Saturday's Warrior

Saturday's Warrior is the story of the Flinders family -- a family of unspecified religious beliefs and their ups and downs with this darn life. It all starts in heaven. Heaven is a place where everyone wears colored spandex with silky, sheer flowy skirts or over-sized button-up shirts with stretch pants. It is also very foggy there. One lady runs the whole show- commanding people to climb to a platform where they evaporate. Here we meet the Flinder's children -- Jimmy, Pam, (like on The Office, but these are twins) Julie, Benji, the older sister, Ernie, the little red-headed girl, and Emily. We also meet Todd, Julie's one true love. And Wally and Elder Green -- endearing imbeciles who are going to save the world. Everyone sings and dances around in a way that is intense and yet, you just feel weird watching it.

Once we hit earth life, we discover that Jimmy is not as good as he was in heaven and that Pam is, gasp, in a wheelchair when her pre-earth live-long dream was to dance. Julie is in love with Wally! Ernie and the older sister despise each other. Emily is still in heaven, yet the little red-headed girl is the same age as she was in heaven so explain the age differential to me. And the dad is -- anything but this -- Marvin Payne! 

Jimmy has fallen in with the wrong crowd.  This inebriated, sports-car driving, workout-clothes wearing crew spends their time lounging about and talking about tough world topics like over-population. So deeply do they feel about the fact that there aren't enough resources to go around that the main macho guy sings a little ditty about it. It's pretty much the coolest scene in the whole movie. 

Pam tries to save Jimmy by being perpetually cheerful, also by being perfect, and by helping Jimmy understand that stars don't all shine at once. But Pam's got her own little set of troubles -- her wheelchair makes her terminal, apparently.

Julie sends Wally off to save the world (which he isn't very good at) and is so anxious to sew that she drops Wally and almost marries this other guy. Her mom's advice when Julie tells her parents that she can't through with the marriage? "But Julie, the wedding's in three days." At this point you wonder if Julie will turn around and say, "Oh, you're right, Mom. What was I thinking? I'll just marry someone who is so not Todd, my one true love, who I promised myself to in heaven!" You wonder if her mother was ever in love. 

On Jimmy's birthday everyone gives him gifts. His parent's gift? Another kid. What? You couldn't have gotten him a soccer ball? Jimmy's steamed (soccer ball!) about his parents eating up all the world's resources so his dad smacks him one and Mom goes, "Oh, oh." Jimmy storms off on some spring break adventure with the macho guy and his crew where they sing an environmental number about a summer of fair weather. Jimmy runs into Todd, Julie's one true love, and Todd knows that Jimmy's non-denominational belief system -- which Jimmy refuses to talk about -- is the answer to all his problems. In a really surreal scene, Todd appears in Julie's room and she in his park. Also, Julie's mirror, doesn't have any glass.

While on spring break Jimmy finds out that Pam died. The moment of reckoning. What's a guy to do. After four and half minutes of inner turmoil, Jimmy decides to go back to his family and drop the macho guy and his crew. 

Julie goes to meet Wally as he comes home from saving the world. Turns out he brought Todd home with him. Julie and Todd's eyes meet, and Wally's story of true love becomes a sequel about him getting a girl that he didn't really want in the first place. Todd whisks Julie away, somewhere.

Jimmy is there to welcome little Emily into the world in what has to be the fastest birthing in history. It's a family show, so you have to wonder if it was a ad-lib or in the script -- "Bob, you did this to me!" yells Mom. Jimmy holds little Emily in his hands and knows that everything is as it should be. 

Black Nail Polish

I wear black nail polish sometimes.

I ran into my childhood piano teacher. It took her a moment to recognize me. When she did I was greeted with this, "Black nail polish!"

One of my kids called me emo and wanted to check my wrists for cuts.

Black nail polish is high fashion, not a sign of a disturbed mind. To support my thesis, a brief history of black nail polish. In ancient China black and red polish were reserved for royals and was ultra hip in the sixties and seventies. In the mid and late nineties the beautiful black polish was usurped by scary creatures such as Marilyn Mansen, heaven help us. But then Gucci models sported it and Chanel came out with a version (running $100 a pop) and everything was ok again. And I've seen Stacey London wearing it. Granted, the black does give a rebellious air but I think regular, chic people can pull it off. So let's just own the black nail polish.

Art

I’m able to feel emotions. I would even say that sometimes I am neurotic. But I struggle to feel the emotion behind art.
In college I took an art class which I hated. The book was ginormous and overwhelming and all I saw was church-approved porn. Although I did fall in love with impressionism, especially Degas. Later, talking with Crolace, I realized that there is so much in poetry that I do not see. There is so much that I miss in novels; though heaven knows I enjoy novels more that any poem. Architecture is art. Movies are art. Fashion design is art – and you know it must be ‘cause ain’t nobody wearing some of those creations for real (or at least they shouldn’t). Cuisine is art. Nature is art.
When I hear people, like Crolace, or Azir Nafisi, author of Reading Lolita in Tehran, or Julia Robert’s character in Mona Lisa Smile talk about art – in all forms-- I see the deficit that I have in relating to it emotionally. I think too concretely.
I think it is largely an issue of education. When the emotion behind something or the story behind something is explained to me, then I get it.
But what good is it if I always require commentary. I wish I could just feel it.

A thought

I was driving today and saw a white VW bug. It felt ... blank.

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

I am in Idaho visiting my brother and his wonderful family. We visited Halle's grave. I'd never been there before. Halle is my niece who died at birth; I wasn't there for anything because I was on my mission in Germany. On the headstone, under her name and the date, it read, "The crown without the conflict." I can't even begin to describe the impact of the statement. It's kind of weird. I mean, I wasn't here for any of it -- pregnancy, the tests, the outcome, the funeral. And I'm the aunt, not the mom or sibling or anything. But I'm still really bummed about it. 

I also went for a bike ride with my eight year-old niece. I haven't ridden for at least two years. And I remembered how much I enjoy it. There is something earthy about riding. I'm not into mountain biking or cycling, but around-the-town stuff is idyllic and quaint and lovely. Resolved: repair bike; buy basket. Then we jumped on the tramp which is the only exhilaration my circulatory system has experienced for months. It was fall-like weather and we sat outside and watched my brother play football with my nephew and some cousins. Sitting outside is so enjoyable. And I was thinking how if everyone had a childhood like this then there wouldn't be so many problems in the world.

Later my thoughts went downward. I began thinking, I don't want this life. It seemed like nothing was getting done, we were just living. And although pleasant, it felt non productive (Save me any lectures on how being a mother is a great responsibility and job and you are saving souls because I believe you). I did the dishes while everyone got ready for bed before crashing for a movie. I told my nephew that the best way to work was with loud music. I turned on Natasha Bedingfield's Love Like This and went to work. And had the epiphany that while absolutely nothing was wrong in the way my brother and his wife are raising their kids, not everything about it was my style. And I can do family life in my own style - with loud music. And chintz. And more dancing that is probably good for my kids' social status.

Also, I reread a text message that made me happy. It was from a dear friend who wrote simply, "I love you so much angel face." Good times.

Valentine's Day

I was in Germany, near Frankfurt in a small city called Bad Homburg. It was February 2006, just before Valentine's Day. We were window shopping. We went into Butler's, which is basically a store dedicated to the dinner party. Clean whites, deep reds, soothing pinks. It was magical. My eyes had never before beheld anything so wonderful. Indescribable. At that moment I knew that Valentine's Day was my favorite holiday.

It's not just a celebration of romantic love, but of the day when pink met red, when friends celebrate knowing one another, when family members say that which matters most. 

I had a fantastic day.

First, my boys were really sweet today. There's one kid who asked if I would be his Valentine. "In a therapeutic way?" I asked. "Like friends." Ok. And in group we watched the Office ("Conflict Resolution") and I was laughing even before we chose the episode, which was -- in my opinion -- very therapeutic.

I met the Queen at Starbucks for hot chocolate. What could be better? I listen to some of my favorite music on the way over to her house (including this song). Being happy and listening to your favorite music is my idea of euphoria. Then we watched She's the Man -- quite possibly my favorite comedy: hilarious physical comedy and, two words, Channing Tatum. I was happy all day long. 

Additionally, the writer's strike is over. 

Centered

My life is really constant chaos. I kind of struggle when people ask me how my day was or if I enjoy my job. Well, I'm a therapist. I'm not dealing with pleasurable things all day. In fact, my job is probably really depressing (but I really do like it). Someone once asked me if I changed any lives that day. I thought to myself, "Well, I put one kid on suicide watch so I guess I changed his life." 

I get to work everyday with an agenda and then I do something other than what I planned because someone's in crisis or I have a bad session or I didn't get enough sleep so I'm crabby. Well, maybe just right now. My caseload is going through some hard times (as in worse than normal). I'm new at this but my supervisor says that it's just how things are: phases. 

I think that helping others clear away their psychological "stuff" really begins with having my "stuff" in order. So, in order to really be effective as a therapist I need to be doing ok myself. For me this means applying the principle of "centering."

Centering means coming back to your real essence. It means remembering who YOU really are. I'm me and I like to decorate and read. I like theatre and classical music (and other stuff too!). I'm more than someone's therapist. It means focusing on me for a little while. 

There are a few ways I become centered. I might bake something.

Another way is to do things I enjoy. Watch a movie, blog, be with friends.

Cleaning is always good. And organizing.

Tonight, I blew off Family Home Evening in the hopes of centering myself. I came home and got centered. Sometimes, FHE is a centering activity but not tonight.

I made myself a real dinner, listened to calming music, and read a book about bipolar disorder (which normally would not be centering but this book is a pleasure read and coincidentally helpful to my job). Then I did a closet organizing project involving baskets. And put together a night table I got from Ikea this weekend. I chatted with a friend on the phone. I found a movie clip for tomorrow's group therapy. And took a shower. I'm going to bed at a decent hour. And I feel centered. 

The thing is, I also feel closer to God. I mean, I blew off a "religious" activity and puttered around the house. It doesn't seem logical that I would actually feel more spiritual. Yet I feel closer to myself and closer to Him. I think that is what centering really is; it's calming all the unimportant daily issues and remembering that I am really a child of the Divine whose life has meaning, purpose, and direction. When we feel close to God we can hear His gentle voice, telling us how we can better live our lives and strengthening us to overcome this world's challenges.

Prediction

I predict that the nominees for president will be (drum roll):

John McCain

Barack Obama.

What President Hinckley Means to Me

Gordon B. Hinckley died today, about three hours ago. He was the president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saint, of which I am a card-carrying member. I have sustained him as a prophet of God, believing that his words can directly from the Source. He's been the president of the church for 12 years, exactly half my life. I can't really remember any other church president's teachings as I can President Hinckley's, nor has any other president had quite the personal impact upon my life as President Hinckley. 

I was at the Conference Center and heard live President Hinckley give his famous "Six Bs" address. I was sitting on the right side and the echo was awful. I remember that in the talk he said something about not being a scrub, which was funny because TLC had just come out with the song "No Scrubs." 

It was during his administration that we had the rebuilding of the Nauvoo temple. My love for the prophet Joseph Smith is probably equal to the love I feel for President Hinckley. And here was President Hinckley rebuilding the temple in the City of Joseph. And it was to that temple that I went to received my own endowment in preparation for my missionary service in Germany. 

I remember a talk he gave just after the death of his wife, Marjorie, called The Women in Our Lives. He said, "She was the woman of my dreams then, and now she is still the woman of my dreams." My heart broke. I remember something she once said about him -- "You've have given me wings, and I have loved you for it." 

President Hinckley didn't take himself too seriously. He would wave that cane around and hit other old people (you know, like apostles) with it. He joked and his jokes were always at life's expense or his own --  he never made fun of anyone. Ok, I take that back. He once told a group of missionaries that "You're not much but you're all the Lord has." 

He was a pleasant person to be around. I didn't know him personally but whenever I heard him speak I felt more full of energy. Good karma. I could always trust him, trust what he was saying. He was a prophet after all. And I can take comfort in that. His voice was calming but firm. He was loving and kind. Listening to him talk, I felt love from my Heavenly Father. 

Things I'll always remember about him: his large lower lip, the cane, his hand gestures, his smile, his interviews on Larry King and with Mike Wallace, and the way he was with his wife.

President Hinckley wrote hymn 135, I Know That My Redeemer Lives. The lyrics follow:

I know that my Redeemer Live

Triumphant Savior, Son of God

Victorious over pain and death,

My King, my Leader, and My Lord

He lives, my one sure rock of faith,

The one bright hope of men on earth,

The beacon to a better way,

The light beyond the veil of death.

Oh, give me thy sweet Spirit still, 

The peace that comes alone from thee

The faith to walk the lonely road

That leads to thine eternity.

 

New Car!

It was a long Saturday filled with high prices and cars full of regrets. Then we spied this little jewel. A 2007 butter yellow P.T. Cruiser. Be still my heart. These are pictures of car like my car and that is not a picture of me. You see, I found these pictures on the internet, but they are exactly what I really have. The car is retro-style from the  door handles to the grill. I think my favorite part is the round-headed gear shift. Oh, and the yellow! dash board. 

It fits in perfectly with my new Pushing Daisies inspired life. A life full of chintz, stripes, and bright, contrasting colors. The car is the opposite of sleek. It is plump, unique, and very much me!