Itchy Feet!

Sweetie and I have just had one of our spur of the moment moments.  We're headed out of town.  We aren't too sure where the trip will take us or for exactly how long.  You can follow along by clicking on The Folks Aren't Home tab above.  We'll keep you posted as to our whereabouts if not our destination.  There may be the occasional post here as well and I'll keep up with The Book Of Mormon Today, so keep stopping in there.

Not sure what we're looking for since we've already found each other.  There's got to be something in this quest.  Maybe its food, fun, Fulghum, forgetfulness, fantasy, focus, fundamentals, future, fame.... Who knows maybe its just surprise!

Love,

Myke

Here I Am In Fulghum Land

Those who know me, know I'm a big fan of Robert Fulghum.  He has a home in Moab and boy would I like to drop by and pay him a visit.  Fulghum doesn't know me from Adam, but thanks to his books and his candor, I feel like I know him quite well.  In fact I feel like a buddy of his.  I think that characteristic of his writing is what gives him such appeal.  Fulghum is real, who cares how correct or wise he his, we can relate to him.  The fact that his experience in life is so amazingly eclectic and so wonderfully diverse, certainly lends color and credence to his work, but his genuine, down to earth touchablility is the blanket that spreads warmth through everything he writes.

I wonder if he's up in the night enjoying a nice rack-of-spam contemplating what else he might find in the fridge while I'm up finishing off the ravioli I couldn't quite fit in earlier, at the Moab Brewery.  (They might have offered a bit of salad and not so much pasta.)  When the motel room heater cooked a dead moth and set off the fire alarm, I thought of  It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It and wondered if it was time I gave that little gem and another whirl.  I don't reread books, except Fulghum's and Rachel Naomi Remen's and, of course, the scriptures.  In those cases, it isn't really rereading so much as it is a chance to converse with an old friend.  We might rehash the same old stories, but each time, the context has changed and its nice to anchor life's new experiences in the safe harbors of the past.

I'm not a celebrity chaser and so I won't go knocking on Robert Fulghum's door seeking his autograph; but if he ever pulls up a chair next to mine in the Moab Brewery, I'd gladly split a plate of ravioli with him.

Growing Up In Himni, Utah - Episode 11

You’ll Get Yours

Henry Steinmetz was our Sunday School teacher for a while. His kids, Hank, Ernest and Riley were our age. Henry looked old enough to be their grandfather. Brother Steinmetz was a kindly old man, a little rough around the edges, with more hair growing out his ears than on his head. Henry was a pray-er. It seemed like every time Sacrament Meeting went long, the Bishop called on Henry to offer the Benediction. (“Another Sunday night without watching Maverick,” I’d complain to myself.) Often there were audible groans. Henry never prayed shorter than 20 minutes in his life. He prayed about everything! Sometimes it was even embarrasing, like the time he prayed my acne would clear up – right in Sacrament Meeting! Or the time he prayed that Brother Warner’s cow would stay in the pasture and out of Sister Banks’ corn patch. He was Ward Teacher to both of them, which was awkward; as though that prayer wasn’t.

Sunday School class was like that too. Nobody applied the gospel to our particular lives like Henry did. Some days it seemed like he knew exactly what shenanigans we’d been up to during the past week.
We loved to go to his class. It started with Henry at the door to welcome us individually to Sunday School. He only had three fingers on his right hand and yet his were the most comfortable, warm handshakes I ever felt. Ironically, a handshake from Hank (Henry Jr.)was a different story all together. Hank’s grip was like a vise. In fact for fun, he’d often pretend he was cranking on a vise as he drove you to your knees begging for mercy. My dad had a monster grip, but Hank could even bring him to his prayer bones in agony. Mercy was not in Hank’s vocabulary. We tried not to ever shake hands with Hank. Even if you were agressive and charged in for a good grip it was hopeless.

Anyway, back to Sunday School class. There were about a dozen of us who regularly attended Henry’s class. Of all the teachers we harrassed during our youth Henry was the most memorable, or at least his class was. We were pretty unruly but somehow he got through to us.

Frannie Hermann and Aaron Black were among us. They were dating at the time. Frannie never took her eyes off Aaron for the whole 45 minutes. She’d tickle and touch his face and whisper stuff to him. He on the other hand was always concientionsly trying to pay attention. This little distraction always amused us. Like the time, out of nowhere, Frannie grabbed Aaron’s lower lip (Aaron had predominant lips) and stretched it half way across the room. Henry just said, “Put that back!” and carried on with the lesson. Aaron gave Frannie a fatherly smile, half impatience, half adoration, smacked his lips in his characteristic manner and turned his attention back to Henry’s lesson. I couldn’t take my eyes off Aaron’s lower lip! I still can’t believe it could stretch that far.

The classroom had coarsely textured plaster walls, smoothed by several heavy layers of cream colored paint. I never could ignore the bucktoothed mermaid that seemed deliberately sculpted in the texture of the west wall. The paint was rubbed off her breast so apparently I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed her over the years. Once, I sat with my back to her and rocking back in my chair, bumped my head hard on that same worn protrusion. I don’t know how many pounds per square inch the impact produced, but it hurt like the Dickens.

Rob Hanke was also in that class. He usually slept. Rob spent all his energies on misadventure and used church to catch up on lost sleep. The night before one particular class, had been spent shooting frogs he’d inflated with a straw, then floated on the pond behind his house. Instead of a scope on his pellet gun he’d duct taped a flash light. The poor frogs couldn’t sink, being blown full of air. That is, until he popped them. Which is why Rob bolted out of his chair from a dead sleep when in Henry’s lesson, he told us that it was his opinion that God would punish us in kind. Or in other words, that we’d get precisely what we gave, as punishment for cruelties we had committed in this life.
Rob had what we called “Coke Bottle Bottom” glasses. The thick kind that magnify the wearer’s eyes. He was turning a tinge of green and his eyes looked so big and froggy that some of us thought the punishment had already commenced.

Lily Tomlin once lamented, “I always wanted to be somebody…I should have been more specific.” Thank you, Brother Steinmetz, for teaching me to be specific.

Fasting and Prayer

Karen gave the lesson in Church at the Detention Center this morning.  As she commenced the lesson she told us that she had prepared another lesson, but that this morning she'd felt inspired to teach a different one.  We had some pretty tough customers at the meeting and when she announced that the topic would be Fasting and Prayer I was not a little bit skeptical.

Before she finished though, there were tears in every eye.  Her lesson was filled with the Spirit and really hit home with each young man.  I was surprised at how fascinated they each were with the concept of going without food and water in order to gain spiritual strength.  One, young man, a Native American made the comparison to fasting at Sun Dance or on a Vision Quest.  You could see an interest in each of them to give Fasting and Prayer a try.

Most humbling for me was the wake-up call I personally experienced.  I haven't fasted very faithfully lately.  Something, that was once a very vital part of my life and commonly occurred more than once a month, has kind of drifted out of my consciousness lately.  Part of the reason may be that we don't have Fast and Testimony Meetings at the Detention Center.  I'm not saying we shouldn't.  I guess it didn't occur to us that these kids might like to bear their testimonies.  That will be an experiment I'd very much like to try next month.  Anyway, what I'm getting at, is that I haven't attended a regular Fast and Testimony Meeting more than a couple of times in the five and a half years I've served in DT.  I guess, I've just let the importance of Fasting and Prayer slide a bit.

During the lesson I was reminded of the story of a dear friend of mine.  We'll call him Chip.  Chip was an alcoholic, from his teens well into middle age.  His father too, was an alcoholic.  A few years ago Chip and his Dad attended a family reunion.  When, in the afternoon, the two of them passed out drunk under a tree at the park, the remainder of the family had a little meeting.  In the meeting they all agreed to Fast and Pray for their two beloved drunks, on a monthly basis.  It was July.  The family kept their commitment every month until December, and beyond.  December was the month that during a phone call Chip's Dad mentioned that for some inexplicable reason, he'd lost his interest in alcohol.  Shocked, Chip responded with, "Me too!"  They had no idea their family was Fasting and Praying for them.  They were more than a little bewildered about what was happening to them.  "It just became more difficult to drink and than it was to just not, so I didn't." says Chip.

Chip has since served as Elder's Quorum President and as a Councilor to his Bishop.  Fasting, Prayer and the love a wonderful family had brought down the blessings of Heaven, upon two wonderful men, not to mention their loved ones.

All of this is such a wake up call for me.  It didn't even occur to me until after I had eaten and gone to church today that it was Fast Sunday.  How remiss I've become.  My own recovery from addiction was hugely facilitated by Fasting and Prayer.  Why have I not taught it more carefully to these kids?  Why have I never, in five and a half years, ever specifically Fasted and Prayed in their behalf?  I made my Heavenly Father a promise today, that such an oversight, will never happen again. When I go to 12 Steps this afternoon, I'm going to make that same commitment to the kids.  Anyone familiar with 12 Steps knows that recovery doesn't come without the help of God.  What better approach is there, to acquiring that help, than Fasting and Prayer.

Since my last relapse, I've wondered and wondered what I need to learn to avoid another.  I think I got my answer today.  Thank you Karren, for listening to the Spirit and teaching God's lesson today, rather than your own.