In Defense of Fiction

Every once in a while I have the distressing experience of running into a literary snob. You know the kind - they only read one or two genres of books because everything else is so patently inferior. When books of fiction of any variety (historical, science-fiction, fantasy, mystery etc.) are mentioned their eyebrows raise just enough to allow themselves to look archly down their noses and make some condescending comment like "Oh, well I'm sure it has it's place, it just feels like such a waste."

As an ardent reader of fiction in all its glorious forms I feel the need to take a stand. Now I'm not targeting people who only read theology or biographies because that is what they think they "should" read. I ache for them, but they are more misguided than snobbish. And for others, fiction just doesn't fill their bucket. I get that. And as far as I am concerned they are completely absolved of the taint of snobbery. Life is short - read what you love. But to those who shun fiction because it is beneath them, we need to chat.

Fiction is the great foil for all the variegated shades of human character. As Lloyd Alexander once said "The nature of fantasy allows happenings which reveal most clearly our own realities and our own strengths."

I have never faced a dragon, but I have faced mountains of laundry that feel more like dragons than inanimate lumps of textiles. I have never journeyed to Mordor, but I have faced every day of my journeys through chronic fatigue and medication induced depression (don't you hate being in the 1-3% of people who end up with a side-effect?) The courage and valor necessary for those conflicts are found in accounts of epic battles, overland journeys and grand adventures. It is not found in descriptions of stain removal or of being tired.

When I read about a fictional character I adopt a part of them for myself. My desires, strengths and weaknesses are cast in stark relief against these foils. I claim pieces of Portia, Hamlet, Katherine and Petruchio. I am molded by Psmith, Charlotte Doyle and Kit. I am pieces of Eugenides the thief, Halt the Ranger, Eilonwy and Cimorene and Meg Murry. As my adopted characters experience new lands and new people, my mind opens with theirs. I am better for their strengths AND their weaknesses.

I do feel benefited from reading accounts of real people, but the connection is less intimate. They existed out of my own head and are being re-hashed for me through someone else's eyes - even if it is an auto-biography and the eyes in question their own. Somehow, the fact of their reality prevents me from bonding in the same way.

No, I am not a fantasy snob. I also read history, biography, auto-biography, science, math and psychology. I do not do horror or "adult" books. They do not fill my bucket. And by the way, why call something "adult" when it is nothing more than juvenile filth written from the emotional perspective of a junior high locker room. Just saying.

So, I would challenge all literary snobs who may stumble across this post to try some fiction. Pick a few books, a few genres, a few authors and give it a try. You may surprise yourself. Amidst the yummy bits of fictional fluff you will find gems of rare depth and insight. I will even go so far as to point out that the Master Teacher himself used fiction (aka parables) to enlighten his followers.

Well, I am off to a much needed happily ever after.

Happy reading.

Lions and Impossibles

One Sunday during church, I had my son curled up on my lap. Attempting to maintain reverence during the sacrament, I was showing him pictures of the Savior that I had put in a little "quiet book." We came to a Greg Olsen picture of the Savior holding a sheep. I whispered in my boy's ear that we are like the sheep and that Jesus will hold us and take care of us too. My boy furrowed his eyebrows and said "But I am not a sheep, I am a lion." Then, in the silence of the chapel he let out a blood-curdling roar.

A few weeks later, for morning devotional, my kids and I were reading in the illustrated version of the New Testament, My daughter asked "Is this a story about Jesus and His impossibles?" I'm sure the Savior smiled at this description of His apostles.

The longer I live, the more I see the truth of the statement "it takes all kinds." It is good to know, that in the fold of God there is a place for lions and impossibles alike. I am so grateful for the lions in my life. I am so thankful for the people who have been patient with me while I have been an "impossible."

We live in a world that rarely celebrates deviations from the norm., the popular or the stylish. How good to know that there is a place and a purpose for every individual and every quirky characteristic. God has a place and a mission prepared for us, be we lions or impossibles or anything in between.

Dented

I have so many good days that I feel guilty about venting twice in a week - it makes my life seem bleak (I am choking back an obscure quote from Auntie Mame. There may only be 13 people left in America who quote that movie - five of them are in my family and none of them follow the blog so .... I'll spare you.) My life is anything but bleak. I just need an outlet.

My children are normally wonderful when I take them visiting teaching (a thing we do in my church where two women from a congregation keep an eye on other women in the congregation and take them a monthly spiritual message.) Today, my cherubs sprouted horns and tails.

I am embarrassed to say that I gave one of my children the "mom finger" in front of my visiting teaching partner. No, it's not the naughty finger, it's the index finger, pointed in a way that says "Get in line bucko, or lighting will come out of my finger and strike you down." The mom finger is usually backed up by a look that would have given Ghenghis Kahn pause.

So, the morning was terrible and then it got worse. Being the mature adult that I am buried myself in meaningless television (thank you Ellen re-runs, The Voice, and Hulu in general) and augmented my t.v. therapy with chocolate chips and more cinnamon toast than I will publicly admit to. Honestly, I do respond maturely to life's problem sometimes, but mature, considered responses are not that interesting to write about. Therefore, you get the dented version of my life which, if not statistically accurate, is honest.

For the sake of argument, I'm willing to try writing an imaginary healthy response to the trials of motherhood. Ahem, here it goes: "Today child #1 buried a family heirloom in the backyard. I breathed deeply, told her I loved her more than (insert priceless object) and worked out my frustration by polishing the bathroom taps."

Ack. Choke. Splutter. I have had moments of deep composure and perspective. I love being that person. I just don't want to read about her. In fact, today, I would probably strangle her.

I need a place where I can admit to being dented and even occasionally talk about being broken. There is comfort in knowing that I am not alone in this battle. And that just maybe, other moms somewhere have given their children "the mom finger" in public.

Here's to tomorrow.

Cullinarily Challenged

I struggle in the kitchen. I am not good at creating dinners. I fully intend to get better -and I am - oh so very, very slowly. Good thing I have a patient husband who is handy with french toast and applesauce.

So, I have had a success. I have developed (developed: verb, meaning to have three or more disasters and to combine the successful elements of those disasters and create something less disastrous) an awesome granola recipe. I know, I know, I fed my family Ramen twice last week, we didn't eat till 7:45 on two of the other nights and here I am working on granola. Like I said, the process is a slow one.

So on this particular afternoon, the kids and I cranked the stereo and made granola together. There is nothing like rock n' roll and whole grains and dancing while your sauce simmers. Once again, we didn't eat till 7:30, and all we ate was granola, but everyone was smiling. Baby steps, baby steps.

I also finally made some pretty passable biscuits and gravy (Okay, I have to gloat, they are better than passable. I have had way more than three biscuit disasters in the last nine years and after eating these, my hubby said he wouldn't mind eating them every week - more if possible! !!!) I love finally figuring out the tricks. Did you know that when they say to sift the flour, they actually mean it? And when they say to cut the butter into pea sized pieces, that the actually mean pea sized pieces - not grape sized pieces? Amazing.

Here are the recipes:

Bethany's Biscuits

I am still tweaking this one, but they are awesome as is.

2 c sifted flour If you are not going to sift your flour STOP NOW. No really. STOP.

1 T sugar

3 t baking powder (a little more is fine)

1/2 t baking soda (a little more is fine)

1/4 t salt rounded (that means a little extra)

mix these all together

1/4 c frozen butter grated on a cheese grater

1/4 c cold butter flavored shortening cut into pea sized pieces in the flour.

you can use 1/2 c frozen butter instead, the shortening just gives them a little more fluff.

In a separate bowl mix the next three ingredients. (Yes really, it needs to be a new one. Trust me, it will be worth dirtying an extra bowl.)

1 egg

1/2 c buttermilk (yes buttermilk)

one dollop sour cream or FULL FAT yogurt.

Mix all together till just moistened. Turn onto a floured surface. Knead a few times (3 to 5) fold in half and roll to 3/4" thick. Cut with a round cutter or floured glass. Bake 450 degrees for 11 min on a parchment covered baking sheet.

Bethany's Granola

10 c old fashioned oats

1 c coconut (sweetened and shredded)

3/4 c raw sunflower seeds

1/4 c + ground flax

1/4 c + wheat germ

2 cups chopped nuts (pecans and almonds best)

2 t cinnamon

1/2 t salt

mix together and toast @ 200 degrees on 2 cookie sheets while you make the sauce

1/2 c oil

1/2 c water

1/4 c pure maple syrup

1/4 c honey

1/4 c brown sugar

2 T molasses

1 T vanilla

Heat to a simmer in a saucepan. Stir occasionally. Let simmer for a few minutes. Put toasted dry ingredients into a bowl. Pour sauce over top. Stir till evenly coated. Spread on two parchment covered baking sheets. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes rotating the pans (top rack to bottom) every 10 minutes or more. Stir the granola around a bit every time you rotate the pans.

Add Craisins (or raisins or dried apricots or dates etc.)

Stir

Cool

Serve.

Store in an airtight container.

Happy cooking!

Be still my soul

Sometimes a little "be still my house" is a necessary prerequisite to stilling my soul.

This morning I exploded. My internal cocktail included an 18 hour headache, a dozen or more interruptions to sleep (thank you child #2 and #3), crazy pregnancy hormones, wild dreams in which all of my child's hair fell out and there were no clothes in the world that fit me, and 35 minutes of uninterrupted screaming compliments of child#3 who has lungs Christina Aguilera would kill for and a determination that would have driven Christopher Columbus to discover Hawaii, Australia, South Africa and New Zealand while he was at it.

I flung back the covers, stormed into the kitchen, kicked all the cupboards and the refrigerator while yelling "Auuuurrrggghhh." I then called my faithful honey who was shoveling snow off the walks at the church, turned on Blues Clues for my kids and buried my head under the covers.

My husband came home, dressed all the kids and hauled them to church, which left me in a blissfully quiet house. I read two beautiful chapters in the scriptures - without interruption. I read a chapter in the Sunday School manual. I am writing and preparing a nice after-church snack for my kiddos (who are seeming cuter by the minute) and finally, finally, I am experiencing stillness in my soul.

There is great power in muscling through, and enduring all things and exercising patience. There is also great power in not being touched, pulled on, whined at for a few hours. It has been said that sometimes the Savior calms the storm and sometimes he calms the sailor. But sometimes, he looks down in love on one of His exploding, irrational daughters and he does both.

Encyclopedic Elegance

I once paid too much for a set of encyclopedias which turned out to be missing "G" and "Ch-Cz." Never before has a mistake that big (20 volumes big) turned into such a blessing. The leather is scuffed from the summer day when child #1 and her friends each took one out to the porch to look at the pictures. (I didn't mind, because really, what harm can a few scuff marks do when two whole volumes are missing.) Some days I find all three of my children strewn across the living room carpet, surrounded by a sprawl of these blue bound treasures.

The best part is the elegance of mind I am seeing in my children. I love their excitement as they bring me cool pictures to look at. My favorite moment of all occurred when my son, who is usually only interested in dinosaurs, fish and machines, pointed to a picture of native Puerto Ricans doing a dance in native dress and said "Mom, these people are beautiful." That is an elegance of mind that cannot be obtained in mindless sitcoms or light entertainment.

Just this week as I watched my son's gymnastics class I found myself between a Gucci handbag on one side, and two moms discussing exotic vacations on the other (Disneyland with the kids, cruises with the hubby, Italy in the summer, China next year, etc.) I pulled out my book on brain mylenation and dove in. (It's a book called "The Talent Code" and it is a delight. Not as well written as a Malcom Gladwell book, but close. Think of it as "Freakonomics" for neuroscience. A seriously, good read.)

Suddenly, I felt deeply ... wealthy. I had a treasure of great worth. And despite my peanut butter smudged sweater, and a hair-do provided by my two year old, I felt intrinsically elegant.

I am learning that certain experiences leave a deep and beautiful mark. They are never the easy ones - but they are the ones that give us our true beauty. Hmmm, how often do I choose an encyclopedic experience over a little mindless fluff? I could learn a lot from my kids.