CSquaredPlus3

The Dangerous Post About Religion

Politics and religion.  I've purposely not written much about either subject.  Not my expertise or my schtick.  Until now.

Organized religion fascinates me.  I'm drawn to rituals and traditions.  As a child raised in a small midwestern town, I watched neighbors faithfully attend various churches every Sunday.  People streamed like little ducks into the Methodist Church, some the Lutheran, and some to the nondenominational Main Street Christian Church -- the church where my family made an occasional appearance [usually on amateur night... Christmas or Easter].

When I was 11, I asked my mother if she believed in God.  She said it wasn't important what she believed, what was important was what I believed.  She told me all she knew for certain was that there was something deep inside of her -- a feeling -- that helped her discern the difference between right and wrong.  She said some other things too, but she supported me when I wanted to attend church, Mass or synagogue with friends, learn about Campus Crusade for Christ, or join the Fellowship of Christian Athletes.  Most of my friends had a tangible family religion.  I wanted one too.

I tried.  I kind of felt it, but I also faked it.  I tried again.  I prayed.  I meditated.  And I felt it -- and faked it -- again.

Christianity Seemed To Be The New Black

After the birth of our first two sons, Chris and I felt compelled to give them religion.  Having been raised in an agnostic household like I was, Chris struggled with me on how to accomplish this.  We attended a Unity Church in Kansas City for a brief period.  I cried a lot when we went, especially when we sang. Church -- corporate worship in general -- typically moves me.  It was okay, but still not right for us.

While enduring a very difficult and heartbreaking time with one of our young sons, a Christian friend and neighbor encouraged us to attend church with them.  Although I'd referred to myself as a Christian since I'd been a child, I REALLY jumped into Christianity with both feet.  I read The Good Book many times, as well as the works of Christian apologists, went to bible studies, conferences, and saw Josh McDowell speak.  I wanted to understand, know and feel what everyone else seemed to so comfortably embrace.

I was there.  I got it.  Chris got it.  We believed.  It made perfect sense, even with the leap of faith that is a part of all religions...  at least it made perfect sense most of the time.  In hindsight, there was a little bit of faking it, and an abundance of trying and smiling.

No Need To Debate

My goal isn't to change anyone's belief system or disprove a religion.  On the contrary, I would never presume to convince anyone of something that I'm not 100% certain of myself.  I haven't rejected Christianity in total; I simply can no longer fake... anything.  We've met some nice people through the churches we've attended, but I can honestly say that none of those people remained close to us when our church attendance began decreasing.  An all-or-nothing approach to social activities and relationships that were rooted in the church began to feel... not right... for us.  Not that it's a bad thing, because clearly there are many, many people whose lives revolve around their faith, and it's a positive thing for them.  I live in Utah.  Remember?  I understand.

I tried it on.  I wore it until the weight of the fabric became too heavy for me.  I unbuttoned a few buttons, shed a few inches from the hem, and finally stepped out of my dress.  For me, I could breathe again.  Ironically, many of my friends describe that feeling when they step in to their faith.  I'm truly tolerant and accepting of the beliefs of others.  I don't judge my devout, or non-devout, friends.  I suppose because I'm human, I'm prone to a bit of judgment, but my intentions are to understand.

What It Looks Like Now

We don't attend church as regularly as we used to.  The boys have a foundation in Christianity, but we were beginning to feel like we were brainwashing them.  It was time to back off... for us.  Not completely turn the bus around, but slow down.  Way down.

When I say I'll pray for you.  Know that I will.  Usually with Chris and the boys.  Without exaggeration, we get on our knees every night as a family, give thanks, pray for the needs of others and for ourselves.   We talk to God.  Together.  I also talk to God when I run, when I do dishes, when I'm walking through the mall.

The new phrase seems to be "reverently agnostic".  Maybe that's what I am.  I'm not sure.  Maybe a quiet, questioning Christian.  Maybe a phony, maybe not.

We named one of our sons James, although he doesn't go by James, Jim or Jimmy.  James is a short book in the bible.  I've always liked it.  Probably because it was short and easy to understand.  I'm also a huge fan of James Taylor.  What's not to like?  Our son's name will forever be a reminder of the beliefs I straddle and struggle to understand.  

In this moment, I find myself spiritually fed by this...

The Women

Polygamy (Plural Marriage)

The family is ordained of God. Marriage between man and woman is essential to His eternal plan. At certain times and for His specific purposes, God, through His prophets, has directed the practice of plural marriage (sometimes called polygamy), which means one man having more than one living wife at the same time. In obedience to direction from God, Latter-day Saints followed this practice for about 50 years during the 1800s but officially ceased the practice of such marriages after the Manifesto was issued by President Woodruff in 1890. Since that time, plural marriage has not been approved by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and any member adopting this practice is subject to losing his or her membership in the Church.

-Taken from LDS.ORG

It was a hot day in late June, the Hogle Zoo in Salt Lake City wasn't crowded, and the animals were surprisingly active.  I packed lunches for my sons and myself.  We enjoyed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on a picnic table while watching zebras play.  I chose a table away from the others, that was in the shade and clean.  As we were eating, a man and woman wheeled their disabled adult son around us to a table that was more secluded than ours.  They prepared their son for a tube feeding, and fed him.  I watched my sons, interested in their reaction.  It didn't phase them.  They smiled at the three-person family, happily ate their sandwiches and enjoyed the rearing zebras.

As we walked around the zoo, I noticed some young men wearing jeans, long-sleeve, button-front shirts and wide brimmed hats.  The Hogle Zoo is near a historical park where employees wear "pioneer" clothes.  At first I thought the young men were from the park, but then I noticed their contemporary shoes.  Then I saw them join several young girls, a few women and one man.  They were an FLDS polygamist family. On occasion I see sister-wives shopping for groceries and I'm aware of a few polygamist homes where I've seen women and children milling around, but I've never seen an entire FLDS family together in public.  I was fascinated.  I wanted to follow them, watch them, eavesdrop, take pictures, and ask questions. 

Coincidentally, we happened to be on the same general path around the zoo so I was able to observe this family for nearly an hour.  I was not following them, I was following my kids.  It was serendipitous.

What I noticed...

The Girls:  They ranged in age from preschool age to late teens.  They all wore the classic FLDS dresses and had long, beautifully braided hair.  They were pretty little girls, all fair-haired or red-haired, and freckled.  They looked healthy and happy, spoke freely to one another, their brothers, mothers and father, and moved about the exhibits with the normal pace and excitement of any child.  Some of the older girls had digital and video cameras.  They never looked at or seemed to notice another human being.  It was as if people were invisible, or insignificant, like a tree or a bush.  Aware of it's location, but able to maneuver around the object without looking directly at it.

The Boys:  They too ranged in age from preschool age to late teens.  There were fewer boys than girls, and a couple of the older ones had rugged good looks, and working hands.  Their coloring was like the girls, and again, they were all attractive, looked physically healthy, talked and laughed with each other and their family members, and displayed unabashed excitement and pleasure while viewing the animals.  Their long sleeve shirts were buttoned at the collar and their hats looked like something Tom Sawyer would wear.  The only visible skin, like the girls, was their hands and their faces.  They also did not look at another person outside of their family.  Not once.

The Father:  He was dressed like the boys except his hat looked like a pith helmet.  He was a red-haired man, not nearly as handsome as his sons, and built like... Rush Limbaugh.  His face resembled Ron Howard's, almost soft and appealing, with an expression that I read as both melancholy and content.  He may have been 45-55 years old.  He stayed close to his wives and occasionally he bent down to listen to something a young child wanted to say to him, giving the child a smile and a pat.  He looked at the animals, but he was watching people.  I believe he was constantly taking in the surroundings as the protector of his family.

The Women:  I saw four wives.  They were dressed like the girls, hair elaborately braided with high bangs, but these weren't pretty women.  They looked middle-aged, tired and frumpy, although I can't honestly say that they looked unhappy.  Their faces likely betrayed their age.  They were probably younger than they looked.  The kids all appeared so physically healthy with rosy cheeks, nice teeth and bright eyes.  The women, in contrast, all had 20-40 pounds to lose and looked like the kind of women who are busy taking care of everyone but themselves.  Two of the women had digital cameras and were snapping pictures of the animals and the kids.  Just like the children, none of the women looked at anyone outside of their family.

My Sons:  They seemed oblivious to this family.  Other zoo visitors were clearly curious, and I was both surprised and pleased to see how discreetly people tried to satisfy their curiosity.  Glancing at one of the family members quickly, resisting the urge to stare.  My boys didn't even steal a glance.  At one point Toddler Child was in the midst of several little FLDS girls, darting from exhibit to exhibit.  He moved their skirts out of the way if he couldn't see an animal.  I nearly hurt myself trying to take a picture of Toddler Child looking at a crocodile with the girls.  To preserve the kids' identities, I'll only share this one.

I've watched various documentaries about the FLDS sect.  Women [who haven't escaped] claim to be happy and content.  How can they not be when they don't know anything different?  I find it interesting that even with the boundaries established for them, the women are still women.  Because they don't cut their hair, they get as creative as possible with intricate braids, twists and bangs.  The dresses have subtle differences in pleats, buttons, collars, and stitching.  When given a box in which to operate, they still explore every nook and cranny.  Where these women can exercise their girl-power, they do.

I don't know why this family was in Salt Lake City at the Hogle Zoo on an afternoon in late June.  They may have been in town for reasons associated with the Warren Jeffs trial.  I'm not aware of FLDS members "vacationing".  The children I saw that day appeared healthy and happy.  Almost typical in their behavior.  Their future is predictable unless they exit the faith.  We know the end of the story.  With the recent attention on the Lost Boys and the practice of marrying underage girls [something the FLDS sect has renounced], perhaps their future will be... I don't know... better?  not so bad?  Their world is so radically different from ours that it's difficult to imagine.

The father of this family seemed content and proud of his beautiful children and devoted wives.  I'm convinced he believes he's traveling a righteous path.

To think about this entire family, their beliefs, the obviously hard-working boys, girls, women and even father, their clothing on a hot summer day, wondering if the boys would ever have a chance to marry, knowing none of them will marry for love... in total left me feeling still curious, and uneasy.  But it was the faces of the women, those women, that disturbed me the most. 

The Crock-pot

I love to cook.  Mostly because I like to eat.  I'm a bit of a foodie, but have also been known to take a box of Wheat Thins and a bowl of green olives and wasabi, soy almonds to bed for dinner.  Followed by a handful of M&Ms.  Yes, there's wine in there somewhere.

I think slow cooking is under utilized today.  It's convenient and the recipes have improved since the days of a can of tomatoes, 1/2 cup of water, a sliced potato and onion thrown on top of a chuck roast.  Check out the book Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker for some great recipes.

I've been eyeing the Porsche of slow cookers for the past couple of years.  I've owned a few different brands and have been disappointed in all of them.  If I had just purchased the Porsche originally, I wouldn't have wasted time and money on the inferior slow cookers.  I convinced Chris that I would cook beautiful, nutritious meals EVERY night if I had the dream machine.

I finally bought it.  The All-Clad Deluxe Slow Cooker was difficult to carry to my car, but I managed.  I waddled like a rat who had found a food scrap half the size of his body, but there was no way the treasure would be dropped.  Impossible.  I loved it so much I left it in the box in our kitchen pantry for weeks, wanting it to remain unspoiled for a while.  When I unpacked it I found a safe, special spot for it so it wouldn't get damaged or fingerprinted by the boys foraging for pantry crap.

I used it for the first time recently.  I tested all it's functions, browned the meat on the stove, sauteed veggies, then tossed the remaining ingredients in and cooked on low for several hours.  No extra pans to clean!  The LOW setting was actually low, and not the same as HIGH like my prior slow cookers.  I carefully cleaned the All-Clad Deluxe Slow Cooker so it looked brand new, and placed it in it's safe, special spot.  It's remained fingerprint and scratch-free ever since.

My neighbor called this morning.

"Hi, Chris.  Sorry to call so early, but I need to borrow a crock-pot.  Do you have one?"

Oh no!  What do I do?  What do I say?  I'm crazy.  This is crazy.  It's just a slow cooker - a crock-pot - you have to loan it to her. But, wait... What if she's using it for a church function?  Those LDS ward gatherings are a zoo!  There are always a million kids and pudgy, careless dads who don't know that if they use the wrong serving utensil, they'll scratch the appliance.  But Mormons are so kind and giving.  She'd loan her new All-Clad Deluxe Slow Cooker to ANYONE.  She knows I'm not Mormon though - she'll expect less from me...

"I do have a crock-pot.  A new one, actually."

"Would you rather I not use it?"

"Well...  I hate to ask this, but is it for a church function?"

"Um... no.   I'm having my parents over and wanted to keep some pre-prepared soup warm in it.  But I don't want to borrow it if..."  [Thank God, she's not actually preparing food in it.  That's better.]

"No-no-no.  Please, let me explain."  Then I babbled about the new slow cooker, how it was the Porsche of all brands and I'd wanted it forever but felt guilty spending that much money on it, and how I had just given my old crock-pots to Supermodel [a neighbor, friend and one of my workout partners] because she wanted them for church functions, like funerals, etc..., and I'm sure she would loan them - just for future reference.

"I'm happy to loan it to you!"  I lied.

My neighbor is coming over shortly to pick up the All-Clad Deluxe Slow Cooker.  The one that I've dreamed of and is clean, fingerprint and scratch-free.  I'm a wreck.  I need to call my therapist, or a friend, or not answer the door when she knocks...

Lonely

Chris drove away earlier than usual this morning with Oldest Boy, Middle Boy and my friend T who had been visiting from New York.  We promised the boys an Egg McMuffin, a hot lunch at school [as opposed to the routine packed lunch] AND they could forego the Cotillion Theme Party tonight - IF they got up a little earlier to get Mr. T to the airport before school.  They agreed.

So off they went.  T just called me from the airport because he'd spotted an actor on his flight - the Sundance Film Festival is in progress so lots of celebrities are floating around Utah.  I saw his name on caller ID, picked up the phone and said, "You miss me already?"

I miss having good friends who live closer.  I miss having a friend to grab a cup of coffee with or get together for some conversation and laughter.  We've lived in our home for over six years and I'm disappointed that I've not developed a relationship like that "in my own backyard".  I've attributed it to the fact that nearly 100% of our neighborhood are members of the Mormon church and we are not.  It's not that the members shun or dislike us, I believe there are very few free moments to cultivate self and relationships outside of the ward. 

Most women are stay-at-home mothers in our neighborhood, but their days are full [like everyone's] with housework, kid stuff, and for some a job outside of the home.  In addition, their dance cards are full with church responsibilities and obligations.  It seems when women get together it's because it's a ward organized activity or club.  I've been invited and everyone's nice, but it's different than having a friend who accepts you regardless of your flaws and genuinely connects with you - not because it's the right or nice thing to do, but because it's a true thing between two people.  Friendship.

I have a couple of friends in the neighborhood, but there are pieces of me that I filter, out of respect.  I know we all do this with the variety of relationships in our life.  We have many faces for different reasons and it seems appropriate and not false.  The few people who are privileged to see all of our faces are just that... few.  I know this.

Chris and I have discussed the social dynamics we observe ad nauseam.  It began seriously bothering me about six months ago, ironically about the time I started this blog.  The reality of living somewhere "neighborhoody" for SO long, and not having a few people to share some casual life experiences, seems... unnatural.

T's visit was refreshing, calming, energizing and fun.  Satiating.  I'm okay for awhile.

I spoke with T about my feelings and experiences.  He sympathized and shared examples of his own feelings of isolation, oppression, and loneliness at various times and places in his life.  We came to the conclusion that there are women in my own neighborhood who probably feel the way I do.  There are people in T's apartment building in Manhattan who likely know lonely.

I don't know what Chris and I will do.  We might move closer to Salt Lake City, which would enable us to more easily connect with people from the kids' school, people Chris works with and experience more diversity in general.  Or we might stay here gambling that the social grasses might not be greener.  I don't know.

I do know I'm thankful for the true friends in my life, of which Chris is the best one and I even get to live with him.  Lucky me.

I also know I had a kick-ass time with T, skiing, eating, drinking, laughing, watching the inauguration, and Bolt in 3D.

Something's wrong with my radar.

I can't judge a person's character anymore.  Not that I should be judging, but I find myself quickly placing people I meet into one of two groups now.  Reserving only a small space in my head for the select few I deem normal, which - in my defense - is actually defined broadly.  It's a quick trip however, if someone's even slightly leaning towards one of the other two buckets in my head.

 

(The overlap between Religious Radicals and Swingers is by design.  Open your eyes.  It happens.)

This all started about six years ago...

Our new neighborhood in Utah.
As I've mentioned before, we love living in Utah.  When we first moved here though, we went through some adjustment and subtle culture-shock.  For about six months we felt the desire of some to convert us.  We expected it and even understood it to a degree, but after awhile it got old.  It's over now, and it's important for me to say that my Mormon friends are NOT trying to convert us.  (At least I don't think so.  Maybe they're just really good at it...)

We also had some experiences with Jehovah's Witnesses and Evangelical Christians where views were radically off center.  It seemed we were running into more and more people with extreme opinions.

Our first night out in Utah.
It took us about a year to settle in and find a sitter that could manage Oldest Boy's diabetes (he was five).  Chris and I went out to dinner.  We ate and drank slowly, but found ourselves finished before 8:00.

On our way home, I suggested we stop at a club and dance.  We hadn't done that in years and it might be fun.  I told Chris we'd probably be the oldest ones there, but who cares.  He agreed, so we randomly picked a place.

When we walked in, things were different. 

The band wasn't playing yet.  We decided to grab a table, wait, and dance as soon as the music started.  Then we'd head home.

The place was big and set up like a banquet hall.  Folding tables and chairs.  Maybe it was a Utah thing.  Not many people, and the ones that were there weren't that young... and they looked like Midwest, bowling alley people.  Hmm.

We sat close to the bar at the first table in a row of about ten.  People began arriving - more bowling alley people - and gathered at the tables in our row.  They were bringing gift bags, and seemed happy to see each other.  It looked like a large group celebrating someone's birthday.  A few people said "Hi!" to us and we asked if we were invading their space.  Nooooooooo, they said with BIG smiles.

The band was finally getting ready to play.  We were feeling... different.  Something wasn't right. 

A woman from the large group came over to our table and sat very close to me.  She was wearing a gold lame top.  She made small talk then asked, "Are you here with AFF?"  No, I said cheerfully, we just drove by and wanted to grab a dance before heading home.  We're new to Utah, blah blah blah, I virginally offered.  I figured AFF must have something to do with Agriculture or Farmers because...  well just because.

She left our table.  Chris said, "Follow me.  We're leaving."

As we walked across the dance floor, dozens of couples staring at us longingly, it clicked that those people were swingers and we were being checked out and hit upon.  I was mortified.  AFF stands for Adult Friend Finder.  I looked it up when we got home, and I'm not linking to it, so google it if you're interested.  If you're a member, please keep it private.  I don't need to know.

The Problem.
I feel like I have Post Traumatic Religious-Radical/Swinger Syndrome.  When we meet new people I'm hyper-suspicious now.  I'll say, "I think she was hitting on us.  I bet they're swingers."  Or, "He was churchy.  Did they seem too churchy to you?" 

Last Night.
Chris called me on his way home from Oldest Boy's basketball practice. 

Me:  "Did you talk to anyone?"

Chris:  "Yeah, but it was hard.  It was super noisy."

Me:  "Were the 'So-N-So's' there?"

Chris:  "No.  I didn't see them."

Me:  "I think they're swingers anyway."

Chris:  "You've really gotta quit that."

Oh yeah? Well my daddy is Secratariet.

Our kids attend a private school.  Chris and I both went to public schools and Chris' parents were teachers in public schools.  This post is not discrediting public or private education.

Why do our kids go to private school?  It's a great liberal arts school and we're able to knock some nickles together to make it happen.  When we can't find anymore change under the couch cushions, we'll go to plan B.  The school also provides some much needed diversity for our kids.

Living in Utah county, there's almost no religious diversity, and there are lots and lots of white people.  Attractive white people.  Other than when Mom and Dad lived in Venezuela, I don't think I've seen so many attractive people in one geographic location.  In Caracas, the women had big boobs, pretty lips, white teeth, silky hair, perfect manicures, tight clothes and high heels. 

Once before a visit Mom warned me, "Just leave any jealous tendencies at home.  The women here are  drop-dead gorgeous.  They dress sexy all the time, and they love attention... I think the national fabric is spandex.  Chris will gawk.  So will you.  Prepare yourself."  The women were gorgeous and the men were handsome and machismo.  Back to the education issue...

It was important for us to send our kids to a school that offered more diversity.  We were seeking different faiths, ethnicities, family size and shape, and maybe a few ugly kids.

I was on a ski lift last winter with a couple from NYC.  People are always curious about what it's "really like" to live here.  They asked all the usual questions about liquor laws, and do people try to convert us.  I told them our kids went to a private school, among other reasons, for the purpose of social variety.  The couple thought it ironic, because they said parents in NYC seeking diversity for their kids chose public school over private.

People make assumptions about us because of our decision to send the boys to private school.  We don't think public school isn't "good enough".  We're not rich.  We value kindness, intelligence and a love of learning, over a pedigree that's tossed around as a status symbol.  Schools known for their excellence certainly appeal to us and we can appreciate someone's discipline and ability to achieve their educational goal.  But quality education can occur many places, formally and informally.  I'd love to go back in time and have a do-over with my own college experience.

One time Chris was having a business lunch with several guys and it was the part when people start sniffing around to size each other up - they shared where they went to school.  Harvard, Yale, Duke, MIT - Oh, 2 degrees from MIT? - Neato.  [It really is neat.  Chris nor I have pedigrees.] 

During the lunch, when a colleague of Chris' who is intelligent, down-to-earth, and happens to have an impressive pedigree, was asked where he went to school, he very seriously answered, "Pond's Institute."  Nobody got it - except Chris.  Everyone nodded, oohed and ahhed.

You know, I really don't care if our sons go to Oxford or The Pond's Institute, marry a Vegas Showgirl or become one.  I hope they're kind, independent, want to share their lives with us, and never stop learning.

I don't know if this town is big enough for the two of us...

Today is my husband's birthday.  Happy Birthday Honey...  I will give you the gift of not blogging about you today.  You're welcome.

I hurt myself yesterday.  I pulled my left quad, leaping over Toddler Child while I was trotting down the stairs.  I almost passed out from the pain.  Three little boys stared at me as I layed there making gutteral noises, beads of sweat on my forehead.  Toddler Child kept saying, "You hurt you-self Mom?"  Yes.  Yes I did.  I didn't think I would make it, but the doctor told me I'm going to live.

There's a sports medicine guy in our town that everyone goes to.  He's like the great and powerful Oz from The Wizard of Oz.  You either see him, or amputate.  I got in to see "the guy" last night, and was there again this morning.  Apparently a torn muscle, when treated ASAP after the injury, can heal miraculously fast.

After assessing my injury "the guy" made polite small talk.

The Guy:  So, you're a Ross.  [brow furrowed, thinking, thinking, thinking...]

Me:  Yes.  I'm friends with Supermodel (not her real name) and Julie.  They both recommended you.

The Guy:  Oh, you have the boy who's a Senior.  [thinking, thinking, thinking...]

Me:  Uh, no.  I have three boys - 10, 8, and 2 1/2.  I'm old enough to have a Senior though.  Heh-heh.  [my Beavis and Butt-head laugh]

The Guy:  What's your husband do?  [thinking, thinking, thinking...]

Me:  He's a marketing guy.  I don't really know what he does.

I wanted to put "the guy" out of his misery and say.  You don't know us because we're not in your ward.  We're not in any ward.  My boys aren't deacons.  My husband's not on the bishopric and my calling is nada.  We're the family, living on that corner, that are not members.  Then "the guy" could say, "OH.  Those Ross'."

"The guy" finished with me and called a gal in to wrap my leg.  He explained that if I needed to go home to get underclothes they could wrap over anything I felt I needed to wear.  I said, "Thanks.  I'm good."  He left the room, the gal gets ready to wrap my leg.

Me:  Do you want me to just lift my shorts up?

The Gal:  Um, you're going to have to remove your shorts - I need to wrap this around your hips too.  If you need to put somethings else on before I wrap, I can wait.

Me:  "The Guy" mentioned that too.  Just so you know I'm not LDS.  Before I pull my shorts down, I should also tell you I'm wearing green underwear with white polka-dots.  Sorry.

The Gal:  [Smiling]  You mean there are two of us in this town?

Me:  You're not LDS?  [shocked and amazed]

The Gal:  No.

This morning I returned to see the great and powerful Oz.  I was treated, and again it was time for my wrap.

The Guy:  Okay.  Time to get wrapped.  Now, I know you live close so if you want to run home and get anything you need to wear for the day, we can wrap over that.  [thinking, thinking, thinking...she seems nice enough to be Mormon???]

Me:  Thanks.  I'm good.

My leg was wrapped, I was given final instructions, and off I went.  I'll return tomorrow morning for more physical therapy.  I'll be the only one with multi-colored underwear and a hang-over though...

Who needs Starbucks (uh, me) when Snoasis is in town?!

My friend Julie thought it would be a good idea to open a shaved ice business in our small town.  She did her homework and opened her "Snoasis" in early June.  It's a huge hit.  It's rare when there aren't 20-25 people waiting in line at her "shack".  Julie's kids are working, other kids are working, Julie's working, Julie's friends are working - these snow cones are HOT.  I can't help but wonder what she's putting in her syrup...

Wednesday evenings are slotted for Young Women and Young Men activities for LDS kids.  It's like Young Life or a "Youth Group" at other churches.  For non-church goers, its like a kegger (minus the keg or the creepy adults lurking who bought the keg).  Fun and important for these kids regardless.  Julie tries her best to let her teenage, LDS employees attend their church activity so she seeks adult help to work at Snoasis on Wednesday nights.

I'm one of Julie's biggest fans and have been anxious to get in that crazy shack and help - as well as snoop around to see how she's addicting the community to her icy treats. 

Last Wednesday evening I was finally able to work with Julie, one of her other girlfriends and the girlfriend's 18 year-old son.  At first I thought it might be overkill for four of us to man the shack, and maybe Julie was just allowing me to help so I felt I was contributing to her project. 

I worked for four hours.  The first hour was slow but steady - perfect for me to learn the cash register and how to take orders.  It's like Starbucks - name of customer and flavor preferences written on the cup, take the money, then pass the cup to the ice shaver person.  Simple.

By 7:00 p.m. the line was at a minimum 20 people deep and it didn't shorten until closing at 10:00 p.m.  Some people ate their snow cone, then got back in line for another one. 

The shack's pretty small, so our butt's were bumping and we'd politely say excuse me, but other than that, there was no conversation.  It was difficult to hear over the jet engine ice shaving machine - so we had to shout to each other to communicate.   A crazy night. 

Those kids and Julie work hard to keep up with the demand.  It's not like one of those "normal" snow cone shacks where a handful of people stumble by once in a while.  The people who visit Snoasis want their treat, and are willing to wait patiently, sometimes for as long as 30 minutes, for their turn to order.  I've never seen anything like it.

I don't think this is just a "Utah thing", although Julie tells me Utah has proven to be a strong snow cone market. (huh?)  I think it's a combination of a small town that was ripe for this business, a great location, a well-run and clean "shack", friendly employees, a tiny bit of a "Utah thing".  But more than anything, I REALLY think Julie's slippin' people a little sumpin sumpin.  If you know what I mean...

Dehydrated Hash Browns

We live in Utah County which is predominantly LDS (Mormon).  I'm just being descriptive, not judgmental.  Many people wonder how/why we ended up here, as opposed to Salt Lake County which is more diverse.  There's a dividing line between Salt Lake and Utah Counties commonly referred to as "point of the mountain".  Salt Lake City is in Salt Lake County - north of point of the mountain and Provo is in Utah County - south of point of the mountain.  When Chris took the job that brought us to Utah we were directed by friends, both LDS and not, where to house hunt - Salt Lake County.  Chris' job was in Provo at the time so living north would have meant more of a commute. 

Eventually we stumbled on the little town where we now live in Utah County.  It's beautiful here.  The home we purchased was a spec home and the builder, his agent, and our agent, told us how diverse this community was after we expressed concern about being the only people in the neighborhood who weren't members of the Mormon church.  Belief systems that are different from ours aren't a problem, but we'd always lived in neighborhoods that were "melting pots" - people from different places, single people, married people, one child, several children, retired people, people who went to church, people who didn't - so to live in a community where everyone was part of something that we weren't was - well, different.

We moved in and...guess what?  It's not that diverse here.  Duh.  Wasn't a problem at first, after six months it felt a little funny - isolating (I truly believe we went through a mild form of culture shock), then time helped us adapt to and understand the root of some of the differences.  We realized it was nothing personal towards us - people here have full dance cards with church responsibilities and activities.  We're accepted by our community (we blend in like white on rice though) and people go out of their way to make us feel welcome and included.  Sometimes we still feel like "outsiders" but for the most part we're part of the fabric.  Kinda.

SO, a neighbor and friend stopped by the other day to say hello.  We hadn't visited in a while so we caught up about kids, summer plans, who's hosting Bunko when, etc...  It was nice.  She said she'd been busy lately making dehydrated hash browns for food storage.  I said wow.  Impressive.  She said she should have called me so I could get in on it.  I said that would be great but I wouldn't be storing them - just eating them.  I told her (like I tell all my friends who store food) that we're relying on she and the rest of the community to feed us in the event of a major disaster.  This is all spoken in a good-natured tone and with smiles.

She didn't miss a beat and with her big grin said, "That's the way it's supposed to work!  And we know you'll bring the beer and chocolate!"

It works REALLY well here for us.