Lacking direction and anticipating some possible decisions on the horizon, I spent a couple of hours on the phone tonight getting career advice from my amazing brother in law, whom I admire a great deal and have mentioned in at least one previous post.
As you may have observed already, I'm a bit skeptical, if not cynical, about praying, in effect, for money, especially if one's basic needs are already met. So my radar is by default up on the topic. Except with him. Because I know his background, priorities and desires. Which makes my almost-blanket "Guilty Until Proven Innocent" prejudicial condemnation of wealthy L.D.S. all the more problematic.
He emphasized to me several times that "Help!" in this regard is a worthy thing to pray for, and said that every major change in his career (and they've all been advancements) has come as a direct answer to specific prayer. Not that they prayed for a specific thing and were "given that thing" in the way they may have envisioned it, but that as subsequent events unfolded, they were able to tie them back clearly to their prayers.
Nobody's fault but my own, but I hardly remember what it's like to: a) pray with sincerity of conviction; b) feel that I was being heard; and, c) sense that there was some semblance of an "answer." And the idea of doing this together, as a couple united in will, heart and vision, seems so foreign to my own experience as to border on the bizarre.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
As he thinketh in his heart
So today as I drove home from a morning in which far too many glances and thoughts went Tina Louise-ward, I listened to part of a devotional given in 1983 at B.Y.U. by then-member of the Twelve Ezra Taft Benson, titled "Think on Christ." The most timely and relevant section of his talk follows below.
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To introduce my theme today, I want to tell you, in his own words, of a life-changing experience that happened to President George Albert Smith when he was a boy. His own words are as follows:
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To introduce my theme today, I want to tell you, in his own words, of a life-changing experience that happened to President George Albert Smith when he was a boy. His own words are as follows:
As a child, thirteen years of age, I went to school at the Brigham Young Academy. . . . I cannot remember much of what was said during the year that I was there, but there is one thing that I will probably never forget. . . . Dr. [Karl G.] Maeser one day stood up and said:
"Not only will you be held accountable for the things you do, but you will be held responsible for the very thoughts you think." Being a boy, not in the habit of controlling my thoughts very much, it was quite a puzzle to me what I was to do, and it worried me. In fact, it stuck to me just like a burr. About a week or ten days after that it suddenly came to me what he meant. I could see the philosophy of it then. All at once there came to me this interpretation of what he had said: Why of course you will be held accountable for your thoughts, because when your life is completed in mortality, it will be the sum of your thoughts. That one suggestion has been a great blessing to me all my life, and it has enabled me upon many occasions to avoid thinking improperly, because I realize that I will be, when my life's labor is complete, the product of my thoughts. [Sharing the Gospel with Others (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1948), pp. 62–63]
Thoughts lead to acts, acts lead to habits, habits lead to character--and our character will determine our eternal destiny.
King Benjamin understood this. In the next-to-last verse of his great discourse recorded in the Book of Mormon, he states:
And finally, I cannot tell you all the things whereby ye may commit sin; for there are diverse ways and means, even so many that I cannot number them. [Mosiah 4:29]
Then in the last verse he counsels that we must watch ourselves and our thoughts (see Mosiah 4:30)
When Christ appeared in America following His resurrection, He stated:
Behold, it is written by them of old time, that thou shalt not commit adultery;
But I say unto you, that whosoever looketh on a woman, to lust after her, hath committed adultery already in his heart.
Behold, I give unto you a commandment, that ye suffer none of these things to enter into your heart. [3 Nephi 12:27–29]
"Enter into your heart"--why, of course, for, as the scripture states: "As he thinketh in his heart, so is he" (Proverbs 23:7).
So critical is it that we understand the necessity of controlling our thoughts that President Spencer W. Kimball devoted a whole chapter to it in his book The Miracle of Forgiveness. The chapter caption "As a Man Thinketh" is the title of a book by James Allen, which President Kimball recommended. He quoted from this book three times. One quotation stated:
A man does not come to the almshouse or the jail by the tyranny of fate or circumstance, but by the pathway of groveling thoughts and base desires. Nor does a pure-minded man fall suddenly into crime by stress of mere external force; the criminal thought had long been secretly fostered in the heart, and the hour of opportunity revealed its gathered power. Circumstance does not make the man; it reveals him to himself. [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1969, p. 105]
President Kimball also quotes President David O. McKay, who said:
The thought in your mind at this moment is contributing, however infinitesimally, almost imperceptibly to the shaping of your soul, even to the lineaments of your countenance. . . . even passing and idle thoughts leave their impression. [Ibid.]
The mind has been likened to a stage on which only one act at a time can be performed. From one side of the wings the Lord, who loves you, is trying to put on the stage of your mind that which will bless you. From the other side of the wings the devil, who hates you, is trying to put on the stage of your mind that which will curse you.
You are the stage manager--you are the one who decides which thought will occupy the stage. Remember, the Lord wants you to have a fullness of joy like His. The devil wants all men to be miserable like unto himself. You are the one who must decide whose thoughts you will entertain. You are free to choose--but you are not free to alter the consequences of those choices. You will be what you think about--what you consistently allow to occupy the stage of your mind.
Sometimes you may have difficulty driving off the stage of your mind a certain evil thought. To drive it off, Elder Boyd K. Packer suggests that you sing an inspirational song of Zion, or just think on its words. Elder Bruce R. McConkie recommends that, after the opening song, you might preach a sermon to yourself. In fact, he says the finest sermons he has ever preached have been preached to himself.
We should not invite the devil to give us a stage presentation. Usually with our hardly realizing, he slips into our thoughts. Our accountability begins with how we handle the evil thought immediately after it is presented. Like Jesus, we should positively and promptly terminate the temptation. We should not allow the devil to elaborate with all his insidious reasoning.
It is our privilege to store our memories with good and great thoughts and bring them out on the stage of our minds at will. When the Lord faced His three great temptations in the wilderness, He immediately rebutted the devil with appropriate scripture which He had stored in His memory.
###
Shortly thereafter, I saw this article in today's Tribune about sexting being on the rise (in Davis County, in this instance) primarily among "teenage girls" who "are being charged with having or sending pornographic images on their cell phones...Teenage boys are requesting it and the girls are sending it as a way to get attention." The head-on pileup of conflicting questions that followed included:
"How will these kids survive?"
"Where were all these camphones back when I was in high school, when we had to sneak out of photography class and use our zoom lenses on the college girls sunbathing in the park, if we wanted to memorialize anything soft and supple that wasn't purveyed by Hugh, Bob or, on the rarest of occasions (as in, maybe once), Larry?"
"Are these guys that much more desirable and persuasive, or are the girls that much less confident, more desperate, more Paris/Jenna/Britney/Traci/GaGa-ized (both directly and by virtue of the boys' involvement and resulting perceptions and expectations), and therefore more willing?"
And, most chillingly, "Holy crap, this is going to be my daughter's world in a few, short years. What am I doing to help her be ready to navigate the minefield without massive casualties?"
Friday, March 26, 2010
Lifted
While night skiing this evening, my 2.5 year old and I became separated from his older brother and sister, and ended up on the lift alone together. We sang songs, alternating between who got to choose, making up our own words to classics like "Head, shoulders, skis and toes," and he'd giggle with delight every time we touched his skis. Then I asked him what he wanted to sing next, and he started into "I Am a Child of God." As he sang it all by himself, something about his sweet little scratchy voice breaking the silence of the night, the cool air and the moonlight's glow on the mountain snow made me really, really hope that he'll believe it, and feel otherworldly love when he needs it most, when worldly love is found lacking or altogether absent.
Back in reality and on the drive home, I responded to an insolent comment from my daughter by knuckling her on the skull - not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get her attention and flag the infraction. A moment later, Little Guy chimed in from the back seat, "Daddy, did you hit her?" Which I ignored. Silence...silence...silence. "Daddy, did you hit her on the head?" I was caught. "Yes, I did, because she was being naughty." Pause. "You shouldn't hit her. You need to be kind to her. You shouldn't hit her."
Back in reality and on the drive home, I responded to an insolent comment from my daughter by knuckling her on the skull - not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get her attention and flag the infraction. A moment later, Little Guy chimed in from the back seat, "Daddy, did you hit her?" Which I ignored. Silence...silence...silence. "Daddy, did you hit her on the head?" I was caught. "Yes, I did, because she was being naughty." Pause. "You shouldn't hit her. You need to be kind to her. You shouldn't hit her."
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Self-fulfilling negativity
It occurred to me that the vast majority of my posts here are negative. In fact, it's hard to find anything resolutely affirming my marriage, my wife, and my life.
Is it because my life in general and marriage specifically are overwhelmingly negative?
Is it a product of the inherent human tendency to complain actively but praise passively?
Is it because if it bleeds it leads, and I so I report what I think will be of greatest interest to anyone who happens to stumble across this?
Regardless, does it exaggerate the issues, as I speculated here in "possibly-significant thing" #2?
For example, at this particular moment, I my feelings toward her are generally kind -- feelings of gratitude, and of sympathy for my role in her sadness. But she's in bed, and I'm here in my rantblog..
Is it because my life in general and marriage specifically are overwhelmingly negative?
Is it a product of the inherent human tendency to complain actively but praise passively?
Is it because if it bleeds it leads, and I so I report what I think will be of greatest interest to anyone who happens to stumble across this?
Regardless, does it exaggerate the issues, as I speculated here in "possibly-significant thing" #2?
For example, at this particular moment, I my feelings toward her are generally kind -- feelings of gratitude, and of sympathy for my role in her sadness. But she's in bed, and I'm here in my rantblog..
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
As seen on TV
I don't think I'm flattering myself when I assume it to be a combination of post-pregnancy malaise and the sense of self-body-loathing that I've fostered in her through the years (I can't remember when she last left the lights on when getting changing anything more than a sweater), but in the last several weeks--featuring innumerable multi-hour stints nursing on the couch in front of the TV--my wife has ordered both a contraption called 3-Minute-Legs, and a miracle midriff restoration gizmo called the Contour Electronic Muscle Stimulator, "created by Swiss medical professionals" to apparently chisel your abs to match those of the ladies in the infomercial, while you eat Twinkies on the couch.
Me: If I had anything to do with these purchases, return them. I've tried to get myself to the point that I don't care, and I'm pretty much there.Her: Don't worry, I didn't buy these 'for you.' They're for me.
Me: Great. So my next question is, if these are 'for you,' why don't you use something we already have? Like the sidewalk -- go for a walk. Or the $400 jogging stroller we had to get -- have you ever jogged with it?
Her: Yes! I resent that question. You know that's a good stroller, we've used it a lot, and I have jogged with it.
Me: When?
Her: I don't remember, but I have.
Me: We got rid of the old stroller because you didn't like it. Its wheels weren't big enough for running and it squeaked. Fine. We could have replaced it with a perfectly decent stroller for half that much, but we had to get this one, because it's the only one you could jog with. If you've jogged with it twice, I'd be surprised. Or the bike...
Her: I use the bike.
Me: You've used the bike, what, a dozen times for a total of eight miles in the year and a half since we bought it? We've got over $2,000 into that thing now, which we bought since it was the only bike on the planet that you were comfortable riding. It's exactly what you wanted. I'd already bought you the Pashley, which is what you'd wanted except that I couldn't find a woman's frame, so I found the man's version and had it shipped from Maryland as a surprise for your birthday--remember?--but it absolutely would not work because you refused to ride a man's bike. Fine. So I sold it and we got this one. There's only one place on this continent that sells them, and we bought it at full retail, right off the showroom floor, and now I ride it with [our third child] much more than you do -- in fact, it's not even close. I put hundreds of miles on my own bike each month during the spring and summer, and it's worth a fraction of what yours cost, and yours is collecting dust and cobwebs.Her: I've been pregnant...
Me: ...for half of the time since we bought it. What about the other half, before that?
Truth be told, the preceding dialogue is a composite of several exchanges we've had on the topic. But it's representative of the sentiment. We're so pathetic that we're not even tragic anymore. But the precious, incredible kids, those bright, curious and loving little souls, they are tragic. Or at least their fates are, stemming from ours as they do and will. They'll pay the price for our selfishness and our sins, most of which are mine, although it's not a strict monopoly.
Pool drool
I took my oldest boy to the Jazz game last night. It was his first basketball game. We were on the 8th row, he scored lots of swag, got to see the Bear up close, posed in a shot with the Jazz Dancers that would be the envy of men the world over, witnessed some pretty remarkable ball, and collected celebratory streamers off of the court afterwards. He soaked it all in, and it made for a memorable night.
Tonight was my daughter's turn. Salsa class was cancelled, so our daddy-daughter date was a few rounds of billiards. It was great fun, and I loved seeing her excitement as her skills improved over the course of the evening.
But even as I stood there with my amazing, beaming daughter, my attention was continually drawn to the firm ass and toned arms of a brunette, maybe 20 years old, who was playing with a friend at the table next to us.
Later, as I drove my daughter across town to my parent's home (where she's been exiled for a few days by my wife who "needs a break" from her), she said, "I remember when I was little, mommy told me she wanted me to go live with another family. So I packed my little mermaid suitcase with toys, [stuffed horse] Chestnut and my jammies, and walked over to [my aunt's] house. Mommy came over later and apologized, said she wasn't serious, but I remember I told her I wanted to stay there with [my aunt]."
Tonight was my daughter's turn. Salsa class was cancelled, so our daddy-daughter date was a few rounds of billiards. It was great fun, and I loved seeing her excitement as her skills improved over the course of the evening.
But even as I stood there with my amazing, beaming daughter, my attention was continually drawn to the firm ass and toned arms of a brunette, maybe 20 years old, who was playing with a friend at the table next to us.
Later, as I drove my daughter across town to my parent's home (where she's been exiled for a few days by my wife who "needs a break" from her), she said, "I remember when I was little, mommy told me she wanted me to go live with another family. So I packed my little mermaid suitcase with toys, [stuffed horse] Chestnut and my jammies, and walked over to [my aunt's] house. Mommy came over later and apologized, said she wasn't serious, but I remember I told her I wanted to stay there with [my aunt]."
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Lullabye-bye
Today's our anniversary
We'd failed to do something for it (not for lack of trying; and Fri night she wanted to go to bed), didn't even mention it to each other until about 3 this afternoon. "BTW, Happy A," I leaned over to giver her a kiss, she backed away and looked at me quissically. She was right.
To celebrate, yesterday I selbstbefried'd first ime in X?
EQ - fall of Adam, talkking about upcoming P conf @ Little Am, Satan temps when not with spouse or Companion;
Came home, sang "lullabye" (Not as beaut as BJoel's -- check for prvs reference) to new kid, my own words were that he would most likely have the fewest memories of me of all the kids, that my involvement in his life would largely be child support, and unlikely I were around when he started kindergarten. Not sentimental; factual. Like my drive the other night, the mere utterance of these words seems to compound the power of the sentiments behind them.
walked with wife this eve, mostly to talk about whether we should buy house, I think topic should have been whether we should be married. RElayed "companion" message - can't remember last time I felt we were companions. Roomates? Biz partners? Joint tenants? Adversaries? Yes' companions? no.
Suggestions? Chemically castrate me so not intrested in physical relationship with you or any othe rwoman for that matter, would make things a lot easier.
Park - tennis player right past our eldest son.
We'd failed to do something for it (not for lack of trying; and Fri night she wanted to go to bed), didn't even mention it to each other until about 3 this afternoon. "BTW, Happy A," I leaned over to giver her a kiss, she backed away and looked at me quissically. She was right.
To celebrate, yesterday I selbstbefried'd first ime in X?
EQ - fall of Adam, talkking about upcoming P conf @ Little Am, Satan temps when not with spouse or Companion;
Came home, sang "lullabye" (Not as beaut as BJoel's -- check for prvs reference) to new kid, my own words were that he would most likely have the fewest memories of me of all the kids, that my involvement in his life would largely be child support, and unlikely I were around when he started kindergarten. Not sentimental; factual. Like my drive the other night, the mere utterance of these words seems to compound the power of the sentiments behind them.
walked with wife this eve, mostly to talk about whether we should buy house, I think topic should have been whether we should be married. RElayed "companion" message - can't remember last time I felt we were companions. Roomates? Biz partners? Joint tenants? Adversaries? Yes' companions? no.
Suggestions? Chemically castrate me so not intrested in physical relationship with you or any othe rwoman for that matter, would make things a lot easier.
Park - tennis player right past our eldest son.
What Would Jesus Drive?
I'm not holding my breath until the day we hear in Priesthood Session, "...for example, brethren, it is inappropriate for anyone in a Church leadership position to drive a Mercedes-Benz. And if you need me to explain why, then the problem is more serious than I'd imagined."
As my kids and I walked home from church today, we passed a stake center near our home (not uncommon here in Utah to live closer to a stake center than the stake center where your own ward meets) and I noticed --as I often do, at LDS meetinghouses around the U.S.-- the obligatory row of luxury imports occupying the de facto Stake Presidency And Friends parking stalls. Today it was three near-identical Lexuses of the RX300/330/400 variety and a brand new 3-series in opal blue.
I was amused to see, under the driver's side wiper blade of all four of them, small, torn pieces of a nursery-issued, Gospel-themed Crayon colorings, on the unused side of which was scratched in red scripture pencil, "What Would Jesus Drive?"
OK, truth be told, I, feeling somewhat miscievous, wrote and left the notes.
More truth be told, my amazing commutermobile is getting long in the tooth (as in, 280k miles long and I was severly tempted several months ago by a forest green 330xi -- buttery tan leather, heated seats, nice Harmon-Kardon stereo, mmmm... And it was truly a monumental struggle for me to decide not to get the car, in large part because it would have undermined my ability to beholdest the mote in my brothers' eyes.
Anyway, strolling along Glam Row this afternoon
reminded me of one of my favorite LDS-themed cartoons, in which The Faithful prays bedside, beneath a picture of the Salt Lake Temple and with his spiffy wheels visible through the window, to "...continue to be worthy of the privilege of consuming a disproportionate share of the world's resources..." LOL!
As my kids and I walked home from church today, we passed a stake center near our home (not uncommon here in Utah to live closer to a stake center than the stake center where your own ward meets) and I noticed --as I often do, at LDS meetinghouses around the U.S.-- the obligatory row of luxury imports occupying the de facto Stake Presidency And Friends parking stalls. Today it was three near-identical Lexuses of the RX300/330/400 variety and a brand new 3-series in opal blue.
I was amused to see, under the driver's side wiper blade of all four of them, small, torn pieces of a nursery-issued, Gospel-themed Crayon colorings, on the unused side of which was scratched in red scripture pencil, "What Would Jesus Drive?"
OK, truth be told, I, feeling somewhat miscievous, wrote and left the notes.
More truth be told, my amazing commutermobile is getting long in the tooth (as in, 280k miles long and I was severly tempted several months ago by a forest green 330xi -- buttery tan leather, heated seats, nice Harmon-Kardon stereo, mmmm... And it was truly a monumental struggle for me to decide not to get the car, in large part because it would have undermined my ability to beholdest the mote in my brothers' eyes.
Anyway, strolling along Glam Row this afternoon
reminded me of one of my favorite LDS-themed cartoons, in which The Faithful prays bedside, beneath a picture of the Salt Lake Temple and with his spiffy wheels visible through the window, to "...continue to be worthy of the privilege of consuming a disproportionate share of the world's resources..." LOL!
Thursday, March 18, 2010
House hunting
Went to look at house.
Irritated because of a conversation we'd had earlier, and the fact that my eyes had been wandering late in the day. night before I'd had dream - 17th century France, in secret passageway behind fireplace between two rooms 3 maids of a baroness in silk rubbing, then baroness came in - not attractive but wealthy and powerful, started to undress then we heard a noise and I woke up.
Was to meet her. On way was thinking, "this is done." then began to talk to myself, playing out the script, "this is done. we have amazing kids who will suffer because of this. but they'll suffer more if we model this type of marriage for them.
Late night, realtor gave key code (2332, incidentally), renters on vacation.
Pics around house, cute; walk-in closet - lots of heeled shoes, boots, etc.
Afterwards pulled out, she went around 2 corners, turned around, came up with story as to why I was going to arrive later than she was, pulled into drive, paused a minute, fear or something, left. 2 blocks later, I passed her heading back.
Wasn't first time - lace slip in Bluffdale stream house
Wal-Mart: Hot asian (would have told her, except door greeter was still giving the extended-dance-mix of how to get to automotive); long check out line - Cosmo G-spot article
Entered driveway, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=preNo9TzOGs was on - never really listened to lyrics. Sat in car, heavy stomach.
Irritated because of a conversation we'd had earlier, and the fact that my eyes had been wandering late in the day. night before I'd had dream - 17th century France, in secret passageway behind fireplace between two rooms 3 maids of a baroness in silk rubbing, then baroness came in - not attractive but wealthy and powerful, started to undress then we heard a noise and I woke up.
Was to meet her. On way was thinking, "this is done." then began to talk to myself, playing out the script, "this is done. we have amazing kids who will suffer because of this. but they'll suffer more if we model this type of marriage for them.
Late night, realtor gave key code (2332, incidentally), renters on vacation.
Pics around house, cute; walk-in closet - lots of heeled shoes, boots, etc.
Afterwards pulled out, she went around 2 corners, turned around, came up with story as to why I was going to arrive later than she was, pulled into drive, paused a minute, fear or something, left. 2 blocks later, I passed her heading back.
Wasn't first time - lace slip in Bluffdale stream house
Wal-Mart: Hot asian (would have told her, except door greeter was still giving the extended-dance-mix of how to get to automotive); long check out line - Cosmo G-spot article
Entered driveway, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=preNo9TzOGs was on - never really listened to lyrics. Sat in car, heavy stomach.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Salsa picante
Tonight I took my daughter to a salsa class, something we used to do a lot more but we've fallen out of the habit during the last couple of years. It's her reward for a generally good week. She loves it.
I love and hate it. Those Latinas have joints unknown to the Anglo race, and they really know how to wear a pair of jeans. (Speaking of which, am I the only driver distracted by the new Down East slim fit jeans billboards on I-15?)
I've dated a couple of Latinas, one Salvadoreña and a Puertorriqueña, both very strong, proud women from unimaginably difficult backgrounds. The Salvadoreña could dance a miraculous merengue, and was very patient with my stuttering, a-rhythmic attempts. She'd take the floor, flip her black, curly mane around a few times, and own the space. We had an upbeat and cheerful relationship for several months at the end of my senior year at BYU. The beginning of the end came over chimichangas one night at Los Hermanos, as I tried to coax out of her what her goals and aspirations were, if any, beyond motherhood. It must of come across as an interrogation, because she responded very defensively and seemed to view me with suspicion thereafter. Perhaps justifiably so. But she was a sweetheart.
I love and hate it. Those Latinas have joints unknown to the Anglo race, and they really know how to wear a pair of jeans. (Speaking of which, am I the only driver distracted by the new Down East slim fit jeans billboards on I-15?)
I've dated a couple of Latinas, one Salvadoreña and a Puertorriqueña, both very strong, proud women from unimaginably difficult backgrounds. The Salvadoreña could dance a miraculous merengue, and was very patient with my stuttering, a-rhythmic attempts. She'd take the floor, flip her black, curly mane around a few times, and own the space. We had an upbeat and cheerful relationship for several months at the end of my senior year at BYU. The beginning of the end came over chimichangas one night at Los Hermanos, as I tried to coax out of her what her goals and aspirations were, if any, beyond motherhood. It must of come across as an interrogation, because she responded very defensively and seemed to view me with suspicion thereafter. Perhaps justifiably so. But she was a sweetheart.
Distance
Last night we were discussing our upcoming anniversary, and I told my wife it's almost impossible for me to connect her to the woman who was with me in Europe a few months after we were married, "That woman I was photographing around the old town plaza...seems so much like someone other than you. I know it was you. But it seems impossible that it was you."
Similar to a late-night pillow talk we had several weeks ago -- the kind when you're so tired that your mind is drifting in and out of consciousness, and told her I felt as if she were physically miles and miles of emptiness away from me. Like we were the only pieces on opposite ends of a 50-mile chessboard that was floating through space.
With comments like that, no wonder she's on the verge.
Similar to a late-night pillow talk we had several weeks ago -- the kind when you're so tired that your mind is drifting in and out of consciousness, and told her I felt as if she were physically miles and miles of emptiness away from me. Like we were the only pieces on opposite ends of a 50-mile chessboard that was floating through space.
With comments like that, no wonder she's on the verge.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Unforeseen
My wife and I took a drive up one of the canyons this afternoon. We had a productive talk about belief and doubt. It's the first time we've spoken this long, and, significantly, without arguing, in quite some time. She talked about relying on what one knows (Spirit, comfort, eternity) to overcome or at least delay having to deal with what disturbs (polygamy, polyandry, Mountain Meadows, blood atonement, the papyri, rascism, sexism, etc........................). I asked her whether the Church's message-control efforts over the last several decades might be an effort to get people to the warm & fuzzy place of Forever Families with such fervor, that they never think to look under the rug. And so forth. But it was good.
At the end of our drive, as we sat in the garage waiting for my parents to pull up for Sunday dinner, she asked, "What would you think if I were to leave the Church?" To which I responded, "First I'd be surprised. Then I'd be very sad, knowing that my attitudes and actions--and, in many ways, my lack of action--had ground on you to the point that you'd abandoned something that used to be more important to you than anything else. [long pause, then with a smile] And then I'd ask if that meant that oral sex was OK again." To which she protested that her self-imposed prohibition on fellatio is a personal preference having nothing to do with her beliefs. To which I responded that it's not possible that it have nothing to do with her beliefs, especially when she explains her choice with words like "inappropriate." Then after that brief and utterly fruitless tangent, we got back to the substance of the discussion, which she continued:
"Because I've thought about leaving it. It's so hard to be with you, with you not wanting to really commit yourself to the Church and to the Lord, and to face that all the time."
Him: "But why leave the Church, which you believe in and hold so dear, rather than leaving this marriage, which you really don't believe in and has become more of a burden and source of distress than anything else?"
Her: "Mostly the kids."
Him: "The kids and the fact that you don't have an income, or the training to go create enough of an income to support yourself in the way you want to live."
Her: "Right."
Him: "You'd said that a while back, that you would have left if you had a job."
Her: "Right, but..."
Him: "...but it's interesting that you point to those two things, the kids and income, as being what 'tethers' you to this marriage, because you'll probably remember when I said a few months ago that I feel like nothing more to you or this marriage than a sperm bank and an ATM. Remember that?"
Her: "Yes."
Him: "It's a little ironic. Or maybe not ironic -- maybe perfectly predictable, that all that I feel I'm good for is all that you feel keeps you here."
Her: "Right, but I really can't say for sure now whether I definitely would have left then, or at year two or four or ten, or whether I'd leave now at year twelve. I don't know if I'd leave. But I know that I feel exhausted and empty."
Then my parents pulled up.
Tonight, as she went to bed and I headed in here to work on my resume and post some thoughts, we gave each other a characteristically-short, yet kind goodnight kiss--in fact the kindest and probably most sincere goodnight kiss that I can remember in a long, long time. It seemed nice. But it also seemed so very, very messed up.
At the end of our drive, as we sat in the garage waiting for my parents to pull up for Sunday dinner, she asked, "What would you think if I were to leave the Church?" To which I responded, "First I'd be surprised. Then I'd be very sad, knowing that my attitudes and actions--and, in many ways, my lack of action--had ground on you to the point that you'd abandoned something that used to be more important to you than anything else. [long pause, then with a smile] And then I'd ask if that meant that oral sex was OK again." To which she protested that her self-imposed prohibition on fellatio is a personal preference having nothing to do with her beliefs. To which I responded that it's not possible that it have nothing to do with her beliefs, especially when she explains her choice with words like "inappropriate." Then after that brief and utterly fruitless tangent, we got back to the substance of the discussion, which she continued:
"Because I've thought about leaving it. It's so hard to be with you, with you not wanting to really commit yourself to the Church and to the Lord, and to face that all the time."
Him: "But why leave the Church, which you believe in and hold so dear, rather than leaving this marriage, which you really don't believe in and has become more of a burden and source of distress than anything else?"
Her: "Mostly the kids."
Him: "The kids and the fact that you don't have an income, or the training to go create enough of an income to support yourself in the way you want to live."
Her: "Right."
Him: "You'd said that a while back, that you would have left if you had a job."
Her: "Right, but..."
Him: "...but it's interesting that you point to those two things, the kids and income, as being what 'tethers' you to this marriage, because you'll probably remember when I said a few months ago that I feel like nothing more to you or this marriage than a sperm bank and an ATM. Remember that?"
Her: "Yes."
Him: "It's a little ironic. Or maybe not ironic -- maybe perfectly predictable, that all that I feel I'm good for is all that you feel keeps you here."
Her: "Right, but I really can't say for sure now whether I definitely would have left then, or at year two or four or ten, or whether I'd leave now at year twelve. I don't know if I'd leave. But I know that I feel exhausted and empty."
Then my parents pulled up.
Tonight, as she went to bed and I headed in here to work on my resume and post some thoughts, we gave each other a characteristically-short, yet kind goodnight kiss--in fact the kindest and probably most sincere goodnight kiss that I can remember in a long, long time. It seemed nice. But it also seemed so very, very messed up.
Title Nine
My wife receives several catalogs that have at least some relevance to her life.The irony of my wife's Title Nine catalogs is that other than snorkeling, a short-lived experiment with yoga and looking cute on a beach, I don't think she's ever participated in a single activity depicted therein.
The problem with my wife's Title Nine catalogs is that I can look through them and admire the fantastic legs depicted therein, knowing that nothing "categorically inappropriate" (meaning, inappropriate along the wardrobe malfunction lines; not along the "looketh upon a woman to lust" lines, a line that I cross with frequency and zeal) will pop from the page. And so I do.
Après-ski
After a day on the slopes with my daughter and eldest son, I took the two of them to the lodge pool. I sat inside at the snack bar and watched while they swam and splashed in a blizzard. From time to time, guests scampered across the snowy deck and ducked into the store, then hurried with beer and chips in hand, back to their friends waiting in the hot tubs.
One such guest was a girl, probably no older than 15, 16 max. A mild Mid-Atlantic accent suggested that she wasn't from these here parts and perhaps here on a full-fledged ski vacation, which--especially at this particular resort--suggested affluence, perhaps with its accompanying adolescent traps of boredom, excess, idleness, etc. Her yellow side-tie bikini showed the body you'd expect from a teen just a few years into womanhood, metabolism in high gear. I do have some limits (believe it or not) and didn't dwell on it, i.e., her body, other than wondering whether she was sexually active yet.
Then I looked past her and back out the window at my daughter now diving for "sunken treasure" (i.e., whatever sinkable objects she could locate poolside and command her little brother to retrieve and throw in) with her goofy Speedo goggles on, and shuddered at the clock ticking toward the day when some creepy early-middle-aged guy is going to notice her at the pool or the beach and wonder whether she's sexually active yet.
One such guest was a girl, probably no older than 15, 16 max. A mild Mid-Atlantic accent suggested that she wasn't from these here parts and perhaps here on a full-fledged ski vacation, which--especially at this particular resort--suggested affluence, perhaps with its accompanying adolescent traps of boredom, excess, idleness, etc. Her yellow side-tie bikini showed the body you'd expect from a teen just a few years into womanhood, metabolism in high gear. I do have some limits (believe it or not) and didn't dwell on it, i.e., her body, other than wondering whether she was sexually active yet.
Then I looked past her and back out the window at my daughter now diving for "sunken treasure" (i.e., whatever sinkable objects she could locate poolside and command her little brother to retrieve and throw in) with her goofy Speedo goggles on, and shuddered at the clock ticking toward the day when some creepy early-middle-aged guy is going to notice her at the pool or the beach and wonder whether she's sexually active yet.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Rent & Regan
Today at lunch, my friend said, "The way I see it, physical and mental fidelity is the rent you pay to stay with your family."
Tonight I sold the tickets I'd purchased for the show Brian Regan (our favorite comic -- rather, the only comic both my wife and I know and like, which makes him our favorite) is doing tomorrow at Abravanel Hall. I got them several weeks ago as a "just us" prelude to our anniversary that's coming up later this month, but despite various creative ideas, we couldn't come up with a solution for our nursing baby. I chuckled in resignation to my wife, "Man, we can't even buy some levity in this family." Several of my work colleagues are going. I'm sure they'll let me know on Monday how it went.
Tonight I sold the tickets I'd purchased for the show Brian Regan (our favorite comic -- rather, the only comic both my wife and I know and like, which makes him our favorite) is doing tomorrow at Abravanel Hall. I got them several weeks ago as a "just us" prelude to our anniversary that's coming up later this month, but despite various creative ideas, we couldn't come up with a solution for our nursing baby. I chuckled in resignation to my wife, "Man, we can't even buy some levity in this family." Several of my work colleagues are going. I'm sure they'll let me know on Monday how it went.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Happy pills, here we come!
Today I fasted... I'm not sure why, exactly, I fasted, but it had something to do with my wife's announcement yesterday that she's scheduled to see a psychiatrist next week with the hopes of going on Prozac, and idea that thrills me not a great deal.
Clearly this 'fast' is not only too little, too late, but is almost laughably tied to the symptom (the "All Is REALLY Well In Zion" cliche of SSRIs) rather than the cause (me).
What's more, is that I wasn't two hours into my day and half an hour into my calling, when my focus turned to a ravishing redhead (mid-twenties, about 5'9", slender, bright green eyes, cheekbones through the roof and an incendiary, Ginger Grant-like mane...in fact, she's not dissimilar to Tina Louise in her uncharted desert island prime) who was seated nearby, continually bending her head backwards as if she had a sore neck. I wondered, "Rough night?"
Everyone with whom I associate in my calling has a temple recommend (now, whether they're fully-worthy True Believers or whether they're like me or worse, I can't tell you, but they're card-carriers, long story, just trust me on it), so I then wondered, "Do good Mormon girls have amazing sex? And I don't mean, 'Darling, thank you, that was so edifying,' sex. I mean, 'Wowwwww, I thought my brains were going to explode! Let's do that again! Now!!!' sex, and if so, do they do it without feeling dirty, or is there invariably a compromise of some kind?" And then I remembered hearing recently about a republished report by two B.Y.U. sociologists, in which nearly 60% of L.D.S. women claimed to have had premarital sex:
Fifty-eight percent of Mormon women admit to having sexual intercourse before marriage. Mormons have been slowly accommodating their behavior to the norms of the surrounding culture, yet these changes have scarcely been recognized by the LDS leadership, who still require premarital chastity. "No doubt, dramatic changes in sexual norms have . . . created a generation gap between leaders and the youth," said Tim Heaton, one of the sociologists who analyzed the sexual behavior and marital trends among Mormon women. "These trends coupled with some reluctance to discuss sexual issues openly could lead to an increasing discrepancy between official codes of conduct and actual behavior."
Noting that the report was from 1991, I wondered how much those numbers had changed (surely upwards) subsequently. I wondered--not for the first time--whether it was "worth it" for me to have made it to marriage sans coitus, if ~2/3 of the YW & RS-ers around me were knockin' boots at the time. I wondered what it would entail for a gal like that to hook up with a guy like me, and whether both of us would let the imminent shattering of homes and lives restrain us at the critical moment.
She gave her husband a playful peck on the cheek after we had dismissed. They seemed genuinely happy, or at least chipper enough, and I wondered about cause and effect, chicken and egg.
I was angry for most of the rest of the day. I seethed through my remaining meetings. I told my wife tonight that I hated being at church today, and that the most frustrating part was that I wasn't exactly sure why. (Which was true, at the time.) I wasn't repulsed by the doctrine. I like most of the people, some of them a great deal. But I was churning inside. Boiling. "Did you maybe start the day off wrong somehow and it just went downhill from there?" Bingo. Ginger. I didn't answer her.
So anyway, I put nothing of value into my 'fast' and, not surprisingly, got nothing of value in return, other than extra appreciation for some sensational chicken parmigiano my wife pulled out of the oven this afternoon. This evening, I asked her, "Do whatever you want with your body and your brain. I'm not going to try to intervene there. But please don't do it while you're nursing. I'm sure everything and everyone will say it's safe, that there's no transfer, no risk. If you choose to take that stuff, great, do it, but please, please stop nursing first or take it when you've weaned him."
Clearly this 'fast' is not only too little, too late, but is almost laughably tied to the symptom (the "All Is REALLY Well In Zion" cliche of SSRIs) rather than the cause (me).
What's more, is that I wasn't two hours into my day and half an hour into my calling, when my focus turned to a ravishing redhead (mid-twenties, about 5'9", slender, bright green eyes, cheekbones through the roof and an incendiary, Ginger Grant-like mane...in fact, she's not dissimilar to Tina Louise in her uncharted desert island prime) who was seated nearby, continually bending her head backwards as if she had a sore neck. I wondered, "Rough night?"
Everyone with whom I associate in my calling has a temple recommend (now, whether they're fully-worthy True Believers or whether they're like me or worse, I can't tell you, but they're card-carriers, long story, just trust me on it), so I then wondered, "Do good Mormon girls have amazing sex? And I don't mean, 'Darling, thank you, that was so edifying,' sex. I mean, 'Wowwwww, I thought my brains were going to explode! Let's do that again! Now!!!' sex, and if so, do they do it without feeling dirty, or is there invariably a compromise of some kind?" And then I remembered hearing recently about a republished report by two B.Y.U. sociologists, in which nearly 60% of L.D.S. women claimed to have had premarital sex:
Fifty-eight percent of Mormon women admit to having sexual intercourse before marriage. Mormons have been slowly accommodating their behavior to the norms of the surrounding culture, yet these changes have scarcely been recognized by the LDS leadership, who still require premarital chastity. "No doubt, dramatic changes in sexual norms have . . . created a generation gap between leaders and the youth," said Tim Heaton, one of the sociologists who analyzed the sexual behavior and marital trends among Mormon women. "These trends coupled with some reluctance to discuss sexual issues openly could lead to an increasing discrepancy between official codes of conduct and actual behavior."
Noting that the report was from 1991, I wondered how much those numbers had changed (surely upwards) subsequently. I wondered--not for the first time--whether it was "worth it" for me to have made it to marriage sans coitus, if ~2/3 of the YW & RS-ers around me were knockin' boots at the time. I wondered what it would entail for a gal like that to hook up with a guy like me, and whether both of us would let the imminent shattering of homes and lives restrain us at the critical moment.
She gave her husband a playful peck on the cheek after we had dismissed. They seemed genuinely happy, or at least chipper enough, and I wondered about cause and effect, chicken and egg.
I was angry for most of the rest of the day. I seethed through my remaining meetings. I told my wife tonight that I hated being at church today, and that the most frustrating part was that I wasn't exactly sure why. (Which was true, at the time.) I wasn't repulsed by the doctrine. I like most of the people, some of them a great deal. But I was churning inside. Boiling. "Did you maybe start the day off wrong somehow and it just went downhill from there?" Bingo. Ginger. I didn't answer her.So anyway, I put nothing of value into my 'fast' and, not surprisingly, got nothing of value in return, other than extra appreciation for some sensational chicken parmigiano my wife pulled out of the oven this afternoon. This evening, I asked her, "Do whatever you want with your body and your brain. I'm not going to try to intervene there. But please don't do it while you're nursing. I'm sure everything and everyone will say it's safe, that there's no transfer, no risk. If you choose to take that stuff, great, do it, but please, please stop nursing first or take it when you've weaned him."
Friday, March 5, 2010
Followed, because I'm an ass, by a long pause then a different subject
Tonight at dinner, after what was obviously a rough day with the kids, my wife said, "It really hit me today, how miserable I must be to be married to. I'm not interesting, I have nothing to offer to anyone other than my kids. I get it. I get it."
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Teach your children well
When my friend and next door neighbor was made our bishop, he said that one of his biggest shocks was how common sexting was among the kids in what is, according to a recent visiting G.A., one of the highest tithe-paying stakes (meaning, percent of members who are full-tithe payers, not in total tithes paid) in the Church.
I've mentioned that my boss was recently made a bishop, and that we've shared our thoughts on wondering how today's kids will survive today, both of us freely admitting that things would likely have been very different for us if we hadn't actually had to have connections to track down a tattered Playboy back-issue or bribe a friend's big brother to go rent an R movie with a few, fleeting frames of flesh. I've assumed the self-appointed role of his Eyes On The Street, providing him with intel that he can use to understand what the kids are up against. Maybe because it makes me feel like something good might come from my encounters with the gutter. Or because the pretense of the greater good gives me another excuse to linger around the gutter.
The other day, I sent him a batch of three items that I'd seen over the last little while.
The first was the cover story of a recent Weekly Standard, a report of the trenches of the singles scene:
Thanks to late marriage, easy divorce, and the well-paying jobs that the feminist revolution has wrought for women, the bars, clubs, sidewalks, and subway straps of nearly every urban center in America overflow every weekend with females, young and not so young, bronzed, blonded, teeth-whitened, and dressed in the maximal cleavage and minimal skirt lengths that used to be associated with streetwalkers but nowadays is standard garb for lawyers and portfolio managers on a girls’ night out.
(As an amusing side note: My mother-in-law gave us the Standard subscription as a gift, in part to ensure--she said basically as much--that I was being exposed to "balanced and objective" reporting. While she was staying with us to help after the birth of our baby, she expressed concern that our daughter had mentioned having read an article in a news magazine to which I subscribe about, among other things, platonic-yet-weird "sleepovers" Elvis had with teenage girls in Memphis during the early years of his career. I agreed that I wasn't thrilled that our daughter had read this, but disagreed with my wife and her mom that the only solution was to cancel the subscription and not allow that kind of stuff into our home in the first place. Literally within a week of that discussion, the Standard issue arrived, with cover art that would undoubtedly pique the curiosity of a ten year old and content that would leave little to her imagination. I solemnly expressed my concern that our daughter may read articles of this nature in this magazine and that the only solution was to cancel the subscription and not allow that kind of stuff into our home in the first place. I couldn't resist. Cruel. Hilarious.)
The next was an article about hooking up:
What is hooking up? If you don’t know, then you’re probably at least 40. Hooking up can involve anything from kissing and heavy petting to oral sex and intercourse, but what all hookups have in common is that the physical involvement precedes an emotional relationship—if the latter develops at all. “In the dating era, students would go on a date, which might lead to something sexual,” says Kathleen Bogle, a sociologist at Philadelphia’s La Salle University. “In the hookup era, students hook up, which might lead to dating.”
Finally, I sent him a link to a Frontline series called "The Merchants of Cool," about the relentless and astonishingly innovative efforts of corporations to own the hearts, minds and wallets of teens. I'd first been made aware of it several years ago, when I spent most of my working day doing advertising. As a marketing professional, I was fascinated. As the father of a too-soon-to-be-teenage girl, I was petrified. Evolving technology has already rendered some of its elements a tad outdated, but it should still be mandatory viewing for anyone who has any stewardship over any teen. In fact, at one point I was going to give a fireside to parents of our YM/YW using core elements of this documentary as the feature exhibit and discussion catalyst, but found that I was having to edit so much of the content (for fear of someone being offended by the tree and missing the message of the forest) that the effect was utterly neutralized, and I ended up canceling the fireside.
As I hit Send on this message that would help my boss to help other peoples' children, I was reminded that I need to prepare my kids for this, and that it will become increasingly difficult to improvise my way through their adolescence. That night, I read an article in the current Ensign about being an influential father:
In addition to teaching gospel principles, there are a number of things fathers can do that will influence their children for good, no matter what stage of life they are in. These include living a gospel-centered life, showing appropriate affection, disciplining with love, listening effectively, spending one-on-one time together, and seeking creative ways to participate in a child’s life.
21. And the dad said, Most of these (the primary exception being the "gospel-centered life," as it is most likely defined by this author -- a life that demonstrates Christian behavior and is, on the surface, generally obedient to the strictures of the Mormon faith, yes; but one that is immersed body and soul in the Gospel as interpreted and promulgated by the LDS Church? Can't say that I am.) have I kept from my youth up.
22. Now when Jesus heard these things, he said unto him, Yet lackest thou one thing: abandon thy lust, and cleave only unto thy wife, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, follow me.
23. And when he heard this, he was very sorrowful: for he did love him some killer kalves and wondered, "How can I be that person, that 'influential father,' in full sincerity and with any degree of effectiveness, when a big part of me is pulled forcefully toward the things I'd admonish against? When for every 'That's evil and contrary to The Plan' thought, I have two 'Why wasn't I in on that scene when I was single? And why can't I be a part of it now?' thoughts?"
I've mentioned that my boss was recently made a bishop, and that we've shared our thoughts on wondering how today's kids will survive today, both of us freely admitting that things would likely have been very different for us if we hadn't actually had to have connections to track down a tattered Playboy back-issue or bribe a friend's big brother to go rent an R movie with a few, fleeting frames of flesh. I've assumed the self-appointed role of his Eyes On The Street, providing him with intel that he can use to understand what the kids are up against. Maybe because it makes me feel like something good might come from my encounters with the gutter. Or because the pretense of the greater good gives me another excuse to linger around the gutter.
The other day, I sent him a batch of three items that I'd seen over the last little while.
The first was the cover story of a recent Weekly Standard, a report of the trenches of the singles scene:
Thanks to late marriage, easy divorce, and the well-paying jobs that the feminist revolution has wrought for women, the bars, clubs, sidewalks, and subway straps of nearly every urban center in America overflow every weekend with females, young and not so young, bronzed, blonded, teeth-whitened, and dressed in the maximal cleavage and minimal skirt lengths that used to be associated with streetwalkers but nowadays is standard garb for lawyers and portfolio managers on a girls’ night out.
(As an amusing side note: My mother-in-law gave us the Standard subscription as a gift, in part to ensure--she said basically as much--that I was being exposed to "balanced and objective" reporting. While she was staying with us to help after the birth of our baby, she expressed concern that our daughter had mentioned having read an article in a news magazine to which I subscribe about, among other things, platonic-yet-weird "sleepovers" Elvis had with teenage girls in Memphis during the early years of his career. I agreed that I wasn't thrilled that our daughter had read this, but disagreed with my wife and her mom that the only solution was to cancel the subscription and not allow that kind of stuff into our home in the first place. Literally within a week of that discussion, the Standard issue arrived, with cover art that would undoubtedly pique the curiosity of a ten year old and content that would leave little to her imagination. I solemnly expressed my concern that our daughter may read articles of this nature in this magazine and that the only solution was to cancel the subscription and not allow that kind of stuff into our home in the first place. I couldn't resist. Cruel. Hilarious.)The next was an article about hooking up:
What is hooking up? If you don’t know, then you’re probably at least 40. Hooking up can involve anything from kissing and heavy petting to oral sex and intercourse, but what all hookups have in common is that the physical involvement precedes an emotional relationship—if the latter develops at all. “In the dating era, students would go on a date, which might lead to something sexual,” says Kathleen Bogle, a sociologist at Philadelphia’s La Salle University. “In the hookup era, students hook up, which might lead to dating.”
Finally, I sent him a link to a Frontline series called "The Merchants of Cool," about the relentless and astonishingly innovative efforts of corporations to own the hearts, minds and wallets of teens. I'd first been made aware of it several years ago, when I spent most of my working day doing advertising. As a marketing professional, I was fascinated. As the father of a too-soon-to-be-teenage girl, I was petrified. Evolving technology has already rendered some of its elements a tad outdated, but it should still be mandatory viewing for anyone who has any stewardship over any teen. In fact, at one point I was going to give a fireside to parents of our YM/YW using core elements of this documentary as the feature exhibit and discussion catalyst, but found that I was having to edit so much of the content (for fear of someone being offended by the tree and missing the message of the forest) that the effect was utterly neutralized, and I ended up canceling the fireside.
As I hit Send on this message that would help my boss to help other peoples' children, I was reminded that I need to prepare my kids for this, and that it will become increasingly difficult to improvise my way through their adolescence. That night, I read an article in the current Ensign about being an influential father:
In addition to teaching gospel principles, there are a number of things fathers can do that will influence their children for good, no matter what stage of life they are in. These include living a gospel-centered life, showing appropriate affection, disciplining with love, listening effectively, spending one-on-one time together, and seeking creative ways to participate in a child’s life.
21. And the dad said, Most of these (the primary exception being the "gospel-centered life," as it is most likely defined by this author -- a life that demonstrates Christian behavior and is, on the surface, generally obedient to the strictures of the Mormon faith, yes; but one that is immersed body and soul in the Gospel as interpreted and promulgated by the LDS Church? Can't say that I am.) have I kept from my youth up.
22. Now when Jesus heard these things, he said unto him, Yet lackest thou one thing: abandon thy lust, and cleave only unto thy wife, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, follow me.
23. And when he heard this, he was very sorrowful: for he did love him some killer kalves and wondered, "How can I be that person, that 'influential father,' in full sincerity and with any degree of effectiveness, when a big part of me is pulled forcefully toward the things I'd admonish against? When for every 'That's evil and contrary to The Plan' thought, I have two 'Why wasn't I in on that scene when I was single? And why can't I be a part of it now?' thoughts?"
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