She's Got Brains, She Does!

I was trying to explain socialism and communism to Elannah. I talked about how all things are held in common and no one has any personal possessions. I talked about how a few elite members of such a society are in charge of distributing everything that is produced and telling people where and how to work -- about how any money earned above a certain benchmark is taken and given to someone else who needs it more. This "utopian" society is supposed to create equal outcome as well as equal opportunity.

Elannah thought about it for a while and then said, "But that means no one would feel like it was worth it to work hard. Whatever they did would just be taken away and given to someone else."

Ah, my dear. At the tender age of 10, you have uncovered the great fallacy of Marxist reasoning.

The Ganja Brownies Explained

Let me preface this little tale by stating unequivocally that I am so boring and straight that I have never even been tempted to use illegal drugs of any kind or abuse prescription drugs. There was never any positive consequence that I could see from them, and I'm wise enough in that respect to be able to benefit from others' bad experiences.

Besides, even the legal medications I've taken haven't produced anything that equals the natural high of living a life full of joy. Laughing gas was a huge disappointment -- I never even cracked a smile. Excedrin makes me feel spacey, and I absolutely loathe the jittery feeling pseudoephedrin in sinus and cold medications gives me. I'd rather suffer. I've had several prescriptions for heavy-duty painkillers that I've filled but never used, simply because I got along just fine with ibuprofen. Ibuprofen is great for headaches and other pain, and I don't have to worry about feeling all weird and loopy. I hate, HATE, HATE feeling weird and loopy because of a medication.

I've also steered clear of alcohol. Never touched a drop. That wasn't a hard decision, either, even if it was such a general part of high school life (not college. I went to Brigham Young University, and I don't think I met anyone there who drank. And yet, my friends and I had so much fun anyway!). Besides the fact that drinking alcohol is directly in contradiction to my faith as a Mormon, I know I've got alcoholics in my family tree. Even if that wasn't enough, the thought of losing control of my upper faculties always scared me to death. I never knew if I would be a social drinker or end up as an alcoholic, and it just wasn't worth it to find out, even if I had ever been tempted.

So it was with huge disappointment that I realized that marijuana did absolutely nothing for me except induce such an intense need for a nap that I almost fell asleep standing up. I mean, I get that feeling when I've spent too many nights taking care of sick kids, so there's certainly nothing novel or exciting about being dreadfully sleepy.

Little Gary, on the other hand, apparently just can't handle a little marijuana.

What happened was this: a woman whom I have met a couple times offered brownies to me and my son. Given the setting and the situation, I had no reason to suspect they were doctored, although I had begun to notice that the woman was acting high. Little Gary got three brownies, which he downed in a flash. I got one brownie, and as I chewed, I detected a distinctly herbal quality not normally found in brownies that I eat.

I asked the woman if she'd made them herself, and she said she had and then rambled on about using applesauce instead of oil. I have never noticed applesauce to cause an herbal tea flavor, and when Husband came around the corner, I told him my suspicions. We briefly considered forcing Little Gary to throw up the brownies, but didn't know how we'd manage that.

About ten minutes after eating the brownies, Little Gary was hyper. HYPER. His pupils were dilated, he was terribly thirsty, and he was manically running around like a crazy thing. We watched him for a bit, and then I suggested he get a Priesthood blessing. Husband and another man gave Little Gary a blessing right away, and immediately afterwards, Little Gary's pupils began going back to normal. His hyperactivity, however, remained quite, quite intact.

Husband went and asked the woman if she'd put marijuana in the brownies (he was furious, of course), and she denied it, though she was swaying on her feet so badly she nearly fell over. She was also questioned by two off-duty policemen, but they apparently didn't find enough reason to do anything further. The woman drove away, which was not a good idea, given her condition.

We went home and Little Gary spent a few hours running full tilt through the house until he suddenly stopped, lay down on my bed, and fell deeply asleep. I also wanted so badly to lie down and take a nap. I was not only horribly lethargic, I couldn't really think all that clearly; but I had family coming over and didn't have time to sleep when I needed to cook dinner. It was terribly unpleasant.

A week later, I got the news that the woman had confessed to baking marijuana into the brownies, although she hadn't meant to harm anyone -- especially any children. Several other kids had also been fed the brownies. I was asked not to press charges and to have mercy on her since she had told the truth. After all, we'd eaten the evidence, and she didn't have to 'fess up, but she wanted to be honest and apologize. Since no permanent harm had been done, I didn't press charges, knowing a little about this woman's history and her present difficulties in life. I ran into this woman at the store (you run into everyone in this town at the store eventually), and she apologized personally. She's gotten help since that incident. Regardless, I won't be eating anything she makes. Ever.

Wasn't that a fun little adventure? We have a new tale to tell, and Little Gary might feel a natural aversion to brownies for a long time yet. And I can keep my utter conviction that nothing that is meant to artificially increase enjoyment, happiness, or relaxation comes even close to the natural joy that dwells inside you when you're living a life you can be proud of and from which you gain so much real happiness and joy.

Those ARE Little Gary's real eyes. Undrugged. And his face is dirty as usual.

I May be Feeling Low but at Least I'm Not High

You wouldn't think my life had a lot of drama going on, but you'd be wrong. In the last little while, I have:

* Caused a Family Brouhaha of Epic Proportions Through My Own Stupidity
* Gotten High From Being Fed Ganja Brownies

That might not sound like much, but for the nearly middle-aged, stay-at-home-mom, quiet writer's existence that I have cultivated, it's pretty horrible.

I am just teasing you with this because I'm not at all in the mood to write more about either topic.

What I AM in the mood for is to eat a gallon of peanut butter/chocolate ice cream, but that's because I am stressed and craving carbs and not because of any illegal substances in my system. Besides, I ate the marijuana brownie days ago. That's over. I will explain that incident later when I feel more humorous, because it's kind of a funny story. Funny hmmm. Not funny ha ha.

In the meantime, I'm going to distract myself so I don't eat a gallon of ice cream. Tempting as the thought is, I find that extra pounds don't make me any less stressed. Hello, cello. Be my friend this evening.

A Visit from the British In-Laws

Well.

Last week my parents-in-law dropped by for a little visit from England. They brought suitcases full of presents and British goodies and financed some very fun adventures. Sure, Husband's car's transmission went CLUNK 50 miles from home (fortunately, it stopped right by a mechanic's garage), and my mother-in-law (MIL) caught the stomach flu from me, but we generally had a wonderful time while they were here.

This week, it's time to pay the piper. Because Husband is off-track from teaching at his year-round school, we're writing eight hours a day. We worked out that if we total 20 articles a day -- 100 total before the pay period ends -- we can pay the mortgage. It's a worthy goal, but UGH! it's been a long three days so far. Next week, when we go down to five articles a day per person, it will seem like a vacation. I've written about Kansas City real estate one too many times. Ditto Florida country clubs. I did get to write an article about spandex bodysuits and one about whipped cream chargers, which was a nice break. But by about 6pm, my brain is well and thoroughly shot. Done. I'm only writing this post because I'm not getting paid for it.

Tomorrow we still have to get our 20 articles written, but we're taking a break in the late morning to have a picnic with family friends who are visiting from out of town. I'm very excited about that.

Now you're all caught up. And I'm going to bed.

My MIL and FIL. Lovely British accents, even lovelier people.

Eva Aurora: Indiscriminate Smiler

I am a smiler. I smile at people. I smile indiscriminately at people. I've been an indiscriminate smiler for as long as I remember, but I made a conscious effort to smile at people for a reaction during my LDS mission in England. People in England are not indiscriminate smilers. In fact, they can be very conservative about doling out smiles to strangers, and sometimes in that often gray and rainy country, I just wanted someone to smile back at me. I took a liking to that infrequent and startled genuine smile some fellow pedestrians or mass transit users would flash back at me -- a woman with small children, an old man in somber black shoes and fedora, a college student caught up in his internal thoughts. I smiled then and now at men, women, and children. Especially children. Who can't smile and make funny faces at a baby sitting in a grocery store cart? What greater reward than that sudden, explosively honest grin of an innocent toddler? Extra points for a giggle.

Occasionally, my habit as an indiscriminate smiler gets me into trouble. For example, one evening I walked into my local Walmart to grab a few groceries. On my way through the entry, a Walmart employee, whom I have seen several times stocking shelves and who has smiled and acted as if he knows me (though I have tried and failed to remember ever having any conversation with him at all) happened to be walking toward me. I smiled at him, as I always do, in what I -- perhaps, erroneously -- imagined was a neutrally friendly way, and he walked right up to me and said, "Hey, beautiful. I'm going on break right now, but maybe after that I'll see you around here." Then he walked off.

Say what?

He said it so quietly I almost didn't hear him, and he didn't say it suggestively. It was like we were continuing a conversation we'd had earlier, as if we were familiar. Except I've never talked to him. I have certainly never winked at him.

I'm not used to being hit on as a woman of nearly a certain age with six kids and some stubborn baby and pizza weight to lose, so I freaked out a little bit. I forgot half the things I went in to get because I was suddenly very anxious to leave. I waited in a busy line that was surrounded by tall shelves of impulse buys rather than the more visible express lane, and I left through the opposite exit, walking through the parked cars in the lot instead of taking a straight shot to where my car was parked. It wasn't that I felt threatened by his demeanor. I just felt really, really stupid.

I told Husband about it later, thinking he would laugh. Oddly enough, he seemed a little upset at first, but that may have been because I went for the "exaggerated for grand effect" approach by starting off with, "So, it seems I'm dating someone at Walmart." I got the "What does that mean?!" without an accompanying "laugh of disbelief awaiting the inevitably humorous explanation." I told him what had happened and how stupid I felt about it.

He said, "Well, you do smile in a friendly way at men."
"But I smile at women, too!" I said.
"Yes," he answered. "But the men don't know that."

The reason I've cultivated an attitude of indiscriminate smiling is two-fold: I genuinely enjoy getting a smile back, and in the back of my mind, I'm making mental notes all the time about who is more likely to smile at a stranger. I had a friend in high school who once said to me with some exasperation, "You're always conducting an experiment, aren't you?" He was right, though I only conduct my silly little social experiments in a very benign sense.

Do you want to know the results of this years-long, unscientific study? It's harder to make eye contact with women (probably because I am a woman and therefore subconsciously uninteresting and non-threatening to other women), but when they do make eye contact, they are quick to smile back, although if they're very preoccupied, they'll only acknowledge your smile with a little forehead twitch while they're thinking about something else. Men are generally a little startled by eye contact and a smile but they almost always smile back. It's a cultural thing, too. Americans are simply more likely to smile or grin frequently, which makes us seem like superficial idiots to people from cultures where smiling is reserved for special occasions. In some cultures I frequently come across, eye contact and a smile is obviously considered a come-on from a woman, and I'm always forgetting that in my indiscriminate smiling habit. This may be where my troubles at Walmart lie.

Children of all cultures smile readily, up to a certain age, where the strong heritage of their parents begins exerting influence.

Husband eventually saw the humor in my dilemma, and I have decided to be more circumspect in my smiling habits. It will take a lot of constant inner dialogue to break that habit, but while I may not smile indiscriminately, I will still smile.

Neutrally Friendly? Or Just Too Friendly?

A Man of Integrity

I just added another link in my Blogs I Love to Read sidebar. It's called Gay Mormon Man, and I stumbled across it when researching information for an article I had to write about blogging. I was really impressed by the viewpoint of the author, a man who calls himself Calvin Thompson, and who describes himself as a somewhat conservative Mormon man who is also gay. Cal is married and has children and his wife is fully aware of his sexual orientation, but Cal is also convinced that the teachings of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are true and wants to be in full fellowship with the church (which, I might point out, doesn't mean that any person would ever be forced to be married, gay or not!). He seems also not to be anti-gay because he doesn't loathe himself and all others who undergo same sex attraction.

With all the hubbub of California's Proposition 8 (which was passed and which states that marriage is defined as between a man and a woman), Peter Vidmar's resignation as the Chief de Mission of the US 2012 Olympic Team over the issue of his having voted for Prop 8 and contributed money to the cause, and the question of whether or not homosexuality should be considered absolutely normal and healthy as a lifestyle, I have thought a lot about what it would be like to be gay and LDS. Cal's blog is a great example of one man's decision to accept himself and to also accept that he is in charge of his own happiness.

I don't know the author at all. I also have no idea what it would be like to have same sex attraction. I have to rely on the experience of others to gain some insight, therefore. I absolutely believe that every single person on this earth is a child of God, no matter their skin color, economic status, or sexual orientation. I certainly don't care to have the burden of judging anyone else's heart, and I'm relieved that Jesus Christ repeatedly stated in the Bible that His is the job of judgement because He does not view us by sight or sound alone. He knows us better than we know ourselves; He knows our hearts, and He will be absolutely fair and just and also as merciful as He can be with each of us when we stand in front of the Judgement Bar and account for our mortal lives.

While I uphold the LDS Church's stance on chastity, which applies to all people, both heterosexual and homosexual, my heart has often cried out for those who feel same sex attraction and who also want to be a worthy, temple recommend-holding member of the Church. How awful it must be to undergo not only the questions about the value of one's own self as somehow "broken" but to get through it while often hearing insensitive and hateful remarks from others around them, and also to be consigned to a state of eternal singlehood if they choose not to marry. Singlehood can be hard on heterosexuals, of course, but for a homosexual with a testimony and who wishes to receive all the blessings of the temple, that state must also be accompanied by the knowledge that to have a relationship that is more than just friendship with someone of the same sex that they are attracted to is forbidden. I imagine it must be a horrible and lonely burden sometimes, even if they are seeking to follow the Spirit and have a strong and abiding testimony.

To me, Cal is not a hero for being homosexual, just as I would not choose for a hero anyone else based on sexual orientation. Cal is a hero because he has reasoned and pondered about his options and has chosen to follow a path that may not be easy but means that he is living what he, personally, believes. Consistently living what you believe means having personal integrity, and that integrity makes a person heroic. I'm sure he's been vilified by those who believe that when you accept your homosexual orientation fully, you should also fully embrace the proscribed lifestyle or you are somehow a traitor to your kind, as well as other "well-meaning" individuals who have too much judgement to spare when it comes to knowing who is going to hell and who is going to heaven. I can't say I'm sorry that I'm spared this particular test in life, but I admire people who can go through it with as much grace as this man.

It's about time Joseph learned to ride a bike. He's nearly seven, and the thought that he can't yet ride a bike might be horrifying in the extreme to many parents out there. As if we haven't fulfilled our parental duties and he will be scarred for life!

Please. Get real. We've just saved him a couple years' worth of accidents is all.

No, seriously, we didn't teach him before because he wasn't willing. Always a cautious child around bikes, swings, teeter-totters, and other pain inducing technology, it's only recently that he's come out in favor of his own bike riding lessons.

Since I'm putting pictures in today, let's see what else I have. Oh, yes. The back splash in the kitchen. Husband measured it all out, and somehow I ended up doing the actual work. I had a good time and learned a lot about laying tile. It ain't perfect, but I was learning as I went. Note the glass canister on the top shelf. It's got half a batch of Husband's brown sugar fudge in it.

When we went to The Big City, I was gifted with something I've been sighing about for a very long time (just ask Husband). My mom's neighbor, with whom she was very good friends, recently passed away; the son offered a lot of her things to my mom. One of them was a glass cake stand with a glass dome. I saw that on Mom's counter and just gasped. "Ohhhh! Cake stand...with a glass dome! Ohhh!" Mom laughed and graciously gave it to me on the spot. She did remind me that with it comes a very important responsibility: because her neighbor always had something in it, though it wasn't necessarily a cake, it was now my duty to have something to keep in it at all times.

Right now, it's holding half a fresh coconut, which isn't shown here. Hey, I didn't have time to bake.