grace, I and four other girls would climb the stairs to the organ loft after listening to a pitch on a pitch pipe. I'd hum that note the entire way and when the conductor gave me the signal, I began to sing the first line a capella. Halfway through the verse, two girls joined in with harmony and eventually the other two would join in to end the verse. The rest of the choir sang the remaining three verses all together, and at the song's end, the conductor would point up to the choir loft and we five would take a bow.

The choir spontaneously singing in a circle while touring a cathedral. That's me in my long cream rain coat.

Another circle moment at the bottom of the Olympic ski jump in Innsbruck. Apparently, we really liked to sing in circles.

It was exhilarating. It was what I wanted the rest of my life to feel like.

That fall, I declared voice performance as my major at BYU. The trouble is, female singers at BYU are a dime a dozen. It was the classic big fish/small pond to small fish/big pond transition. There, I was no dark horse. There, I was just a girl with limited training who decided early on that I was not nearly good enough to make it.

My first professor was convinced I was NOT an alto and forced me to sing selected songs in key signatures that I thought were too high. I remember singing Oh Danny Boy in front of our class and missing all the high notes. It humiliated me, mostly because I already felt that everyone in that class was better than me.

After that semester, I dropped out of the vocal program. Looking back, I realize what a huge mistake that was. I was eighteen, dumb and lacked vision. The only thing I knew was that the chances of me singing Amazing Grace in European cathedrals was not very likely. And anything less than that was simply....less.

That first summer home almost convinced me to change my mind again. A jazz band asked me to sing a few songs with them, including Amazing Grace, and that performance high returned ten fold. I loved singing. I loved performing.

One of the three songs I sang with Dixieland 7. (Of course, I made them an awkward eight)

My life sort of got in the way, though, and inspiration and courage rarely stood beside me during my pitiful sophomore year. I slept walked through my newly declared major's psychology classes, avoided the HFAC altogether (too many freaks there) and turned my back on the first thing I think I truly loved doing.

Besides that brief little moment in the sun, I have returned to my comfortable spot of alto in the choir. The caliber of choirs has fluctuated between being so good I could cry, like last year's Bach Festival Chorus and being so bad I do cry (ward choir #1, 2, 3 etc.). I miss singing. I miss being good. No, I miss feeling good. That isn't false modesty talking. I know my limits. I have a pleasant sacrament meeting voice and have occasionally been hired to sing. I think I've made about $300 as a professional singer. But I wanted to be Barbara. Or play the part of Fantine. Lately it's been Elphaba.

Because a friend asked, and it's a part of me that I'm willing to share, I post my internet debut singing my beloved Amazing Grace. Believe me, it's not fun for me to watch. My face does all sorts of weird things when I sing. I've tried recording it several times now and this was better than just turning the camera on myself (if you think my eyes do weird things here...imagine them even closer to the lens!) The thing is...I'm not usually an embarrassed or nervous singer. I love to do it. I just have never had to look at myself do it before. Yikes! Forgive the imperfections. It's my best choir girl offering.

Um....enjoy? (This is for you, Alisa!)

Book Review #65 - Bound On Earth

When I finished the first chapter, I loved this book. Beth is struggling through Thanksgiving with her family after just leaving her husband who suffers from Bipolar disorder and quit taking his medication. By its middle, I had changed my mind. Tina seemed to be every character in a Jack Weyland novel. She does bad things and bad things happen to her. As I turned the last page, I loved it again. Wait a minute. This is it. These are the stories of families trying. Some of their tales are quite extraordinary.

I don't generally read much LDS fiction. I find the stories usually a bit too tidy and my most important qualifier for really good literature is that it be honest. A lot of time, LDS fiction can be fluffy. Yes, there is usually some necessary conflict that involves the bad character doing bad things. By its end, however, the punishment usually fits the crime and when a miracle is in order, it rarely fails to show up.

I saw a recommendation for this book on Blog Segullah and it got such rave reviews from some seemingly picky readers that I requested it from my library. It's brand new and I was the very first person to check it out. If you consider where I live and what kind of book it is, you'll agree that it was a special moment.

At just under 200 pages, this is the kind of book you can easily read in a day or two. I started it last night and have had a hard time putting it down. Bound on Earth follows the Palmer family through many generations, though not chronologically. The chapters bounce around in time and between family members, a writing technique I'm not always super fond of. Part of me thinks it's a shortcut, to eliminate the tricky transitions that progress a plot. But I also admit that as a reader, it can work well to experience multiple first hand narratives; it makes it much easier to get the "BIG" picture. And this is a book that is all about the big picture.

What is marriage? What is family? How do they survive? Do our trials break us apart or bind us together? Hallstrom doesn't cut corners with heartache. The situations she puts her characters in are vividly real, so real that I felt like I knew these people. I do know them. They just have different names.

If you're wary of LDS literature, give this a try. If you are looking for a great book to read with your ward bookgroup, this is your book. Or if you simply want to discover some great characters that you feel sad to part with at the end...read it. It's legitimately good.

TMI

Our Hoover Windtunnel vacuum cleaner stopped working. Nothing exploded or anything, but I noticed it wasn't "lifting" the carpet up anymore. The only lines that were being made were from the hard plastic tires and as carpet is the predominant floor covering in this temporary residence of mine (will I ever be free from carpet? WHY do people put it in eating areas?????) it was getting pretty nasty.

Alas, it was time for a new vacuum. I'm sorry, but buying a vacuum is not a sexy way to spend money, especially when it stems from desperation. I even like to vacuum, as far as mindless chores around the house go, but was recently appalled when I went to Sam's Club and realized they only had two models priced under $200 (where was the $50 option??) and four priced in the $400's. Seriously? Are certain vacuums now status symbols? I mean, do these companies realize the only people that see us vacuuming are more likely to be more impressed if they can sword fight with the attachment tools than by what color it is? Why would I want a pink vacuum?

I left determined to find one cheaper online or at a different store and ended up at Target. To be fair, they did have $50 options that were so slight and wimpy looking, I doubted it could manage to suck up the mayhem that can be created by Henry. I needed something that, at a minimum, had the power to suck up an entire bag of rice.

Like most of my purchases, I gravitated towards the middle of the line products. I somehow feel better knowing that I didn't get fleeced by buying the most expensive model, but neither am I the schlep who is reduced to sweeping my carpet, hoping a bristle might get lucky enough to move that dried piece of roast from last night to another spot on the floor.

No, I purchased another Hoover....but this time there was no "bag" option. Like all its brothers and sisters, it wants to show me its dirt.

Gross. I don't want this knowledge. I must be like an aristocrat, because I like it better when the family dirt is contained. If you think about it, this vision into our dirty habits is almost an invasion of privacy. Anyone that comes over could voyeur into my see-through vacuum cannister and figure out what we had for dinner the night before, or know that I'm too lazy to pick up paper clips and pennies. I'm not saying they would, I'm just saying they could. If they were curious and desperate enough.

All too much information, in my opinion. Death to this open lifestyle! Back in the closet where you belong!

Jen Comes To Visit

I had a great weekend with Jen this last weekend when she came to visit for her birthday because she needed a "sister fix". She brought her eldest son, Ansel, which was such a treat for my boys. As a sister, I happily accommodated her and we spent the weekend enjoying being walking buddies, shopping together and she gave me a reason to go to all of her favorite restaurants. We went to a movie (Penelope - it's cute), played games and rocked the karaoke. Jay provided the babysitting for all of the extracurricular activities and was a great sport to hang with a room full of sisters.

Arriba! Ansel joined the league of bronco fans.

Outside the Cheesecake Factory. Such a long wait, but without kids and sisters to chat with, it's manageable.

Sarah and I gave Jen a bracelet designed by Dana at Charmed Designs(who totally whipped this up in a few hours time to meet my custom request. Very professional).

Jen and I taking on Pat Benetar.

Thanks for making the effort Jen! I hope you had a great birthday and I miss you already!

Book Review #64 - Princess Academy

I enjoyed this so much more than I was expecting to. Shannon Hale keeps surprising me and I think this the best of all her books I've read. Of course, Austenland has a different target audience, so...really, I can only say that this outranks Goose Girl.

I hate the title. It reminds me of a Disney movie that stars Amanda Bynes or Anne Hathaway or somebody that little girls want to grow up to be like. The title actually kept me from reading this earlier. It sounded silly. In reality, however, the title is completely appropriate (I certainly can't think of a better one) and a great book for girls and their moms (sorry guys, but I don't think you'd enjoy it).

Mira is a fourteen year old Danlaner who lives on Mt Eskel with other mountain village families. When the prince's representatives come and announce that the prince will choose a bride from Mt. Eskel, each girl between the ages of 13 and 18 are forced to leave their families and attend the "princess academy" where they learned to read and write and learn the basics in commerce, poise, conversation and dance. After a years time, they meet the prince but Mira also realizes how much more enlightened she is with her education - princess-to-be or not. She uses her knowledge to better her village, defend her family and figure out the secret of "quarry-speaking".

Part fantasy, part romance, part coming of age, part fairy tale, I enjoyed this quick read.

Book Review #63 - The Maytrees

For a book about love, it's kind of a downer. There are too many exquisite lines to put this into a "waste of time" category, but as a whole, I can't claim this to be a favorite.

What I enjoyed was Dillard's ability to put a unique feel to common experiences. For instance, when Maytree looked at his wife, she wrote, "After their first year or so, Lou's beauty no longer surprised him. He never stopped looking, because her face was his eyes' home."

Or.
"That he did not possess her childhood drove him wild. Who was this impostor she sang with in college -- how dare he?"

Here's a good one:
"A woman's forgiveness weakened a man's arms and back. So did its sob sister, pity. It would not stand up to fight. Who could prevail against it?"

This one is my favorite:
"Often she missed infant Petie now gone -- his random gapes, his bizarre buttocks. How besotted they gazed at each other nose-on-nose. He fit her arms as if they two had invented how to carry a baby.....She imagined joining picnic tables outside by the beach and setting them for 22 Peties and Petes, or 122, or however greedy she was that day and however divisible Pete. Together the sons at every age and size -- scented with diaper, formula on rubber nipples, bike grease, wax crayon...waited for dinner. Who else knew what each liked? It was a hell of a long table. She gave herself a minute to watch them -- Petie after Petie barefoot near his future self and past. They pinched and teased or shoved one another. What mother would not want to see her kids again?"

Now normally I do not give a lot of quotes for a book review. I can't really explain why I did with this particular book, other than I liked these individual lines better than the book as a whole. I confess that I've always had a slight prejudice against east coasters. I don't know exactly why. Again, I like almost all of the individuals I've met, but as a whole, there is a superiority they perceive in themselves in regards to their intellect, experience and perspective that I find irritating. These characters and their beachfront way of life irritated me. Their attitudes towards marriage, parenting, etc. frustrated me. I don't know if it was the author's own bias that tainted them, or if it really was isolated to these particular characters, but the choices they made did not match the consequences I felt each choice deserved.

But who am I to say what should befall the fallen? All I can say is I felt unsatisfied at the end. And a little bit like none of it mattered.

Wow. This was a really bad book review. Sorry.

My Dangerous Alternative Lifestyle

I don't spend much time watching TV anymore. If I do, it's usually to watch the DVD's of proven shows or movies with Jay. I dislike the wait from week to week feeling series force you into. I feel like a hostage.

Here's some background knowledge for the rest of the post. Jay is a lover of all things spy. Those are the kinds of books he enjoys. Those are the kinds of movies he enjoys. He'd like to have a code name or at least one that stuck because he's given himself several. I just never cooperate by using it. Sometimes, especially after a particularly good movie, he likes to sneak up on me and say, "Bam, I just killed you." I know...we're crazy romantics here but I have to admit he makes me laugh in his own twisted sort of way. Just some information for you about what I'm up against.

To satisfy his thirst for the covert, he rented a series the BBC put out called MI-5. It's a pretty good show, in that quirky British sort of way, and we watched season one together fairly quickly.
Still feeling the spy itch, La Femme Nikita was next in our Netflix queue. I had seen a little of it in college, as had Jay, and we both remembered different parts of it. He remembered some complicated brainwashing story and I remembered something about a Nikita/Michael drama.

We started watching it together on Monday and both realized, quite early on, that it wasn't going to be a hit with Jay. In fact, several episodes in made it rather clear that LFN had more of a feminine quality to it than Jay could force himself to sit through. He gave up but by episode four, I was hooked! The individual episodes don't reel me in, but throughout almost all of them is this sub story that slowly increases the current of romantic tension between Nikita and Michael.

Season one had six discs.

Each disc contains four episodes.

I am finished with all of them.

I know! I watched so many episodes in a row before bed that in my dreams, I am doing karate chops on bad guys and wearing a ski mask under the cloak of darkness to sneak inside an abandoned warehouse where there are more bad guys. And Michael is backing me up.

My sister, Jen, came into town last night and I knew I needed to finish the season before she came so that I wasn't distracted and yearning to watch an episode or two. I wanted her to have my undivided attention. But instead, I'm left with this dangler of a season finale on my brain and dying to start season two. There are six seasons!

Isn't this the reason I stopped watching television?!? What am I doing? Have you seen LFN? Have you seen Michael? It isn't that he's this super hot hottie that frequently finds himself in situations that demand he remove his shirt. It's not about his physical appearance at all. To be honest, he's got this European-esque quality, that while handsome, necessitates that he wear tight high wasted pants that tuck into boots. This can produce a great deal of discomfort for me. But the way he glances at Nikita? And the way he's forced to mess with her mind? The bystander knows how he feels. But he keeps hurting her....because he has to. Then he protects her. Because he can't stand to see her hurt. It's truly troubling and, oh my...I'm getting in trouble just writing about it.

Jay refuses to have season two in the house for a while. I blame him for even starting this obsession. Maybe a couple of days is all I need to break myself away from this original USA network television show produced over a decade ago. There....just writing those words shook me out of my stupor. What am I watching this for?



Because I need to know what happens to Michael and Nikita.

And then I can get back to reading books.

Catching Up With Pictures

I haven't been very good lately at bringing my camera along for things. But, I managed a few times and thought I'd throw them into a single post. Like some others, I've been working on compiling my older posts into a book, and as this also serves as my scrapbook, because I think I'm done cutting, taping, cropping and designing, I need to include them even when they don't inspire anything to say.

I wore my "eternal coupon" for one of my all time favorite indulgences. A Brisa de mora negra. Yummy.

Of course, who do you think ended up drinking most of it? King Henry.

They have a new Sesame Street exhibit at the children's museum. It's all about the body. Very fun and the boys loved it. Henry couldn't get enough of these doorbells that play messages from all of the main characters.

They have a grocery store that Henry really liked to take things from and put them in a basket. He really didn't like putting them back, however.

They had this interactive game show that Sammy liked to play.

Jay hamming it up behind the counter.

One of the pretty days last week. It felt glorious to be outside.

Seth brought his football and set up this kick.

Look at it go! Oh wait...

Sammy also made it to the park with some paraphernalia. Apparently all my children need props for our outdoor adventures. But, after our long-cooped-up-no-real-backyard-of-a-winter, I really didn't mind hauling it all there, and then nagging all of them to actually bring each item back home.

For Henry's speech therapy, we are really working on teaching him to consistently use the sign for "more". He hates it. His sippy cup full of milk is his biggest motivator, however, so if he wants more milk, he has to ask for it by making his sign. Sneaky Henry thought he'd try his own way to get it. I can't believe he thinks this is easier than signing. First he tried standing on a blanket. Then a stacking cup. Then a puzzle. Then a toy. Then his box of diaper wipes (which didn't hold all of his 28 pounds) until he finally brought in this white chair. I don't know why he didn't think of it sooner. It's worked well for him in the past.

Ta-da. I can't fault him for his problem solving skills.

That's what we look like doing all our stuff. Exciting, huh?

Sammy Says....

Sammy's had some good ones in the last couple of days. Here are a couple:

Sammy: "Mom, yesterday a girl at church called me a bad boy."

Me: "Oh, I'm sure she was just being silly."

Sammy: "No, she had evil eyes when she said it. Not silly eyes."

(I laughed for quite awhile when he gave me a demonstration)




Sammy: "Did Dad put Love in this chile verde?"

Me: "I'm sure he did. He always puts his special ingredient in whatever he makes."

Seth: "I think he pokes holes in the meat and writes out the word "love" with dots."

Sammy: "Or....he could go to that place where they put dead people, dig them up out of the ground and cut out their hearts and cook them."

Be careful if you tell your kids something has a secret ingredient. You never know what they can imagine.

Book Review #62 - Joan of Arc

First of all, how embarrassed am I that I didn't really know the story of Joan of Arc? I thought it was about a girl soldier that was burned at the stake because she dressed up like a man.

This story is so much more complicated than that. This is a story about faith, courage, revelation, miracles, pride, power, corruption, martyrdom and enduring to the end. This is a story that is so astonishing that most should be thoroughly schooled in its details. It is very inspiring. In short, Joan of Arc's story could easily be found in any set of scriptures.

I find it interesting that Mark Twain wrote this book. He, a man of little to no faith and disdain for those who practiced it, clearly loved and admired Joan. Twain's familiar wit and satirical prose are all but absent within these pages. Instead, he writes as a man named de Conte, the fictional page and scribe of Joan, thus allowing himself to write with his own adoring perspective, without having to actually be Mark Twain. He called this the "best of all his books" and no doubt felt that way after a result of twelve years of research. As there is plenty of historical data available about Joan's life, including the full transcript of her trial, I have little doubt that this is a very accurate representation of her life.

On one hand, I like his choice in narration. As Joan's friend and scribe, Twain's de Conte manages to allow the reader to witness Joan's life from his own memory, a memory that included first hand accounts of most of Joan's life. And although his biting wit is extremely toned down, little glimpses are seen here and there through the telling of personal side notes.

On the other hand, the narration allowed the book to frequently become overly sentimental. Louis de Conte oft wandered away from the main story line to regale a story of the Paladin, or La Hire or his attraction towards Catherine de Boucher. In addition, I lost track of how many paragraphs were lent to remind the reader, once again, about Joan's saintliness. I feel it was unnecessary and writing it, over and over again, gave the book a "dumbed down" feel (which really is quite silly because this is NOT an easy read - I should have been grateful for any dumbing down). I think the caliber of her person, as well as her righteousness, were made obvious by her very actions, by her charity and by her speech. To point it out so often was overdoing it and eventually wore down my good opinion. I have a hard time loving a book that bored me at times.

That being said, this is an incredible book about an even more incredible historical figure. I could write and write about how much I loved Joan and her goodness, about her persecution and how much her story reminded me of Joseph Smith's. There are striking similarities, down to the resigned knowledge of their own endings. But they knew what they knew, they knew God knew what they knew, and they could not deny it. With their knowledge, they accomplished great works and forever changed the course of history. Read for yourself and become smitten with the power of a seventeen year old girl who became commander in chief of all the armies in France...because God told her to do it.

Thank you, Amy. I am so much more enlightened because you sent this to me. I can walk around with confidence knowing all I now know about the life of Joan of Arc.

Book Review #61 - A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier

Heartbreaking. I can't believe people have life experiences like Ishmael Beah. Ishmael, a 27 year-old refugee from Sierra Leone now living in New York City, left his home with his brother and some friends to practice a new rap routine in a neighboring village. He was twelve years old. He never saw his home or his parents again. Rebel forces attacked his village, killing most, and causing the rest to flee.

Without a home to return to, he and his peers managed to spend several months wandering from village to village but eventually, as they were old enough to be mistaken as soldiers themselves, they became objects of fear. Left starving and hiding in the forests, Ishmael and his group were eventually captured and forced to become soldiers.

A boy whose favorite thing was to perform rap songs for people was suddenly cutting throats and shooting anyone that moved. He became a drug addict, as higher ups encouraged the boys to swallow white capsules and sniff cocaine to "give them more energy".

Years later, he was fortunate to be chosen by his lieutenant and UNICEF workers and was enrolled in a rehabilitation unit. It took him eight months to fight the drugs out of his system and to turn into a child again. His agony and nightmares about what he had done are intense. He was only fifteen years old.

When the fighting moved from the villages into the city, Ishamel knew that he could not become a soldier again. Earlier in the year, after he had completed his rehabilitation, he traveled to New York to represent UNICEF and the youth in Sierre Leone at the UN. From this experience, he contacted one of the women he had met in New York to ask if she would be willing to allow him to stay with her if he could get out of his country. Amazingly, he managed, got to New York and has since graduated from the UN's International School and graduated from a university.

What amazes me when I read books like this, because I don't really enjoy them, is how deplorable certain areas of our world really are. We are often told of the blessings we enjoy from living where we live: freedom, prosperity, security. We worry about losing zero percent interest for credit cards and avoiding trans fat, while other people in the world literally watch their best friends get blown up. Certainly our problems and worries are real, but when put into perspective, they are molehills compared to mountains.

I'm grateful this boy got another chance. I'm horrified that most do not.