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FAITH FAMILY ADVENTURE SHORT ANSWERS

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Thursday, October 26, 2006

Lizzy's Friend

At lunch at the magazine conference on Tuesday, Peter and I were sitting at a table enjoying our salads and talking to a woman who edits a Detroit business magazine owned by Crain Communications (publishers of Ad Age). In a pause in our conversation, Peter leaned over and whispered to me that people from the Church magazines had just joined our table. The serendipity of the meeting surprised both parties, and we soon delved into friendly chatter across the table about our respective magazines. After a few minutes I discovered that the quiet woman next to me also worked for the Church magazines; she is an editor for the Friend, the Church magazine targetted to children.

Lizzy absolutely loves the Friend, and I quickly told the woman of her publication's popularity around our home. When we stopped by a garage sale earlier this year, a cardboard box filled with Church magazines caught our eye, and Lizzy began gleefully pulling out old copies of the Friend that she had to have. We headed home that day with a dozen or so issues that predated our own subscription. Now those magazines sit in a pile by her bed, and she regularly reads and rereads them. When the new issue comes each month, she gets all excited about "her magazine" and can't wait to devour it. Bedtime stories frequently come from the Friend, and the magazine serves as a handy quiet book for Church meetings.

My new friend from the Friend was, of course, pleased to hear of her book's popularity, but she was not nearly so pleased about this chance meeting as someone else.

That evening I called home and talked to my family. When it was Lizzy's turn, I told her of my lunchtime meeting with an editor of the Friend. Without pause and with an extra burst of gusto, she exclaimed, "That's so cool!"

Monday, October 23, 2006

NYC Personality

No matter how many times I visit big cities, I still feel like a backwoods hillbilly gawking at civilization for the first time whenever I find myself surrounded by concrete canyons, honking traffic, and millions of people bustling along the sidewalks.

The awe started last night as our plane descended over New York City just after 3 a.m. (we were supposed to arrive at about 11 p.m., but mechanical delays kept us sitting in the SLC airport for a few hours). Peering out the window I studied patterns of orange and white lights and tried to piece together a map. As the East River bridges became unmistakable, I began to feel that excitement of arriving in a place where big things happen all the time. A Haitian taxi cab driver met us at baggage claim (we exchanged a few words in Creole, but his English was better than my Creole, so that exercise ended quickly) and drove like a crazy man through the west end of Long Island, across a very utilitarian Queensborough bridge (not nearly as cool as the lit up suspension lines of the Brooklyn Bridge), through a maze of narrow streets, past Central Park, and to our hotel.

Today (after we slept in) was filled with a magazine conference, and there was little time for the big city wonder—except for my hero worship as I heard three high-level folks at Time Inc. speak (the managing editor of Money, the editor of the new startup Cottage Living, and the research director for all of Time—they publish tons of major mags, from People to Sports Illustrated... and, of course, Time).

Then this evening, Peter (my coworker) and I headed downtown to meet his brother for dinner. The subway, actually, was the first thing that kindled my wide eyes and my tourist "hey, this is cool" smile. It's not like I've never ridden on a metropolitan transit train before. I lived in Chicago for nearly a year and the El took me everywhere. But the experience is just rare enough in my life now that when I do it there's that mixture of unfamiliarity and adventure that builds a certain giddiness. The whole complexity of the system is part of it—a network of lines tangled through the city map as if someone spilled a plate of multi-colored spaghetti and decided the mess would work for a transit system—and when you successfully navigate a noodle (or a couple of noodles) you emerge from the subterranean station with a bit of a confident swagger, feeling like an urban veteran not a just-off-the-plane hick.

But most of my childlike awe is derived from the parade of humanity displayed in a big city subway system. Colors, religions, cultures, occupations, ages, hair styles, clothing styles, body decoration, accents, vocabulary—you encounter so much of it in a brief 20 minute ride on a train. They come and they go and they squish in around you. They stand next to you and look at you across the train. They have loud conversations with friends on the train or on the phone. They read books or newspapers or stare out the window or close their eyes. And for a brief moment, we're all in it together. We're all in one train car, swaying to the same forces of shifting momentum, breathing the same air, steadying ourselves with the same bar, standing closer to each other than is acceptable for conversations with old friends when you meet by chance at the store. The colorful melding of diverse human beings is—to me—delightful, and I can't help but smile at the exhilaration of being joined in a casual, everyday communal practice with types of people I could go without seeing for months in my normal Utah existence.

When we ascended from the depths on the lower east side and met up with Ned, we embarked on what I now think must be a way of life for New Yorkers: We walked and walked and walked and walked—not unlike pioneer children—to find a restaurant. The walking wasn't a result of a scarcity of restaurants, but just a condition resulting from the distance to the desired restaurant from our point of embarkation. The same thing occurred on my first trip to New York when Christine's high school friend decided we should go to one of her favorite restaurants and we walked and walked and... you get the idea.

Walking and walking in New York is not necessarily bad. It's just not what we do in Utah County. In Utah County, we drive. But this is New York and when in New York, we do as New Yorkers. So we walked and walked and encountered some delightful aspects of life in the city that you would miss in the car.

For instance, as we walked down a fairly empty Orchard Street, engaged in pleasant conversation, we were taken aback by an old Jewish shopkeeper, standing in front of his store, who greeted us enthusiastically: "Three gentlemen all smiling. That's what I like to see." We paused for a moment to respond to his warm friendly smile, and he asked us where we were from. Though he is from New York, he said, his parents are from Europe—his mother from Romania, his father from England. He looked to be in his 50s or 60s, his hair and scraggly, sparse beard was mostly white blonde, with a bit of pale orange protruding from the back of his black yarmulke. Long curly sideburns hung down in front of his ears and had been tucked up behind his ears, so they made a loop around the bottom of the ears. He wore a white, slightly wrinkled dress shirt with no tie.

He and Ned spoke briefly of the neighborhood and soon the man—Sammy, as he told us later—was beckoning us inside where he wanted to show us something. It seemed he was making reference to their conversation about the neighborhood and I thought perhaps he was going to tell us about the building or show us something of historical significance.

As we entered the shop, he gestured in passing to an even older man, similar in dress and appearance, behind a counter and said, "This is my father." We all greeted the venerable old man as if we'd just been introduced to a good friend's grandfather and then followed Sammy who was moving further into the store. It was a men's clothing store and Sammy took us quickly to a rack of coats. I began to smile as I realized we had just been taken in—literally.

"Someday, this is you," he said to Ned as he held out a nice black zip-up coat that looked to be made of wool or fleece.

"I hope it's not me," Ned joked, but Sammy didn't get it, and Ned quickly recovered. "It would look great on me, but I hope I am not someday hanging on a rack to be sold."

Sammy either still didn't get it or he didn't want to bother with laughter. A skillful conversationalist, Ned turned the talk away from coats and Sammy humored him momentarily with friendly chat. Soon, however, he proved himself no less skillful as he employed a friendly nonsequiter that made us, again, believe at first he was going to show us something of personal or historical significance. "Speaking of that, I've got something to show you upstairs." Upstairs, however, were racks and racks of suits, one of which he quickly pulled out and again targetted at Ned.

Ned fended him off, and he turned on Peter, but we were able to successfully begin the transition out of the store. Before we left, though, he managed to get me to model a very nice black leather jacket. "Feel how soft that is," said Sammy.

"Wow, think of the hug you'll get when you get home to your wife," smiled Ned.

"Yeah," I returned, "until she sees the price tag." The price tag? $750.

By now we were moving steadily to the door, but not without various attempts to lure us back in. We left—each of us fingering one of Sammy's business cards—with Sammy's invitation to return and to send our friends . . . and with bigger smiles than those we had when we entered.

Well, Sammy was by far the most entertaining aspect of the evening. But we also traversed Chinatown, where the ethnicity of passersby suddenly changed and everything, from newspapers to official city signs, was in Chinese; we admired an old Jewish synagogue, in the middle of current Chinatown; we noted a large statue of Confucius; and we dined at Katz's Delicatessen, an establishment nearly 120 years old.

As Peter and I made our way back to the hotel later, Peter commented on the unplanned personality of the city. Someone didn't sit down and map out a great way to have a city filled with personality. The personality of New York City—the many personalities of New York City—grew naturally from the people who chose to inhabit it.

In the young cities of the west, it often seems that much of a municipality's personality is strategically selected and regulated, not to mention dominated by commercial chains like Wal-Mart and McDonalds. There often doesn't seem to be much room for the sort of organic natural growth that exists in a place like New York City. Of course, many western cities also lack the diversity to feed that natural growth, so we end up with fairly homogenous, commercialized, cookie cutter suburbia.

But then maybe, just maybe, my observations of the lack of vibrant personality in the Utah cities with which I am familiar is due less to the cities themselves and more to the fact that I never leave my car at home and walk to dinner.

Friday, October 13, 2006

What Every Member Needs

In preparing for home teaching the other day, I considered the October First Presidency message in the Ensign, which is directed at new members of the Church. In it, President Hinckley mentions again the three things that every new convert needs: a friend, a responsibility, and nourishment by the good word of God.

As I pondered this message in relation to the family I would be teaching, I thought at first that it wouldn't apply and I considered finding another message to share. We don't have new converts around us; how would this family apply this message? Then I thought, as I have before, that those three things are important for all Church members, but the family I would be teaching does not include people in ward leadership positions where they could implement those suggestions to help others.

Then I thought—this blog is not titled "Think On (and on and on and ...)" for nothing—"But who's responsible for our individual salvation, anyway? Am I not ultimately responsible for my eternal destiny?"

So I turned the lesson into a conversation about how each of us individually can endure to the end. We are all "new converts" in a sense, and when you look at 2 Ne. 31, it is clear that we all need to "press forward with a steadfastness in Christ." And so President Hinckley's trio of directives works for all of us.

Each of us needs a friend, someone to help us through hard times, to welcome us warmly to activities and help us feel comfortable at Church. And if we don't have friends at Church, we should expend the effort to make friends. I recall when I was in Chicago and I had a hard time making friends in the ward. I made efforts, but I just couldn't click with anyone. Then I received a stake calling and suddenly my circle broadened dramatically and I found myself associating with people in other wards. I found the young single adults of the Spanish ward to be very welcoming and warm and friendly, and I began to spend more time with them. My whole experience in Chicago turned around in a significant way once I had some friends. The Lord knew I needed friends, and he recognized my unsuccessful efforts so he opened a way for me to have the friends I so desperately needed.

Each of us needs a responsibility. This one, at first glance, may seem like something we can do nothing about. Assignments and callings come from the bishop, right? Well, all of us are (or should be) home or visiting teachers. There's a responsibility, and it's a responsibility most of us could magnify more than we currently do. And then there are opportunities galore for volunteer service. When I returned from my mission, I didn't receive a calling in my ward for a long time, despite my requests for one. That lack of responsibility was terribly frustrating for me. I went from busy Church service to a big void. Then one day at the temple I thought I should go see if they needed help in the baptistry. They did, and it turned out that they always needed help in the baptistry. Before I left that day I was signed up to be a weekly temple worker in the baptistry. I vividly recall leaving the temple that day, walking out into the bright blue of a Saturday morning and feeling an immense swelling of joy and gratitude for the opportunity to serve. And I loved that job. I worked in the baptistry for about a year, and it was a marvelous experience I will always treasure.

Finally, each of us needs nourishing by the word of God. In the context of President Hinckley's injunction, we often think of lessons and talks at Church and the responsibility of leaders and teachers to make sure those lessons and talks are well prepared and spiritually guided. But the scriptures make it clear that we have an obligation to come prepared to be nourished (see D&C 50:19–22). And of course our nourishment should not be limited to Church meetings. We should be nourishing ourselves daily through our gospel study with our families and on our own. Twice during this recent General Conference, I felt gently chastized and lovingly encouraged to nourish myself better through my scripture study. Two speakers mentioned the need to not just study scriptures but to apply them to our lives. My goal is to do that—mostly through writing about what I read, reflecting on my reading in a personal journal.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

On Being an Ambassador

This afternoon I spent some time with the Indonesian ambassador to the United States. Not me alone—there were about nine people in the group—but a photographer and I were part of the entourage.

I was in the background, observing, most of the time, but I did have a few minutes to chat casually with the ambassador. I asked him about recovery efforts from the tsunami and he explained some of the challenges of managing the situation that have contributed to a slower-than expected process.

He was kind, bright, quick to smile, and very unassuming. He was attentive to and interested in me and what I had to say. It seems strange that after just a couple of hours in close proximity with someone, you can develop a personal connection, but I feel a certain kinship with him and his wife now. They were warm and gracious and personal.

While transcribing an interview today I came across a compelling quote from a professor. She was talking about the value of meeting individuals from other cultures; the more individuals one meets the better one understands a culture and realizes that the stereotypes don't apply universally to all members of that culture. "It’s so easy when we don’t know anyone [from a culture] to demonize [that culture]," she said. "And it’s so difficult when we do know someone to demonize them."

I have a very different view of Indonesia and Indonesians now than I did five hours ago. I have an appreciation, respect, and fondness for the country and its people born of a simple interaction with a kind man and his wife.

I guess that's the role of an ambassador. He served that role well today. I hope I reciprocated adequately.


Some fascinating facts about Indonesia that were new to me...

Population: more than 220 million (fourth largest country in the world, behind China, India, and the United States)

Geographic Size: about 3,200 miles from one end to the other, similar to the distance from Florida to Alaska

Geographic Composition: an archipelago of more than 17,000 islands (not all inhabited)

Languages: 731

Diversity: 500 different cultures

Monday, October 09, 2006

Wendy's Do-It-Yourself Salad (Tasty and Cheap)

I love Wendy's value menu. The options available for 99 cents have such a high value-to-cost ratio as to make everything else on the menu hardly worth a second glance. For a buck you can get a decent cheeseburger or even a bacon cheeseburger—complete with lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles, etc. You can also get fries, chicken nuggets, a good sized side salad, a baked potato, or a number of other entrees and sides.

For lunch today I had again my recent Wendy's favorite: a great do-it-yourself value-menu combo. It's a filling chicken salad that you can get for $2. Here's how:

1. Order the side salad for 99 cents. I've tried the Caesar side salad (also 99 cents), but I prefer the other because it has more stuff (tomato, cucumber, carrots). The side salad comes with a few dressing options, which they'll ask you about. I've tried it with the ranch, which was good, but I actually prefer a nontraditional dressing (see step 3). These days I tell the person taking my order that I don't want a dressing.

2. The side salad does not come with croutons; those go with the Caesar side salad. However, I've found they'll give you croutons free if you ask. I like croutons, so I always ask.

3. Order the 5-piece chicken nuggets, also for 99 cents. You have a number of sauce options. I love the honey mustard, which makes a tangy, sweet salad dressing. To get enough for the salad, though, you have to get two containers of the sauce, which they always provide for the asking.

4. The container the salad comes in isn't quite big enough to eat the salad in—without making a huge mess—so it helps to split it in half. The top of the container makes a nice second plate into which you can put half the salad.

5. To each half of the salad you can then add half of the chicken nuggets. The size of the nuggets exceeds polite single-bite morsels, so I like to break them into smaller pieces. This is easily done with your fingers, or there is a fork and a knife included with your salad—if you have scruples against finger food. (But if that's the case, why are you eating something from Wendy's 99-cent value menu?) I break each nugget into four to six smaller pieces.

6. If you opted for croutons, add half of the croutons to each half of the salad.

7. Add one container of honey mustard sauce/dressing to each half of the salad. The dressing is a bit on the thick side (remember, until a minute ago it was dipping sauce); the knife works well to extract it from the container and apply it to the salad.

8. Enjoy your tasty chicken salad and relish the fact that you only paid $2.22 (counting tax) while some other poor soul paid five bucks for a pre-made salad.

According to Wendy's Web site, this meal (not counting the croutons and one of the honey mustard dressing sides, because I don't know how to make their system calculate those extras) includes 370 calories, 24 grams of fat, 26 carbs, and 15 grams of protein. I'm afraid I don't pay enough attention to such things to know if that is good or not. But it's tasty. And cheap.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Lizzy-isms

A few Lizzy words and sayings worth sharing and recording before we forget them:


Words she has invented:

Trimenthesy: One-sixtieth of a second

Fewnormous: 100,000 times as big as our house


Fun pronunciations/variations of real words (some of which she is starting to lose as she reads more and realizes the order of letters in words):

planio (piano)
calipeter (catipillar)
sackerment (sacrament)
fravrite (favorite)
Cairline (Caroline)
oppositical (opposite)
hostipital (hospital)
permentheses (parentheses)


Observations:

"There's no such thing as magic, but there are magic words." (She got part of this from a Barney show about saying "please" and "thank you"; maybe the whole phrase.)

When I asked Lizzy to bless the food one morning, she consented but first corrected my language: "You mean 'say the prayer.' Heavenly Father's the one that blesses."

One day we were listening to one of my Lord of the Rings soundtracks in the car. She wanted to continue listening when we went inside, so I brought it in and put it in our three-CD stereo. When the soundtrack ended, the next CD, which happened to be a CD of Primary songs, automatically began to play. Shocked by the dramatic change in music (think Mordor juxtaposed against carefree children), Lizzy said: "This isn't Lord of the Rings. [pause] Is this a mix?"

Sometime early this summer, Christine or I commented that it had been a quiet month (can't remember now what that was in reference to; I believe it was some metaphorical sense, like a quiet news day or something like that). At the time, however, Caroline was in the middle of a long sad spell; she had been very sad all day every day. When Lizzy heard our comment about it being a quiet month, she responded matter of factly: "It's not a quiet month for us."

Several weeks ago a rather spectacular thunder storm rolled through one evening. Christine went into Lizzy's room to comfort the nervous and not sleeping child. After Christine assured Lizzy that she would be safe, Lizzy responded, "But in Reader's Digest it told about a house that got hit by lightning." (The curse of an early reader.)

And my "fravrite" observation: "Dad, you're ingenious!"