Saturday, July 20, 2013

Ah, summer

For a few blissful days, the whole family was together. Nina and Levi flew in from San Francisco, Syd and Scott drove from Oregon, and over the 4th, we were all in one spot for a few wonderful hours--all the siblings, spouses, the grandkids--and it was sweet. Dad had bought a slip-n-slide and the kids played on it for 3 hours straight without fighting once.

Nina and Levi had to go back home for work, but the following week the rest of the family, sans Karin and her bunch, went to the Weber State fireworks they do every year in July to celebrate the anniversary of the poor, hot, sweaty and pissed off pioneers as they walked into the valley and then puked about how barren it was. Naw, they were happy. But I would have puked. Probably because of the wagon movement more than anything. I'd have been one who walked the whole stinking way because of motion sickness.

ANYWAY, the fireworks were awesome, the kids were crazy and we had a grand old time people-watching. And I'm pretty sure we got to see everyone in attendance because we had a spot right across from the porta-potties. Thankfully, we were upwind. Anna and Abi picked the perfect spot the night before and spread out, like, 7 queen size blankets.

It was interesting, though, and my sisters and I felt it (and probably my brother, too) that this year we really missed my mom. She was there as such a looming presence that wasn't really there. And she hadn't been to the fireworks in years because she'd been so sick. Plus, the heat made her swell up like a balloon. But when we were kids--holy crap, the month of July was almost as big a deal as Christmas. Food, parties, fireworks in front of the house for the 4th (before the fire restrictions), red-white-blue decor everywhere and the flag flying proudly on the front porch. And for some reason, this year was...hard. We just miss her.

But enough with the maudlin--she'd be disgusted to find us wallowing--and tomorrow we head to Karin's house for July Birthday Festivus. And there will be the slip-n-slide. That many hours of non-fighting was sheer heaven. I only wish we could do it in the winter. :-)

Thursday, March 21, 2013

A good deal!

My first Civil War novel, Faith of our Fathers: A House Divided, is on sale now for $2.99 on Kindle. Limited time, great deal!

Friday, January 11, 2013

Winter Wonderland

Oh mercy. Sitting at my dining room table, a foot of snow outside and it's still falling, watching my cute daughter take our cute Siberian Husky out in the fluffy white mess. The house is warm and cozy and I'm surrounded by things I love. What a beautiful moment--may I never forget it.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

In Which I Verbally Vomit...

I grow weary of extremes.

I like to walk down the middle of the road. I like looking at the scenery on either side of me. Sometimes I venture to the right because I like something I see over there, and then there are times when I stroll over to the left because something I see there resonates and makes sense. And in the middle of the road where I walk, I find a comfortable, beautiful blending of the two. I suspect there are a lot of people like me, but we are not often the voices that speak the loudest.

Being a Mormon now, a faithful, church-going, calling-holding member is a very interesting thing. A great majority of the body of the Church is politically conservative. That leaves the minority defined as liberal. But what of those of us who stroll down the middle and like it there? Sometimes it feels like a very lonely place, because opinions tend to be so incredibly polarized. And the implication is often that if your views aren’t completely committed to either one side or the other, you’re an idiot. Or a faithless rebel. Or a bigot. 

When the early Church members made their trek west to settle in Utah, it wasn’t as though that had been everyone’s first dream. I know, let’s move all of us, many of whom will die, across this barren wasteland and settle in a really ugly place with a large body of useless salt water smack in the middle.  (Which is now very pretty, actually, because they planted a lot of stuff—thank you, ancestors.) They were driven out of the U.S. That’s why they left. 

They were murdered—children, even—tortured, raped, robbed, their homes burned to the ground on top of them, their temples desecrated, their printing presses destroyed, their belongings pawed through and stolen after they were forced to flee. And there was an “Extermination Order” in Missouri, which made it legal to kill a Mormon. They were treated in a way—in the United States—that would spark horror in the minds and hearts of most of us today. 

In 2000, my editor asked me if I’d be interested in writing a Civil War series with an LDS perspective. So I wrote about the war and placed one of my characters—an LDS convert—in the middle of it, along with parallel stories about other family members and friends in different parts of the country. I also wrote about a family of slaves who were literate, and their struggles throughout the process.  I dared to include a bi-racial marriage and a whole lot of drama throughout four volumes.

The research I did, which was extensive and exhausting, led me to some impressions that still stick with me. The first was that literacy is the key to freedom. How do you enslave a large portion of a population? You don’t allow them education in any way, shape or form. Another impression that remains with me is an understanding of the bitterness and weariness most of the early LDS church members felt toward the country that had forced them out because of religious intolerance.  

These are but two of the lessons I took away from the experience, and they’ve come back to roost with me in a frustrating way this election year. To preface this, I need to explain that I am an unapologetic member of my faith. I also appreciate the “liberal” Joanna Brooks, author of Book of Mormon Girl, and the viewpoint she represents—most of which I agree with. She’s well-spoken and bright, and I like her. She says many things that resonate with me very deeply. 

In writing the Civil War series, I was steeped in research about bigotry, and to be an unapologetic member of an organization that is now characterized as “bigoted,” I find horrifying. It does not sit well with me. As much as I would like to distance myself from that concept in any way, shape or form, I stand by my testimony of my faith and draw strength from personal, spiritual experiences I’ve had that keep me attending church week after week.  

But frankly, what I do care if two people who love each other are legally married? I don’t. How, then, to reconcile that with religion, one you absolutely cannot reject or deny, or risk lying to yourself? The answer is, for me, that I stay prayerful, and close to a God who loves his children. I remain patient and watchful, and take comfort in the fact that He is very much aware of what we do down here and that all questions are answered in time. And when I listen to people who profess to be Christians, both in my church and without, who are so incredibly hateful in their speech and actions, I remind myself that we are not perfect. That my testimony of my faith is not based on its members. We are, however, here to learn and grow and love. (Kumbaya, I know. I’ve already heard it.) But Christ, during his recorded lifetime, preached a gospel of love, not hate.  In fact, the only time he was angry was when people were using His Father’s house to cheat. This tells me that despite what we may believe, collectively or individually, about people whose lives are different than our own, we damn well better be nice about it. 

And as to the other thing—the weary early Church member thing—I feel that in spades. Now no, I certainly have not been cruelly driven from my home by a stampede of lawless ignorants. Nor have I personally felt the barbs of prejudice because I am a Mormon. But wow, I’m tired. Tired of reading news reports whose authors don’t even bother to get the facts straight. (It’s not a Steak, it’s a Stake, and it represents a geographical collection of Wards, or congregations—again organized geographically. Kind of like schools within a school district. A Stake President is not a position of extreme authority over the entire body of the Church. Women in the Church are not kept barefoot in the kitchen. We can read and have college degrees and were voting in our church meetings before the rest of the country’s women were constitutionally allowed to. And maybe if you would like to know more about us, you should ask someone who is actually a member, not a professor of a student who once was, or a friend of a friend who used to have a Mormon neighbor.)

My issue of Time Magazine came in the mail with Mit Romney’s face on it, talking about how his mind works, and it was all I could do to bring it in the house. I just didn’t want to read anything else about how odd we are, or how imperfect our LDS history is, the mistakes we’ve made, or the incongruity between being a religion and a capitalistic “money making empire.”

And because Mit Romney is the Republican candidate and a Mormon, the two have become inextricably linked, in many minds. Which is frustrating for me, because the Republican Party is not The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  Church leadership repeatedly makes public statements about its stance as politically neutral. On Facebook, on the Church website, and from the pulpit. Do many of our LDS ideals fall in line with conservative principles? Certainly. But…wait for it…there are also gospel principles to be found on the left side of the road. 

Speaking in sweeping generalities, I like the compassionate vibe I feel from the Democratic Party. There’s a level of love and acceptance within it that I find, on the surface at least, lacking on the Right. Still speaking in the most general of terms and in relation to the Republican Party, I’ve seen the value of self-reliance, of gaining an education and relying on one’s own efforts, intellect and abilities to make a better life for one’s family. The level of self-esteem that grows from these accomplishments is visible, vital and crucial, and I’ve seen it work to the betterment of people’s lives, specifically single moms I had the opportunity to work with some years ago as they earned their GEDs and climbed out of the “system.” 

As an LDS writer in a tightly-knit community of fellow LDS writers, I’ve found several similarities among many of us who walk down the middle of the road. J.Scott Savage said once that he is more liberal than most of his LDS friends, and more conservative than most of his friends who are not LDS. This holds very true for me, as well. I have a barrage of extremism on either side of the political aisle assaulting me when I log on to Facebook. I. Am. So. Tired. Of. Political. Messages. On. Facebook. I have news for you, my friends. Republicans do not hate gay people. Democrats are not Satan.

Last election year, a fellow writer and friend of mine, Annette Lyon, posted a commentary on her blog proclaiming her blood to be “purple,” or rather a blending of red and blue. This rang so true to me I felt emotional about it. It’s ok to see both sides of an issue. It doesn’t mean you’re weak, or spineless, or unprincipled. It means…you see both sides of an issue. I believe things are very rarely all black or all white. I suspect those with personalities opposite mine (I’m a Myers-Briggs ENFP, because I know you were wondering) would argue with me on that point. 

And so as I continue to peruse Facebook and see links to articles about Mormons, and memes depicting both Romney and Obama as horned devils, I console myself with this thought: 2013 is not an election year, and we’re almost there! Praise whatever deity you worship! Or not. :-)

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Missing my mom

Little things, like Mythbusters ads. Books. Everywhere, I see her in books. My tablecloths she made when I was little. The Norwegian decor all over my house. The pewter candlesticks I could kill someone with. The sweaters. Oh, the sweaters. The obituary on the fridge I should probably take down, because every time I look at it I'm thrown into that funky parallel universe where everything is slightly off.

She was, is, a force of nature. That woman is one amazing piece of work. I want to call her. I want to kiss her soft cheek.

Monday, May 14, 2012

On the way home from Storymakers 2012

My mom died on May 3, 2012, and with the support of my family, I attended the Storymakers writers conference anyway. It was two days of blissful fog with wonderful friends and an awesome roommate. I was completely distracted and I now realize what a blessing that was, because reality came crashing back down quickly enough.

ANYWAY, the 2nd night of the conference (which was after the Whitney Awards, one of which I was nominated for but lost to a dear friend, so it's ok) my awesome roommate's husband picked her up and my husband took her place, so we had a nice evening together. The next day on the drive home, I was reminded of why I laugh so much with him. It went something like this:

I plug in my iphone and start my shuffling playlist for our listening pleasure.
Mark: You're older than I am. Just so you know.
Me: What?
Mark: Phil Collins? That's like easy listening.
Me: It is not. It's retro.
Mark: He was easy listening back when he was big.
Me: Fine. We'll skip it.
Mark: What is THAT?
Me: It's Il Divo. The hot opera guys Simon Cowell put together.
I turn the volume up.
Me: How does that not give you chills?
Mark: What? I'm sorry! I can't hear you--there are too many people yelling in here. And if this is what we have to listen to in heaven, you'll have to find someone else.
Me: Pffft.  Whatever. Here.
Mark: Ok, that's better. Queen I can listen to in heaven. pause I'm pretty sure Freddy Mercury isn't there, though.
Me: Hey! We don't know that!
Mark: I'm pretty sure he had sex with animals.
Me: sputtering We don't know why, we don't know what he was dealing with...
Mark: It was that overbite.
Me: For crying out loud.
Phone rings. It's Anna.
Mark: We're on our way home right now.
Anna: Why aren't you answering your phone!?!
Mark: We stopped for a snack and I must not have heard my phone in my pocket.
Anna: It's Sunday. You guys are hypocrites.
Mark: We're on the road.
Anna: Anyway, you can call Bestie and tell him you're going to be late for dinner, because I'm not going to.
Mark: Anna, we're not going to be late. We're on our way home right now.
Anna: Whatever! Mom said you would be home an hour ago.
Mark: I did not tell Mom to say that.
Me: Anna, I'm sorry. I didn't know.
Anna hangs up in a huff. I am afraid.
Me: Ah, here we go.
The dulcet tones of Sting waft through the car.
Mark: eye roll
Song shifts to "No Stars" by Figures on a Beach
Mark: Who is this? No, don't tell me.
Me: You'll never guess it.
Mark: Yes I will. Ok, who is it?
Me: Figures on a Beach.
Mark: blank, flat expression.
I'm not surprised, because it's off a sample album "Just Say Yo" I listened to ad nauseum in the early 90s. He didn't much care for it then, either. Was also irritated that I overplayed Toad the Wet Sprocket's "Walk on the Ocean" in those days.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012


*Nina is married. Her last name is McConnell, which is very syllabically pleasing to the ear. Her inlaws are wonderful.

*She and her cute husband, Levi, used Target gift cards to buy groceries. Yes! She's learned to be practical.

*Anna has moved into Nina's "suite" of rooms. Posters of Jersey Shore and Men in Black have replaced Michael Jackson and Heath Ledger's frightening Joker face.

*Gunder wants to know when he can move into Anna's old room. And he's getting tall and I could swear I smelled B.O. on him the other day. *sob*

*My mom has dementia and I have eaten my weight in chocolate in the past six months.

*Which now makes me weigh a lot more.

*I look like Marie Osmond before Nutri System.

*I adore books but also love my Kindle. That makes me fickle.

*I read Soule Mama's blog and get teary. I want to restore a little old farm in Maine. With sheep I can shear and use the wool to knit my family sweaters. And possibly pants.

*I regret not keeping a better journal when my girls were little. I blinked and they grew up.

*Kitty is likely on her way to the executioner soon. She's old, and the smell of cat urine on Mark's clothes was the last straw. I told him he's not allowed to pay Levi to cap her in the head, quick and painless though it might be. I also told him he's not allowed to take her up to Huntsville and just let her loose. I called the Humane Society... Drat. She's my first real pet.

*Moving into life's next season...grown kids (well, minus the 7 year old), picking the writing career back up and fully dusting it off, taking on editing clients and loving my career. The day after the wedding, Mark wrote on my white board, "Round 2."

*Round 2 indeed. Pulling up my bootstraps. (Whatever the hell those are.)