A Trace Williamson Original

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My brother, he makes me laugh.

A Pinch to Grow an Inch

turning 28 at the One World Cafe

I am twenty-eight. It's the end of an era. I've lived my first adult decade, and I've learned a thing or two. Take it from me:

Do travel the world.
Don't hire a travel guide.

Do learn a new language.
Don't be afraid to sound stupid (you totally do, no one cares).

Do spend money on decent hair cuts.
Don't spend money on designer clothing.

Do call.
Don't send an e-mail.

Do buy these.
Don't buy these.

Do wear makeup.
Don't cover up your freckles.

Do eat farm-raised fish.
Don't eat wild-caught fish.

Don't hire a contractor.
Do learn to use power tools.

Don't run red lights.
Should you run a red light...do wear new dress pants to court.

Do wear a mask to sleep (look like a diva but feel well rested)
Don't waste time with expensive eye creams.

Do kiss on the first date.
Don't play footsies (maybe, ever).

Happy Birthday Hijack

(LEGGNET.com photo)

Erin I love you like I love the mountains. The way I love you is hard to describe but also tangible and magnificent.

After our first date, we talked all night about everything, including our love of being outside. My first impression of you was so striking that I was hooked. Our saga started that night and holds too many tales to tell here.

Our story includes snow caves, home birth, 100 yr eggs, and war. Don't forget our Central America adventure together. You have endured being a single mom for about three of the eight years we have been married because of Army service. You amaze me with your solo-pregnant construction projects, your intelligence, and your activism.

When I think about why I love you and why our marriage is great, I think of your sense of adventure, your ambition, your values, and your dedication to me and to our kids. You are amazing and have been inspiring and challenging me for years and life keeps getting better.

Happy Birthday Erin. I love you. Nate.

Packing

The last time Nate was deployed I had the luxury of living in my own home, and could thus make improvements whenever it occurred to me to do so.

The other night a friend mentioned on Facebook that she was bored for the first time in a long time. Weird. Mind numbing boredom hits me like a brick every night just after the kids have fallen asleep. It's too early for me to go to bed myself, which also means it's too early to hope that I'll catch Nate online. He usually doesn't pop up until I'm about ready to pass out. So convenient, right? It's ok, I don't mind.

To stave off my boredom the last time around I painted my kitchen. Twelve times. Ceiling, trim, walls, cabinets, the whole shebang. Twelve times.

This time though, giving the cupboards a fancy face-lift isn't the answer. So instead, I am packing. Yes, re-packing the same boxes I only finished unpacking a month ago. There are lots of things I enjoy more than packing boxes, but I miss Georgia. Packing makes me feel like it's almost time to go back.

So many of our things are in storage at the moment that the house doesn't feel like home anyway. What good are a couple of throw pillows on the couch, when there are no pictures on the walls, rugs on the floor, or Nathans in your bed? By the time I'm through we should be down to just a couch, a few chairs, some dishes, and our clothes.

Am I crazy? Maybe. Am I busy? Absolutely.

Mission accomplished.

Me, I'm a Mormon

For the past four years I've slowly been making my way back to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. That is to say, the Mormons. Why I left in the first place is a long story, perhaps one for another day. This is a story of faith.

I hadn't set foot in a church house for several years when we moved to Columbus, GA and I found myself in a foreign land without a friend.

Just after we arrived I announced, "I'm going to church."

When Nate asked why, I told him simply, "Because I need a friend and I know someone there will be nice to me."

The people of the Bradley Park Branch did not disappoint. My first week there I was greeted by a gaggle of friendly Southern folk--warm hellos and an invitation to lunch from Amelia Hoggan (Frankie's namesake) dispelled all worries I'd had of being far from home.

So as not to mislead I was quick to inform those I met that I was "in-active" (our church's term for members that do not attend meetings regularly, makes sense right?) and not interested in doctrinal discussion or the bearing of my testimony. After all, honesty is the best policy.

"I only need a friend" I said. They rose to the challenge. Certainly they were being used, but as they'd been fore-warned I did not lose sleep over it.

Because they were kind, I kept showing up. I guess that's the way most friendships work, but it seems particularly key in the telling of my story, because while I attended meetings week after week I began to realize that many of the talks (our equivalent to sermons) left a lasting impression on my mind. Particularly those given on the subject of eternal families.

I love my family. More than anything. Mormons believe that families can be together forever. Isn't that great? I'd desperately like to keep mine. I decided that if all it took to get to "forever" was some good clean-living and a pair of magic underwear*, you could sign me up. A life without coffee is a small price to pay for eternal exaltation with your hubby by your side.

As eager as I was to jump on that glory wagon, a few nagging questions, held me back again and again. Many were answered quickly and reasonably--even those pertaining to polygamy and priesthood authority, but the question of why we (as a church) don't support same-sex marriage was not such a one.

"The Family: A Proclamation to the World" was first introduced to the members of the church by President Gordon B Hinckley in 1995. Since then, it has served as our creed. In clear concise language the proclamation spells out exactly what it is we believe about Eternal families. Members are encouraged to to "hold fast to this great proclamation, to make it a banner... and to commit ourselves to live by its precepts."

The proclamation states:

"Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to love and care for each other and for their children. “Children are an heritage of the Lord” (Psalm 127:3). Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs, and to teach them to love and serve one another, observe the commandments of God, and be law-abiding citizens wherever they live. Husbands and wives—mothers and fathers—will be held accountable before God for the discharge of these obligations."

Do I agree? Yes, I do.

"All human beings—male and female—are created in the image of God. Each is a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents, and, as such, each has a divine nature and destiny. Gender is an essential characteristic of individual premortal, mortal, and eternal identity and purpose."

Right? Of course right.

"The family is ordained of God. Marriage between man and woman is essential to His eternal plan. Children are entitled to birth within the bonds of matrimony, and to be reared by a father and a mother who honor marital vows with complete fidelity. Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities. By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families. Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children. In these sacred responsibilities, fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners. Disability, death, or other circumstances may necessitate individual adaptation. Extended families should lend support when needed."

Fidelity? Check.

Providing fathers? Check.

Nurturing mothers? Check.

But "Marriage between man and woman"...only? This is where things get a little if-fy for me.

Christ told us to love everyone. It's pretty cut and dried, and definitely all-inclusive, which is why I've had a hard time wrapping my head around the idea of any exclusive clauses. We love you, but...no.

Growing up, I lived next door to a girl named Sarah**. She was anything but pretty and struggled in school because of severe learning disabilities. About a year after Nate and I were married, Sarah was engaged to a really nice guy. He committed suicide the day before their wedding.

Last summer, I called my dad in tears, demanding that he drop everything and explain to me how God could make someone gay (yes, I believe you can be born gay) and then refuse to let them be a part of His true church. (Says me.) My dad gave some standard Sunday School answer about how we don't know everything God intends for us to experience in this life, and how some people suffer trials that others don't.

He accused me of judging God.

"Because it's not fair." I wailed.

And my dad, my patient intelligent dad, replied. "You tell me how it's fair that you get to be six feet tall and beautiful with a man who loves you, and Sarah gets to be dumb and ugly her whole life."

You know dads, they don't mince words.

It has taken me a year, a whole year, to admit that my dad was absolutely right.

I don't know what's going on inside our Heavenly Father's head. I hate the idea that love might not be just love, and that all love is not created equal. Life's not fair and I don't know why.

When I left the church I decided that if I didn't believe the church was true, there probably wasn't a God either. After Jensie was born though, as I laid her down into her crib for the night I would often think to myself Watch over her. Keep her safe while I sleep.

I began to wonder Who am I talking to? I realized then that even if I didn't really know there was a God, I hoped more than anything that He was out there somewhere.

Several times, often through music and during sweet still moments with my beautiful children, I've felt impressed that there really is a God, who loves me and is indeed watching over my sweet babes as I've asked.

And so, as I type this, I put the last of my fears and questions behind me. I trust that God knows the things which I can't yet hope to understand. I apologize for my hypocrisies and shortcomings, but I can no more apologize for my faith, than I can deny it.

I'm back. And I believe.

*Magic Underwear- to my knowledge, not actually magic.

**I changed her name. You know why.

Singing Telegram

Dear Nate STOP
You make my heart sing, Valentine END

Vegetarians--What What?

As of right now, we are vegetarians. It's been a long time coming. I talked to the kids about it at dinner tonight--Asher's thrilled.

This is a week for beliefs. PETA says chickens enjoy music, and pigs can play video games. Well humans can be crack addicts too, but I just don't think it's what the good Lord intended.

I believe in eating meat. Just not slaughter-house style. Someday I'll have a farm, and I will eat cows again. Until then, it's all tofu, beans, and nice leafy greens.

Happy Home, Bleeding Heart

You probably don't know that I am exceptionally good at making beds, Spanish omelets, and Public speeches. You don't know that I use Nate's toothbrush to comb my eyebrows. In fact, I'm not sure even Nate himself was aware of that until just this moment--which leads me to believe that there may be something else you don't know about me; I believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.

I believe that men will be punished for their own sins, and not for Adam's transgression.

I claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of my own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where, or what they may.

Forgive me for not telling you sooner. I have not always been forthcoming about my convictions and apologize for my cowardice. These beliefs comprise, for the most part, my entire “core value system”. I define myself by these standards. I am a wife, a daughter, a mother, and friend. But above ALL else I am a Christian. My simple faith in Jesus Christ is the driving force, the motivation, for each thought and action I make day-to-day.

It was my love for Christ that caused me to respond vehemently to an e-mail I received recently. I strongly reproached the person who’d sent it to me for showing such poor judgment in passing it along, and have deliberated long and hard about whether to share it again on my blog. I have decided that I will indeed show it to you so that you might understand my perspective, but wish to make it known that I in NO way condone its contents.

USPS New Stamp
If there is only one thing you forward today.....let it be this!?
REMEMBER the MUSLIM bombing of PanAm Flight 103!?

REMEMBER the MUSLIM bombing of the?World Trade Center in 1993!?

REMEMBER the MUSLIM bombing of the Marine
barracks in Lebanon!?

REMEMBER the MUSLIM bombing of the military
barracks in Saudi Arabia!?

REMEMBER the MUSLIM bombing of the American
Embassies in Africa!?

REMEMBER the MUSLIM bombing of the USS COLE!?

REMEMBER the MUSLIM attack on 9/11/2001!?

REMEMBER all the AMERICAN lives that were lost in those vicious MUSLIM attacks!?

Now the United States Postal Service REMEMBERS and HONORS the EID MUSLIM holiday season with a commemorative first class holiday postage stamp?
WHAT AN INSULT TO THE PEOPLE of the USA.

REMEMBER to adamantly and vocally BOYCOTT this stamp
when purchasing your stamps at the post office.
To use this stamp would be a slap in the face to all those AMERICANS who died at the hands of those whom this stamp honors.

REMEMBER to pass this along to every patriotic AMERICAN you know.

Though I’ve received many such e-mails in the past I felt it necessary to speak out against this one in particular. I responded to EVERYONE on the mailing list because I refuse to have my name associated, in any way, with something I find so vile. I will not be a part of anything that propagates hatred and fear--even something as seemingly innocuous as an e-mail.

This is what I said:

“Dear So-and-so,
I know you are not the author of this e-mail, but because you forwarded it on to me, I can only assume you agree with its content. To suggest that we boycott Eid stamps as a way to show respect for Americans who died at the hands of Islamic extremists is absurd. It is no different than saying that we ought not to buy stamps with Christmas trees or the Virgin Mary to honor those Christians who died at the hands of Christian extremist Timothy McVeigh in Oklahoma, City.

There were Catholic priests that abused little children--but we know most Catholics are great people. Warren Jeffs, leader of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, is a frightening criminal who was convicted of rape. However, Latter-Day Saints, or Mormons, would be appalled to be associated with him. Muslims are no different--only a handful of extremists hate America. The rest of the Muslims living in the US are peaceful citizens who hope, like we do, to simply live the American dream.

Many Muslim citizens were born in the US and are no different than you and me. However, some have immigrated here to escape religious oppression and extremism in their own countries. They hoped to find a home that afforded them the opportunity to worship the God of their choosing without persecution, just as our forefathers did nearly 300 years ago.

Many of our patriotic soldiers fighting in Iraq right now are Muslims themselves. While Nate was in Iraq, several of his US comrades celebrated Eid at their division headquarters in Baghdad, just as Jewish soldiers observed Hanukkah and Christians enjoyed Christmas festivities.

The tenor of this e-mail is disturbing in its bigotry and hatred. It suggests discrimination toward an entire people, not just those who would do us harm. Our nation has 7 million Muslims who are our colleagues and neighbors. Surely we would do better to celebrate our diversities than to make enemies of those who might be our friends.

Sincerely,
Erin”

And then boy oh boy, my inbox began to fill with “love.” Several people responded to my letter, many of them angry by my Un-American response.

One man wrote “This Country is being crippled by: [sic]"Political Correctness" as not to offend anyone. What is happening to this Country? Say what you mean and mean what you say, if someone doesn't like it, tough, they have a choice not to like you and that's ok. Its [sic] called the First Amendment remember "Freedom of Speech", it is not "Freedom of Speech as long as it doesn't offend Anyone"

He went on to accuse me of using the e-mail as a means to get up on a soap box to preach my beliefs to people who “don’t care.” I very much disagree with his opinion that I was merely being “politically correct”, but I’m afraid he may have been onto something with the bit about the soap box. So I have decided to continue this “discussion” here on my own blog, where the thoughts and opinions expressed are my own. I am solely responsible for its contents. No one will force you to read—there will be no innocent bystanders.

It’s interesting to note that each person who responded to my letter closed their response with something about the upcoming election or the presidential nominees (yeah, I got this BEFORE Tuesday.)

Someone said: “Go out and Vote for Obama, and stand back and watch them rip the guts out of the First and Second Amendment, and the rest of your freedoms will follow shortly. Who knows, maybe some day in the future, I will be thrown in jail for saying "Merry Christmas" to the wrong person.”

Another person signed off with an enthusiastic “God Bless America!....PS-Go McCain and Palin!”

Perhaps this person was still operating under the mistaken notion that Barack Obama was himself a Muslim, and therefore might want to buy an Eid stamp or two? Or was someone worried that if Obama were to be elected we’d all become enslaved to a “liberal stealth agenda” and be forced to purchase Eid stamps against our will? Whatever the reason, it is clear to me that this e-mail was about more than just a postage stamp.

While I fail to see the correlation between the presidential candidates and a suggested boycott on Eid stamps, I’m saddened to find that this type of stereotyping has become all too common in our day-to-day vocabulary. This e-mail incriminates innocent people by ushering all Muslims under one giant “terror umbrella.” Because I believe that “man will be punished for his own sins” I say it is unfair, nay, unacceptable to accuse all Muslims for the heinous crimes of few. We must hold ourselves above this type of judgment. Christ admonished us to love one another even as He loves us. [1] Too often we--as a country, as members of one political party or another, and as members of a particular religious group--take up this idea of “us vs. them.”

The recent election cycle brought to the forefront our collective thoughts and opinions on several divisive issues—leaving us feeling animosity towards our friends, neighbors, and even fellow family members, who dared to express differing opinions. I made a list of a few of those issues—they include topics such as abortion, war, immigration reform, environmentalism, welfare/socialism, and gay marriage. It’s a heavy list. And I’m not sure I have the stamina to tackle each subject individually. But I’d like to briefly express my ideas about a couple of these things:

Welfare/Socialism:
Many of my friends seem wary of our new president elect because of his “socialist” tendencies. I would like to point out that the recent bailout of our financial system proves that ALL of us have some leanings towards socialist ideals. In a true capitalist system those who lost their money and homes in the recent crisis would have been expected to simply starve in the streets. But I’m glad to find that none of us really have the stomach to witness that kind of suffering—at least not on such a grand scale. Capitalism basically says “You made your bed, you sleep in it.”

But Christ taught us a better way. In his parable of the Good Samaritan we learned that the one who showed mercy on the man in the street was the one most in accordance with God’s laws. And Christ admonished us to “Go and do thou likewise. [2]” Barack Obama’s proposed plan for national health care coverage is not simply socialism. It is an idea that we as a country have a responsibility to care for our fellow citizens—our brothers and sisters. We whine about the idea of paying taxes to support the poor, but if we don’t pay for them WHO will? To whom much is given much is required. [3]

Last week Jensie came home from school and told me she had learned about voting in class. She told me excitedly that their teacher had given them a chance to cast pretend ballots and they’d all voted for John McCain. She was momentarily disappointed to learn that I would be voting for McCain’s opponent when the time came. (She cheered when Obama won by the way.) In the simplest of terms I did my best to explain why I thought Obama would be the better candidate. My five year old daughter understands the principle of the Golden Rule. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” I would never deny a mother the right to medical care for her sick child whether she could afford a doctor or not. If needs be I would help her foot the bill.

We are not rich by any means. But I have a comfortable home and my husband earns a decent wage. I have never met a man dying in the streets as the Samaritan did on the road to Damascus. But in a small way I can still contribute to the poor and the afflicted. To offer up a small percentage of our wages to provide help to those in need is my honor as both an American and a Christian.

Environmentalism:
What gives? Say whatever you want about Global Warming it doesn’t change the fact that we have a responsibility to care for the Earth and our environment. The Lord has awarded us the privilege of being stewards over the earth. [4] But “we have learned by sad experience that it is the nature of almost all men, as soon as they get a little authority, as they suppose, they will immediately begin to exercise unrighteous dominion." [5]

I am a Christian first and foremost. I wish to reiterate my point here, because I, like many of you reading this, fervently hope that Christ WILL come again and we will have no need of this earth. I get you. I really really want to go to heaven just like you do. But let’s suppose, just for the heck of it, that because we’re not EXACTLY sure when He’s gonna show up, that it might be a good idea for us to take care of this beautiful planet in the mean time. He may not come tomorrow. He may not arrive next week. He may not even arrive in my lifetime. For this reason, it is absolutely critical that we preserve our resources for those who might still be around waiting after we’ve passed on. I want my kids to have clean water to drink. I want their kids to have clean air to breath. I want THEIR children to enjoy the mountains and streams I have enjoyed. You see where I’m going with this. Unlike most things, when it comes to environmental conservation there’s NO CATCH.

Turn off the lights when you leave the room, turn down your thermostat on your water heater a few degrees, open the window instead of run the A/C…It’s so easy. “Too easy!” as our soldiers say.

There’s no downside to recycling. There are no hidden dangers in riding a bicycle to work instead of driving your SUV. Sure you might have to get up earlier in the morning, but in this Christ has counseled us too—He wants us to rise early to work and to worship Him. [6] Oh yeah, and the exercise will cause your brain to produce endorphins making you happier. Your heart will thank you, and your muscles will bulge. You’ll feel invigorated—have more energy to really PLAY with your children and maybe even some left over for, dare I say it, SEX! Gosh, yeah, that sounds like giving up the car would really suck.

Proposition 8:
I am wary of the seeming lack of a separation of church and state that our founding fathers prayerfully crafted into the Constitution. John, Paul, George, and Ben (as Jensie would say) were really onto something there. But perhaps more troubling is the reaction of my friends and family to the news of the Prop 8’s passing. Many seem to recognize it as a celebratory event. They are jubilant. Some have expressed their JOY over the results of this particular ballot initiative—“Yippee for Prop 8.”

I know of at least one person who had to audacity to write “I’m sorry for anyone this has hurt. It’s too bad your marriage doesn’t mean anything, but then you never should have been married in the first place….”

I realize it is not always easy to do what God asks us to do. Nor do we always understand the reasons we are asked to do these things. I am well aware that those of you in California who voted in favor of this proposition felt that it was somehow your duty to your church, country, and yes, even your God to vote the way that you did. I disagree with the decision but realize that the voters did what they thought best according to their own consciences. Supporters of Prop 8 could have started riots; they could have incited violence. Instead they went to the polls and made their wishes known through a simple vote. That’s the beauty of the democratic process.

Still though, my heart is breaking for all those gay couples this will affect. I keep asking myself how I would feel if I woke up tomorrow morning to find that my neighbors had put my marriage to a vote and decided that my union with Nate was no longer legitimate. The truth is I would be devastated. So I can only imagine that there are several couples in California (and across America) who are truly suffering right now. I am sick of people using God as an excuse to hate others. Can we not, as Christians, show at least a modicum of compassion? There are many who are hurting greatly at this time. I get that you did what you thought you had to do. I get that you did what you believe God wanted you to do. But for Pete’s sake, as Abraham tied Isaac to an alter, he didn’t do a happy-dance! Christ admonished us to “mourn with those who mourn,” [7] not to rejoice in their loss and rub their noses in it.

Okay there, I've said my piece. I’d like to know how you, my faithful readers, are feeling about some of these issues. A few of you probably disagree with me, and I look forward to a healthy debate. Please feel free to comment as you will. I hereby declare myself the moderator of this “discussion.” Biased though I may be, this is my blog so I make the rules. Speaking of rules I can think of only one by which you must abide: No name calling. You can call me wrong, but don’t call me stupid! Failure to comply will result in having your comment deleted (and I might give you the evil-eye at playgroup.) Please, let’s hear what you have to say…

[1] John 13:34
[2] Luke 10:25-37
[3] Luke 12:48
[4] Psalms 8:6-8
[5] Doctrine & Covenants 121:39
[6] Proverbs 6:6,9-10; 19:15; 20:13, Ecclesiastes 10:18, Ezekiel 16:49, Doctrine & Covenants 88:83, 124
[7] Romans 12:15

Last Time Around

I love this picture.

What You Really Learn in First Grade

First Jensie came home from school belting "Jingle Bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg...Hey Mom, what'dya think of that song? Isn't it funny? Mikayla's sister made it up."

Then she started sneaking up on everyone and clapping her hands loudly in their faces. "Oh you blinked," she'll yell. "You're afraid of butterflies!"

Last night she found me on the couch, and stretching her hands out towards me, with her fingertips touching, said "Open the gate." (I did.)
"Who do you hate?"
"Um, Satan?"
"That's who you'll date!"
(This all followed by fits of hysterical laughter).

Next up: "I took a bath with bubbles..." and M.A.S.H.

Jensie getting an award for a few other things she's picked up at at school as well.

Sick Day

This morning my little sickies piled onto my bed to snuggle before the day began. It was heaven. I think we should take sick days more often. We giggled and cuddled while the sun came up.

When we finally got up, Asher helped me make pear granola muffins from scratch while the girls played with their dolls in their room. After breakfast I promised to pay Jensie this week's allowance as soon as her room was clean. She never really got around to it though. She was too busy building an awesome fort--complete with a "front gate" and a drawbridge.

I liked today.

Quaggas and Happy Lights: Updated

Remember that one time I told the truth? Sadly, things aren't looking much different here on this side of January. I'm afraid they've taken a turn for the worse. Much worse.

On gloomy days I find it difficult to perform even the most basic of tasks, like say, oh, feeding my children.

After school yesterday Jensie walked in the door and demanded "Hey, mom! What's for dinner?"

Before waiting for me to respond she rolled her eyes and added sarcastically "Oh wait, let me guess. You don't know because we have no food and you have no money."

She was only half right. It's true that we're low on groceries and even lower on funds. (Let the countdown to payday begin!) But in a lot of ways it just boils down to plain old fashioned depression. I don't feel like doing anything--cooking included.

The good news though, as I am only just finding out, is that there is hope.

The other day Nate called and I asked him excitedly "Nate, did you know there are therapeutic lamps and vitamins that help people with SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder--I have self-diagnosed myself as one such person)?"

(I also have AAD, Army Affective Disorder, again self-diagnosed, which sadly is not as easy to treat with bright lights and cheap gimmicks.)

"Oh yeah," he said, "I've read about that."

My first thought was obviously. Because really, what hasn't he read about?

Here's another example: today I told him "Asher has to take something that begins with the letter Q to school for show-and-tell, and I don't want to do anything with queens or quilts--too obvious. Any ideas?"

"How about a quagga?" He replied.

"What the heck is a quagga?" I queried.

"Oh it's a horse. Kind of like a zebra really. They recently went extinct. I was just reading about them."

(image)

Wow.

Anyway...

My second thought (we're back to SAD now) was Why the heck didn't you tell me about it?

Friends. Friends who are suffering the moody blues in the worst imaginable way. Friends, whose spirits rose when the sun peeked out behind the clouds on Saturday morning, only to have your hopes dashed by the return of a gray endless sky Sunday night...there is hope. Better, there are lamps! Lamps I tell you. And they give you bright sunshiny light almost-as-good-as-the-real-thing right in your very own kitchen. Or living room. Or closet. The possibilities are endless. They are "happy lights." You can buy them at Costco or here.

There are also vitamins. Sunshine Vitamins. Rich in vitamin D. Three kinds of D I think. Sure to perk you up after a winter of deficiency. You can buy those at Costco too! (Now do you see why I so missed Costco while we lived way down South?)

And I'm pretty sure they work. People I trust have PROMISED me they work. I haven't been able to try them myself just yet, because, as Jensie is quick to point out and I have already mentioned, I have no money. But you can bet that first thing Friday morning "go to Costco" will be #1 on the to-do list.

'Til Friday my friends, be strong.

_________________________________________________

Update: Happy-Lites and Go-Lites are all sold out at the Orem Costco, but can both be found in mass quantities at the store in Lehi. And the Happy-Lites are only $49.99. (They cost twice as much on Amazon.)

A Limerick

This is sweet Jensie Lissette
Why's her face creamy and wet?
Her whole body's scaly,
Poor lizard-y baby,
But we'll beat her eczema yet.

and a weak limerick at that. Cute picture though, right?

From the Archives: A True Story

Easter Bunny Gone Mutant
written August 31, 2001

"Una zorra, una zorra!" Someone screamed from a distant classroom.

Instantly what seemed like thousands of terrified kindergartners scrambled from their desks and swarmed towards the door--trying to escape some unseen nightmare.

I tried to stop them from leaving, pulling on pigtails and diving at little brown boys, but they were too quick.

Tears of humiliation burned my eyes as I realized that, once again, I'd lost control of my class and would no doubt be the hottest topic of gossip at lunch. This wasn't the first time these rambunctious five year olds had gotten the best of me. I'd been in Panama nearly three months already, and was volunteering as a kindergarten English teacher in the middle of the jungle.

The other teachers, all native, middle aged, and short tempered, were demanding and quick to discipline. In their classes, everyone spent serious time learning to read, color in the lines, and count to one hundred. However, keeping little kids silently in their chairs for nearly three hours seemed almost criminal to me. In my class we played "tickle tag" and dressed Barbies while occasionally learning a few English words or nursery rhymes on the side. The only problem was that I didn't know enough Spanish to ask them to play quietly. More often than not, our fun and games were interrupted when a furious teacher from a neighboring classroom stormed in to let me know that we'd once again disrupted her lesson. My students all loved me, but this quickly made me an enemy to the other maestras, making meals and faculty meetings almost unbearable.

I stumbled through the door towards the playground after my class, praying that somehow the rest of the school would be temporarily deaf while I had time to round up the bunch that had just escaped me. Much to my dismay, as I neared the playground I heard frantic adult voices, as well as those of my own pupils, and feared that our unruliness had been discovered.

As I rounded the final corner, I was surprised to find that I was not the only one whose entire class had completely freaked out. Even more shocking was that there were quite a few teachers who seemed just as panicked as the students. More and more were beginning to join in what was now becoming a frightening chant "una zorra, una zorra!"

What was a zorra anyway? I cornered a small boy who'd been running toward the protective circle of his friends, lone enough for him to pan something about a hideous monster with long ears.

Long ears? What could that possibly be? My visions of Monty Python's Easter Bunny Gone Mutant (aye, but he's a killer!) were shattered as a terrifying howl boomed across the crowd.

"AAAAAAAEEEEEEEAAAWWWHHHHOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAWWWW"
A madman came crashing through the tall palm trees that lined the school grounds. Whooping and howling, swinging a machete wildly above his head while bellowing ferociously to get out of his way. The blade's sharp edge flashed in the sun as he came nearer. A vicious rabbit suddenly seemed trivial, as this jungle terrorist on the rampage, swooped toward us.

I screamed and lunged for the children. Just then, something red flashed on the right and I saw a small animal, with long ears, go streaking through the palms. A fox! The machete crazed lunatic ran right past us and headed straight towards the defenseless animal.

All of the kids took up the chase, and soon had the fox cornered near the school garden. The man violently chopped at the cowering creature, and as the brutal knife came crashing down on it, the children squealed with delight, taking turns kicking the fox in between blows of the heavy blade.

The teachers, who until this moment, had continued their rhythmic incantation "a fox, a fox," began cheerfully screeching, "Matalo, matalo!" Kill it. Kill it.

The fox died as she let out one long ghastly cry. As everyone clapped and hollered, I stood horrified, unable to keep from staring at the gruesome carcass, that had only moments before been a sleek healthy vixen.

"Can we eat it now?" asked little Juan Carlos.

"Yes, of course!" replied one of the teachers pleasantly, "With rice or noodles?"

My stomach began to heave as everybody tried to decide just how they'd like their lunch prepared. While I headed back to my classroom in disgust, someone yelled, "Look at Maestra Erin, she's green!"

"What a wimp."

"What a weenie."

Ha ha ha hee hee ha. Everyone was cracking up. The little ones rolled in the dirt holding their bellies, while teachers wiped their eyes and slapped me on the back good-naturedly.

"Don't worry," one said. "You'll get used to it."

________________________________________________________

And I did.

This is the where the archived story ends and the new one begins. I wrote "Killer Easter Bunny Gone Mutant" (its actual title) when I was 18 for my first college English class when tasked to describe a time in my life I felt I didn't belong. The end of the original essay emphasizes how apart from the group I felt, how completely out of my element I was as a teenage gringa in the jungles of Latin America.

What I'd like to remember instead is how much I actually learned from and came to love the Panamanians--how I learned to recognize a small fox for being the symbol of something much greater.

While studying abroad I was blessed to live with one of the wealthiest families in the rural town of Penonomé. My host-father was an orthopedic surgeon. My host mother was a nurse. Their professions allowed them many modern-day comforts that most of their neighbors simply could not afford. I dare say, could not even dream of.

Most families lived in the forested hills above the village in small huts, thatched roofs on poles called Ranchos. Instead of beds they slept in hammocks and scrawny chickens pecked the dirt floors below. These chickens were of course meant to feed the families swinging sleepily above. Whether or not a family starved was determined by whether or not a fox attacked a hen that night.

Having grown up in a middle-class American home, I was absolutely mortified the day la zorra met her doom. But in the months that followed I saw many other things that opened my eyes to the reality of life in a third world country--a family living close to my house died of Hantavirus after a mouse nibbled his way through a corner of their cereal box. I watched a small child with the flu die in the arms of her father while he begged for the driver of our rickety bus to "please, please drive faster. I need a doctor!"

The fox was killed brutally and with malice. But the death of that fox was something that could be controlled, in a life full of uncontrollable hardships. Control is something akin to power, and the grounds-keeper and school children grasped it that day and held on tight.

Last week while I was browsing headlines online I came across a photo essay of life in Afghanistan. One heartbreaking picture in particular has stuck in my mind. A small boy, no bigger than Jensie, gathered bits of scrap metal from a mountainous garbage heap. He hoped to sell the metal to pay for his family's supper that night.

My children (Jensie, Asher, and Frances) are intelligent and have many talents. At the risk of sounding callous, I'll admit that I am glad, oh so grateful, that trash collection isn't one of them. Or really, that is doesn't have to be one of them.

Though my heart aches for small children whose lives are hard and often cruel, I more fully appreciate that my own kids will grow up knowing the love of two parents, with a sturdy roof over their heads, warm clothes on their backs, and nutritious food in their bellies.

And I have the good people of Penonomé to thank for teaching me not to take it for granted.

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice