The Food Chain

This morning my sister-in-law and I took the kids to the animal museum at BYU so they could run around a bit and learn more about wildlife (like the wild "cantaloupes" of the African plains that S-Boogie saw). There was an exhibit on the food chain that suddenly brought back a memory of a lesson I learned in fourth grade.

It's interesting to remember those moments when my understanding of the world suddenly increased. I don't remember learning how to read, and I never had a single "talk" that revealed the mysteries of reproduction, but there are other facts that I can vividly remember learning. The food chain is one of them. I was living in Idaho at the time, and we often had lessons on Idaho history and ecology. I'm pretty sure this lesson was sponsored by the nearby center for birds of prey. We went outside on the playground to play a game. Most of us were "prey" and a few got to be "predators". The prey had to run around picking up pieces of paper that represented food, and the predators had to catch them. When you got caught by a predator, you had to give him all your food and go sit out. Unfortunately, at the end of the game, it was revealed that some of the "food" was contaminated with pesticides. Even though not all of it was, every predator had at least one piece of contaminated food that they had gotten from their prey.

Ever since then I've been able to understand the idea of a food chain, because I participated in it myself. And it was fun. That was also the age in which my rabid environmentalism was beginning to blossom. It lasted until some time during high school when I realized that I didn't like science enough to be a marine biologist or archaeologist. But I still love to read about biology and other science-related things. And I still remember that DDT will ruin raptor's eggs and that's why it's bad.

We also had a lesson from the Idaho council of pinto bean growers. They made us a pinto bean pie; it made an impression, but it wasn't quite so positive as the opportunity to become prey was.

Sandwiches and Sympathy

I think one interesting thing about all the funerals I've attended during the last few years has been the fact that they always seem to turn into impromptu family reunions. When we got to my aunt's house on Friday afternoon, there were already several trays of deli meats and veggies sitting around, as well as a large amount of rolls. And the neighbors kept coming by with more food. We ate before the viewing, then came back to the house to sit around and talk, and eat.

It was fun to see everyone again, because I don't see my dad's family very often. And it's always a little strange when we do, because his brother was 23 years older than my dad. My father was the surprise caboose baby (by nearly 18 years) tagging along after his three brothers, so my cousins are all my parents' age and their kids are my age. But we all hung out and got to know each other better and it was a nice funeral. My uncle lived a full life and was a well-rounded, and well-respected man. He also was a rancher, as evidenced by the fact that instead of a hearse they used a beautiful old wagon pulled by two mules to take him to the cemetery.

Of course, after the funeral we came back to the church for more food and conversation. Only this time my aunt decided to provide the dinner herself and we had prime rib. I haven't eaten a piece of meat that big or that good for a long time. I realized as I was thinking about this post that it almost felt disrespectful to be talking about the fact that the funeral was a nice time to see people and eat good food. But I think my uncle would be pleased to know that his passing was another opportunity for all of us to get together and enjoy our relationship as family.

On the Road, Again

A few weeks ago, I mentioned to a friend that I had been to at least one funeral every year for the past five years. Most have been in the summertime, so I half-jokingly said that I've begun to wonder who's going to die this summer.

Then the other night my dad called to tell me that my uncle was killed in a car accident.

So Little Dude and I are driving up to Wyoming with my parents tomorrow morning. S-Boogie is going to stay here with her daddy and her aunties, since she doesn't need to go for another long car ride. And I'm not going to joke about annual funerals any more. Maybe next year will break my streak.

Phase One Completed

We just finished the first phase of our vacation, and I was sad to see it end. Unlike Master Fob, I am decidedly not allergic to California and I love the sunshine and flowers we enjoyed. I've spent the last few days indulging in my favorite hobbies--eating and reading. Thankfully the Thteeds are readers too and understand why the first thing I do in anyone else's house is rifle through their magazines and peruse their bookshelves. I'm not really antisocial, I'm just addicted to the printed page.

When we could all tear ourselves away from our reading, we did fun things like playing a nearby park, going out for crepes, and visiting the best ice cream parlor in the world (well, at least Northern California). The crepe excursion also featured a ride on BART (S-Boogie's favorite part of the trip) and a stop at Half-Price books, where I was delighted to find a copy of Word Freak on clearance for a dollar.

S-Boogie and The Big O had a great time together, despite their many arguments ("I think it's an airplane" "Me say helicopter" "Airplane!" "Helicopter!"). Little Dude managed not to kill himself, even though he tried really hard to. And we had a fabulous time hanging out (and eating) with old friends and new.

Hotel Oregon-ia

We have mirrors on the ceiling, but there's no pink champagne on ice.

I also am not sure if we're just prisoners of our own device.

(Well, just prisoners of our two small children, which means we don't get to see if the mirror on the ceiling really enhances the experience or not.)

Panic Time

The plan for today was that my children would either amuse themselves quietly or take long naps so I could get ready for our trip and tweak some things on my thesis. Right now they're both crying inconsolably. So much for that plan.

The thesis is going OK. I actually have about 55 pages now and I feel like it's more or less complete. I just need to beef up a few parts of it here or there. If any of my friends who are good at critiquing such things or who are good at writing profusely about stuff (I'm not) wants to email me to have a look at it, I would be eternally grateful (I might even make you cinnamon rolls or something some day when my life gets calmer). It does have some lengthy quotes in Spanish, but I did write in English.

Packing for a trip just plain sucks. Trying to get all the clothes clean. Trying to remember all the little things both kids will need and all the little things I might need. Like all the right cords for the laptop and the camera, or the nail clippers. This afternoon I blew forty dollars on books at Barnes and Noble. I never buy new books like that. I really am stressed.

Oh, and I can't find my Emmylou Harris CD anywhere. Can I go cry now?

Svithe: Being Selfish

I don't watch Oprah, or any TV, so I've been kind of out of the popular culture loop lately. But I have occasionally been hearing about this new book The Secret. A friend of mine linked to this article from Salon, and it gave me a lot to think about. Perhaps I should read the book before I bash it, but I have read a few other articles on it. Apparently the idea behind it is that if you simply try and think hard enough about the things that you want, you will get them. Literally. I'm sure there's more to it than that, but it sounds pretty weird.

One thing I really am uncomfortable with about the whole "power of positive thinking" idea is that it tends to create the opposite, negative reaction: if you aren't successful in life, you must not be trying hard enough. When we constantly tell people that all they have to do is "believe in themselves" and "try their best" in order to do accomplish "anything", what happens if they don't achieve? Does that mean they really didn't want it hard enough, or that they didn't try? I've learned that life isn't just about me. Sometimes, no matter how hard I want something, or even how hard I try, it just isn't enough. Other factors come into play. I could have wanted a natural, easy delivery for both my children. I could have even believed in myself, and I could have even prevented my doctors from interfering, but it probably wouldn't have happened.

I do think we have to be careful not to let this sort of thing keep us from trying at all or from throwing our hands up and resigning ourselves to the whims of fate. But there is a balance between thinking of ourselves as all powerful and thinking of ourselves as powerless. And I don't think it's good to swing too far to either side.

I also really don't like the idea of success being equated with having lots of money, losing lots of weight, or even having everything that I want. I fear that our culture too often values the surface images of "success": the nicely decorated home, the prestigious job, well-behaved and intelligent children, etc. I worry that if we only concentrate on outside factors we lose track of something vitally important. Some of the nicest, humblest, genuinely good people I know don't have many of the trappings of success. Some of them do; I don't think that being poor automatically sanctifies you. I just worry that if we spend all our time focusing outward on material things we will lose track of the interior substance that we need to have. I'm probably a victim of this too. I know I sometimes spend more time figuring out the right outfit to wear to church than I do on my spiritual preparation while I'm there. I sometimes spend more time worrying about what others think of me and of my contributions to the lesson than I do about what I can learn from them.

And that is what bothers me the most about this whole idea: it's all focused on what I can accomplish with my all-powerful self. Unfortunately, like most people I know, I don't really need any more help becoming more selfish. I can do that all on my own.

(And while you're reading Salon, you should check this out. I wanted to write a post on it, but I don't have time.)

Progress Report

Yesterday Little Dude had his nine-month checkup. He now weighs nineteen pounds.That means he has gained 3 pounds in the last three months. His ears also were clear and everything about him was in perfect shape. Except for the bruises on his head which he keeps getting from things like attempting to scale the bookcases like a rock climber (that's why they're nailed to the wall) and pulling heavy objects down on his head. The doctor reminded us to childproof the house. Yeah, we're trying.

I was supposed to spend most of today writing my thesis. And I've been trying to. I'm just tired and I've been preoccupied by the hour of sleep I'm going to lose tonight, especially since we have early church. I'm also worried about the imminent arrival of next Wednesday, which is the day we're going to leave for our big trip. I want to go, but part of me keeps thinking "I'm not ready yet!". I suppose I'd better get back to writing so I can be ready. A somewhat respectable draft is coming together and I'm proud of how much I have been able to do, but I still have so much more. Why is it that for everything you learn, you realize that there are at least two or three other things that you don't really know much about?

Taking this show on the road

This is my first post from our new laptop. We like tax returns.

Where are you?

I am supposed to be working on my thesis right now, and I'll get it to it as soon as I post a quick little something. I probably won't be posting much for the next little while, since life is kind of crazy right now. We leave on our big trip next Wednesday night and I'm still trying to get as much thesis out of my brain and onto paper as I can. It's actually been going pretty well and I'm so glad I hired a babysitter. So far Little Dude as cried every time I've dropped him off, and prying his little hands off my jacket each morning is the worst torture ever. But, he's had a great time after I leave and the babysitter's little daughter is in love with him. So I know he's OK, I just wish he'd learn to smile and say "bye" like S-Boogie does. I am also much less freaked out about writing since I've managed to produce forty pages. Yes, I have written nearly forty pages. I can hardly believe it myself. I still have the second chapter and conclusion to write, though, so I'm trying not to get too excited just yet. And then there's all the revising and stuff. Blah.

I'm also stressing out because I'm trying to get all my ducks in a row for our big trip. I've decided to stay the extra week for that class and to work some more, so we'll be gone for a while. As much as I love my friends and family, I don't like staying in other people's homes. It's not them, it's me. I'm glad to see them, I just get stressed when I'm out of my routine. I'm also a terrible overpacker because I get anxious about all the things I might possibly need. It's stressful because our car is small and the trunk can barely hold Little Dude's travel bed, let alone all the stuff I think I might need for me and two kids to stay for two weeks. We can just wear the same clothes every day, right? I just need to convince myself that that will be OK. New personal mantra: "The world will not end if I'm not prepared for every possible contingency." Whew!

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Frustration, Part Two

A few weeks we tried to file our tax return electronically but were rejected. So I thought I'd just be smart and print it off and mail it in. Then yesterday I got it back. I forgot to put in the W2s. Aargh!

Regrets

Some ideas have been floating around in my head lately regarding past decisions and how they affect our lives now. It was partly influenced by a post I recently read in another forum about what you would write in a letter to your younger self. I was intrigued by the idea and immediately started composing a fabulous letter warning myself of all the possible consequences of the decisions I was about to make. Then I realized that if I had not made those decisions, I would not have the wisdom that I now possess, the wisdom that, unfortunately, allows me to see how dumb I sometimes was. This is the paradox of life, I think. We have to stumble around in the dark. It's the only way to learn. And it's a scary way to learn. I have always loved the metaphor that Boyd K. Packer used in a talk called "The Candle of the Lord". Personal revelation is only a candle, not enough to illuminate all the darkness. But if we want to go ahead we must push forward, illuminating only a few steps in front of ourselves. Lately I've been paranoid about doing anything and I've preferred to stand in the comfort of my little circle of light. I'm afraid if I take a leap, or even a step, I might run smack into a wall or run off a cliff. I know I need to have more faith, do the things that will make my candle brighter, and start moving in a good direction. Who knows, maybe I'll find out that I can fly?