Woo hoo! TAMN, also known as Tiffany/Amber/Megan/Nicole, of Seriously, So Blessed has posted a blog entry I wrote for her! If you aren't familiar with this blog, and you're a Mormon woman, you need to read it! It's a hilarious sendup of Mormon-mommy blogs--and from some of the real ones I've read, I can assure you she's not far off the mark. The accent, the highlights, the pedicures, eating at Cheesecake Factory--all feature in the twentysomething life in Salt Lake City.
As TAMN would say, BAAA!
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Over the Hill?
Today I went to a church meeting for a committee I'm on. We plan quarterly activities for the women's auxiliary. There were 6 women present, and I was the eldest. One other woman has a daughter in college and two middle-school age children, but of the other four's combined 11 kids, the eldest are 7. Needless to say, I could not contribute much to the planning of the activities for the year--I've been there and done that, for the most part.
This is just one other instance that reminds me I'm getting a bit long in the tooth. While I am a member of the largest age cohort in the United States, I still feel a bit past it, as the British say.
My home is starting to look a bit dated, for example. The rich golds, burgundies, and navy blues I favor are no longer in vogue. My Karastan rugs have been manufactured in the same color scheme since the 1920s, so they are modern classics, and my furniture is all basically reproductions of federal styles, but the latest iteration of Mid-Century Modern that the thirtysomethings favor makes my stuff look, well, stuffy by contrast. Now, I know the mid-century modern aesthetic is going to look passe in a few years too, but there you are.
Then there's my clothing style. I try to stay up on things and not let my look get too dated, but I still favor a lot of eye shadow and some volume in my hair--reminiscent of the 1980s when I was in my twenties and thirties. (Fortunately, I have a fabulous stylist who changes my hair on a regular basis.) I am loath to get rid of my beautiful silk blouses and wool suits, though they are not currently in style. A lot of the time I feel like a frump.
Women my age cannot wear clothes from Forever 21 without looking idiotic, but I am finding the happy medium of staying au courant without looking teenagey much more difficult than I thought I would. I keep reminding myself that just because something is not worn out doesn't mean it should still be worn!
My political position seems to be out of it, too. I have noticed a very liberal trend among younger people. Ultimately, this means that even Republicans will be more liberal in the future than they are now.
What did John Mellencamp say? "Life goes on...long after the thrill of living is gone." Gosh, I don't want to believe that.
This is just one other instance that reminds me I'm getting a bit long in the tooth. While I am a member of the largest age cohort in the United States, I still feel a bit past it, as the British say.
My home is starting to look a bit dated, for example. The rich golds, burgundies, and navy blues I favor are no longer in vogue. My Karastan rugs have been manufactured in the same color scheme since the 1920s, so they are modern classics, and my furniture is all basically reproductions of federal styles, but the latest iteration of Mid-Century Modern that the thirtysomethings favor makes my stuff look, well, stuffy by contrast. Now, I know the mid-century modern aesthetic is going to look passe in a few years too, but there you are.
Then there's my clothing style. I try to stay up on things and not let my look get too dated, but I still favor a lot of eye shadow and some volume in my hair--reminiscent of the 1980s when I was in my twenties and thirties. (Fortunately, I have a fabulous stylist who changes my hair on a regular basis.) I am loath to get rid of my beautiful silk blouses and wool suits, though they are not currently in style. A lot of the time I feel like a frump.
Women my age cannot wear clothes from Forever 21 without looking idiotic, but I am finding the happy medium of staying au courant without looking teenagey much more difficult than I thought I would. I keep reminding myself that just because something is not worn out doesn't mean it should still be worn!
My political position seems to be out of it, too. I have noticed a very liberal trend among younger people. Ultimately, this means that even Republicans will be more liberal in the future than they are now.
What did John Mellencamp say? "Life goes on...long after the thrill of living is gone." Gosh, I don't want to believe that.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Body of Evidence
Sometimes in a church meeting there is an electrifying lesson or sermon. Sunday delivered one of these.
A woman in our stake Relief Society presidency (the women's auxiliary of the Mormon church) gave the lesson. She talked about creating a body of evidence regarding our belief in God.
Now, while I would not say my childhood experiences were stellar, I had stable, loving parents and a secure environment. This woman, however, had an alcoholic father and a mom who worked and was away from the home most of the time.
She had been sent to visit her grandmother every summer, and that was who taught her to believe in God. When she was nine, she decided to pray to God to help her father stop drinking. She went alone to a playground in order to get to a high place--the huge slide that was there--to deliver her prayer.
"When I walked home, I got the feeling that everything would be okay. When I got home, of course, everything was the same--but I was different. I had received comfort from that prayer." We went on to discuss what she had learned from this initial experience in faith: that there was comfort in prayer, and this encouraged her to do it again. She had taken a baby step--but after all, she was only nine years old. She went on to say that it takes a lifetime to build this body of evidence, and something that I have often thought: we learn every day, line upon line and precept on precept, here a little and there a little.
So I began thinking about my relationship with God and what constituted the body of evidence for my faith.
I really can't remember when I didn't believe in God. Thankfully, my parents had taught me to pray and began sending me to Sunday school when I was three or four, though they did not attend church themselves. My father taught me the Lord's Prayer, and I had a Little Golden Book of prayers. I felt the spirit when I was young and I prayed, although I couldn't identify it as such. I just knew that I felt that a Presence heard me.
As I have grown older I have come to learn that the Lord is there, and He loves me, and He loves everyone else, too. He has granted my prayers, and He has given me a miracle or two. I have come to believe in His Son and His atoning sacrifice.
It seems odd that at age 51 there is still so much to learn, but I hope that I can continue to learn, and make the most of whatever time I have left. This, I feel, is at the heart of a life well-lived.
A woman in our stake Relief Society presidency (the women's auxiliary of the Mormon church) gave the lesson. She talked about creating a body of evidence regarding our belief in God.
Now, while I would not say my childhood experiences were stellar, I had stable, loving parents and a secure environment. This woman, however, had an alcoholic father and a mom who worked and was away from the home most of the time.
She had been sent to visit her grandmother every summer, and that was who taught her to believe in God. When she was nine, she decided to pray to God to help her father stop drinking. She went alone to a playground in order to get to a high place--the huge slide that was there--to deliver her prayer.
"When I walked home, I got the feeling that everything would be okay. When I got home, of course, everything was the same--but I was different. I had received comfort from that prayer." We went on to discuss what she had learned from this initial experience in faith: that there was comfort in prayer, and this encouraged her to do it again. She had taken a baby step--but after all, she was only nine years old. She went on to say that it takes a lifetime to build this body of evidence, and something that I have often thought: we learn every day, line upon line and precept on precept, here a little and there a little.
So I began thinking about my relationship with God and what constituted the body of evidence for my faith.
I really can't remember when I didn't believe in God. Thankfully, my parents had taught me to pray and began sending me to Sunday school when I was three or four, though they did not attend church themselves. My father taught me the Lord's Prayer, and I had a Little Golden Book of prayers. I felt the spirit when I was young and I prayed, although I couldn't identify it as such. I just knew that I felt that a Presence heard me.
As I have grown older I have come to learn that the Lord is there, and He loves me, and He loves everyone else, too. He has granted my prayers, and He has given me a miracle or two. I have come to believe in His Son and His atoning sacrifice.
It seems odd that at age 51 there is still so much to learn, but I hope that I can continue to learn, and make the most of whatever time I have left. This, I feel, is at the heart of a life well-lived.
Friday, January 16, 2009
A Woman's Work is Never Done
I swear I have the dustiest house in North America.
Not that I am one to dust on a regular basis, but when I do get to it, I manage to enfilthiate (my word) dust cloths at three times the rate my mother ever did. And it seems that the minute I finish, the dust reappears.
Mom made us dust when we were kids. She had unfilled travertine tops on a lot of the furniture, which means dust-holding holes. We had to dust every week, and we were admonished to DUST THE BASEBOARDS as well. I never remember those dust cloths picking up much at all. It seemed like a wasted effort to me. I never saw a dust bunny during my childhood.
Not so in my own house. I live in a colonial style house that has colonial moldings, which are much dustier than the Los Angeles mid-century modern simple, rounded baseboards I grew up with. I also have six-panel doors, dust hoarders all, as opposed to the blond wood smooth doors in my home of origin. Mom also hated knicknacks--"Just more to clean"--so we had few of those to REMOVE AND DUST (of course, being kids, we kind of flicked the dust cloth over and around them). I, however, have "tablescapes" on every flat surface, with lots more tchotchkes than Mom ever had. (Back then, though, we had ashtrays everywhere. It was the sixties, after all.)
My mom was a champion cleaner, at least until she started working full-time. She'd nearly rip the clothes off your body when you came through the door ("Give me that blouse! I'm doing light wash-and-wear!"). Nobody had whites like hers. She and the occasional maid, Homako, would go through the house like a dose of salts. They'd wash the windows every month, wash the woodwork, vacuum everything. It was amazing.
Mom still makes me clean the bathtub and shower every single time I use it at her house. Even though she can't climb the stairs and inspect the bathroom, I am still very careful about it. Her regimen includes using a squeegee and then rags to dry the remaining water from the glass doors and tile walls.
Once my sister and I were nine or ten, though, and Mom worked, the story changed. Although she never let us touch the washing machine, we had to fold the dried laundry. And iron the pillowcases. Vacuum the house. And, of course do the aforementioned dusting.
As you might expect, we lied a lot about whether we had done our chores. We couldn't see the point in doing all that work every single week. When we did do it, it was done halfheartedly.
For the last thirty years, though, I've had to do my own housework, and boy, has my attitude changed. I had to educate my husband on the virtues of "deep vacuuming" (which means moving all the furniture and using the edge tool to get the corners, and rooting out the dust bunnies from their gambling dens and whorehouses, or so he says). I never forced my kids to do much, either, because I became so particular about how things were done (big mistake). Yet, my daughter Julie, as a college freshman, called me one day and said, "Mom, you've done it. You should be proud. I am dying to clean the dormitory bathroom." Obviously, she didn't go to BYU, which had the best janitorial staff I've ever seen in any institution.
So here I am, spending nearly all day today dusting and vacuuming and cleaning bathrooms. And I'll do it again, and again. But I do have to admit, when I glance around that clean, dust-free living room with its gleaming mahogany tables and porcelain vases, I do get a sense of accomplishment. Sick, huh?
Not that I am one to dust on a regular basis, but when I do get to it, I manage to enfilthiate (my word) dust cloths at three times the rate my mother ever did. And it seems that the minute I finish, the dust reappears.
Mom made us dust when we were kids. She had unfilled travertine tops on a lot of the furniture, which means dust-holding holes. We had to dust every week, and we were admonished to DUST THE BASEBOARDS as well. I never remember those dust cloths picking up much at all. It seemed like a wasted effort to me. I never saw a dust bunny during my childhood.
Not so in my own house. I live in a colonial style house that has colonial moldings, which are much dustier than the Los Angeles mid-century modern simple, rounded baseboards I grew up with. I also have six-panel doors, dust hoarders all, as opposed to the blond wood smooth doors in my home of origin. Mom also hated knicknacks--"Just more to clean"--so we had few of those to REMOVE AND DUST (of course, being kids, we kind of flicked the dust cloth over and around them). I, however, have "tablescapes" on every flat surface, with lots more tchotchkes than Mom ever had. (Back then, though, we had ashtrays everywhere. It was the sixties, after all.)
My mom was a champion cleaner, at least until she started working full-time. She'd nearly rip the clothes off your body when you came through the door ("Give me that blouse! I'm doing light wash-and-wear!"). Nobody had whites like hers. She and the occasional maid, Homako, would go through the house like a dose of salts. They'd wash the windows every month, wash the woodwork, vacuum everything. It was amazing.
Mom still makes me clean the bathtub and shower every single time I use it at her house. Even though she can't climb the stairs and inspect the bathroom, I am still very careful about it. Her regimen includes using a squeegee and then rags to dry the remaining water from the glass doors and tile walls.
Once my sister and I were nine or ten, though, and Mom worked, the story changed. Although she never let us touch the washing machine, we had to fold the dried laundry. And iron the pillowcases. Vacuum the house. And, of course do the aforementioned dusting.
As you might expect, we lied a lot about whether we had done our chores. We couldn't see the point in doing all that work every single week. When we did do it, it was done halfheartedly.
For the last thirty years, though, I've had to do my own housework, and boy, has my attitude changed. I had to educate my husband on the virtues of "deep vacuuming" (which means moving all the furniture and using the edge tool to get the corners, and rooting out the dust bunnies from their gambling dens and whorehouses, or so he says). I never forced my kids to do much, either, because I became so particular about how things were done (big mistake). Yet, my daughter Julie, as a college freshman, called me one day and said, "Mom, you've done it. You should be proud. I am dying to clean the dormitory bathroom." Obviously, she didn't go to BYU, which had the best janitorial staff I've ever seen in any institution.
So here I am, spending nearly all day today dusting and vacuuming and cleaning bathrooms. And I'll do it again, and again. But I do have to admit, when I glance around that clean, dust-free living room with its gleaming mahogany tables and porcelain vases, I do get a sense of accomplishment. Sick, huh?
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Ring in the New
I seldom make new year's resolutions. They usually go by the wayside, and I feel guilty for not sticking with them. On the other hand, if I don't make resolutions or set goals, I feel guilty for being a lazy slug.
There are several things I'd like to do: lose fifteen pounds, always do my visiting teaching and let the supervisor know on time, quit swearing, stop participating in gossip. In other words, to be perfect.
Nancy Drew was perfect. She always knew what the right thing was to do, and she did it. She may not have been attending college or pursuing a career, but she could ice skate, dance, ride a horse, shoot a gun, and apply makeup like a pro. She was nice to old ladies. She always had just the right emergency supplies in her car's trunk. She never overspent, lied, or gained weight. And she never got mad (at least, as long as no one was trying to kill her). She was humble, too. She never lorded it over anyone else. I'll bet she could sew a dress, mow the lawn, and install crown molding as well! All by age 18.
Do I believe perfection is possible? Theoretically, yes, intellectually, no. I understand that I am imperfect and that's what Christ's sacrifice in Gethsemane was about. However, in my heart of hearts, I believe it is possible, and I will never, ever, measure up.
Do I hold others to my standards? Not at all, though I tried to inculcate high personal standards in my children--with limited success.
The balancing act comes in working toward perfection while still loving the imperfect self. This is difficult and it takes a lot of faith.
So perhaps my resolution should be to simply act with more faith in myself, God and others, this year.
There are several things I'd like to do: lose fifteen pounds, always do my visiting teaching and let the supervisor know on time, quit swearing, stop participating in gossip. In other words, to be perfect.
Nancy Drew was perfect. She always knew what the right thing was to do, and she did it. She may not have been attending college or pursuing a career, but she could ice skate, dance, ride a horse, shoot a gun, and apply makeup like a pro. She was nice to old ladies. She always had just the right emergency supplies in her car's trunk. She never overspent, lied, or gained weight. And she never got mad (at least, as long as no one was trying to kill her). She was humble, too. She never lorded it over anyone else. I'll bet she could sew a dress, mow the lawn, and install crown molding as well! All by age 18.
Do I believe perfection is possible? Theoretically, yes, intellectually, no. I understand that I am imperfect and that's what Christ's sacrifice in Gethsemane was about. However, in my heart of hearts, I believe it is possible, and I will never, ever, measure up.
Do I hold others to my standards? Not at all, though I tried to inculcate high personal standards in my children--with limited success.
The balancing act comes in working toward perfection while still loving the imperfect self. This is difficult and it takes a lot of faith.
So perhaps my resolution should be to simply act with more faith in myself, God and others, this year.
Monday, December 22, 2008
God Bless Us, Every One
Merry Christmas, dear readers. May you be able to weather what life throws at you this next year, too.
I always try very hard at Christmas to make things nice. To me, making (and eating) special recipes and seeing friends are the highlights of the season. And being with family. I don't like to travel during Christmas, but I sorely miss my kids. I have had a good time when my parents have come, and I am trying to extract promises from my married kids that they will be here next year!
However, for my husband, the presents are the thing. He always supplies me with a list. I try to buy everything I can, within reason. It is important to him to have a lot of stuff under the tree. This has been the source of yuletide conflict for 28 years now. When his mom was alive, it wasn't so bad because she'd go overboard and buy all kinds of stuff for the kids, and him. What I want is usually too expensive and complicated for my husband to buy. Also--when he buys me an expensive gift, I end up with the bill.
It would be quite simple for me to lay aside the cash, tell him what I want, and then use the cash to pay the bill. This does not, however, satisfy his longing for me to open a lot of gifts. What usually ends up happening is that I buy my own presents and then he wraps them.
So Christmas is often fraught with tension.
The other thing that happens is that my dear eternal companion wants to get involved with the gift purchases. Unfortunately, he usually expresses his interest about a week before Christmas--when everything has been selected, wrapped, and shipped by yours truly.
So, in 2009 I am going to pry my own perfectionistic, controlling fingers off Christmas and let him do it all.
I understand why we need God's blessings on us at this time more than any other!
I always try very hard at Christmas to make things nice. To me, making (and eating) special recipes and seeing friends are the highlights of the season. And being with family. I don't like to travel during Christmas, but I sorely miss my kids. I have had a good time when my parents have come, and I am trying to extract promises from my married kids that they will be here next year!
However, for my husband, the presents are the thing. He always supplies me with a list. I try to buy everything I can, within reason. It is important to him to have a lot of stuff under the tree. This has been the source of yuletide conflict for 28 years now. When his mom was alive, it wasn't so bad because she'd go overboard and buy all kinds of stuff for the kids, and him. What I want is usually too expensive and complicated for my husband to buy. Also--when he buys me an expensive gift, I end up with the bill.
It would be quite simple for me to lay aside the cash, tell him what I want, and then use the cash to pay the bill. This does not, however, satisfy his longing for me to open a lot of gifts. What usually ends up happening is that I buy my own presents and then he wraps them.
So Christmas is often fraught with tension.
The other thing that happens is that my dear eternal companion wants to get involved with the gift purchases. Unfortunately, he usually expresses his interest about a week before Christmas--when everything has been selected, wrapped, and shipped by yours truly.
So, in 2009 I am going to pry my own perfectionistic, controlling fingers off Christmas and let him do it all.
I understand why we need God's blessings on us at this time more than any other!
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
The End of a Tumultuous Year
This year has been quite a doozy. I have had several friends pass away, which has been sad; all of them have died far too young. (I love and remember you, Rachel, Barbara, Dawn and Lynn.) I have traveled more this year than any other in my life: I have been to Utah twice, once driving; I have been to London, Las Vegas, and Nashville.
We also spent a great deal of money this year. Julie's wedding was wonderful, and by today's standards, not expensive, but it still cost a lot of cash. My dear daughter Meredith is a college freshman at an out-of-state institution, and we had to buy a new air conditioning system for our home, unexpectedly. Certainly the years we've bought houses and cars have essentially cost us more, but these were all cash layouts! At least you can finance a home or a car.
Finally, we have an empty nest after 25 years of parenthood. That's both good and bad. I dearly miss my children, but we have lots of fond memories, our little "family lexicon," thick scrapbooks, and funny videos to share and reminisce over. This year has definitely had some major turning points.
Now, after over eight years at a local home decorating store I am losing my job. The store's lease is up, and the strip mall owners want to raise the rent considerably. The bottom line is that in our recessionary economy, the store would no longer be profitable. So eight people are out of jobs.
Some of us can go to other local company stores. I might consider that--I really enjoyed my job and got very good at it. Then again, I might consider other possibilities.
I feel very fortunate that my income is not necessary for our family to stay afloat. I have options: try expanding my freelance writing business; work for a temp agency, find a different job. Maybe I should find a government job, work five years and save all my money, then splurge on the facelift I will surely need by then!
We also spent a great deal of money this year. Julie's wedding was wonderful, and by today's standards, not expensive, but it still cost a lot of cash. My dear daughter Meredith is a college freshman at an out-of-state institution, and we had to buy a new air conditioning system for our home, unexpectedly. Certainly the years we've bought houses and cars have essentially cost us more, but these were all cash layouts! At least you can finance a home or a car.
Finally, we have an empty nest after 25 years of parenthood. That's both good and bad. I dearly miss my children, but we have lots of fond memories, our little "family lexicon," thick scrapbooks, and funny videos to share and reminisce over. This year has definitely had some major turning points.
Now, after over eight years at a local home decorating store I am losing my job. The store's lease is up, and the strip mall owners want to raise the rent considerably. The bottom line is that in our recessionary economy, the store would no longer be profitable. So eight people are out of jobs.
Some of us can go to other local company stores. I might consider that--I really enjoyed my job and got very good at it. Then again, I might consider other possibilities.
I feel very fortunate that my income is not necessary for our family to stay afloat. I have options: try expanding my freelance writing business; work for a temp agency, find a different job. Maybe I should find a government job, work five years and save all my money, then splurge on the facelift I will surely need by then!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
