~Please Won't You Be . . . My Roommate.~

Things to do today;

• Apply for medical assistance, since my insurance is going to vanish in 3 weeks
• Help Dad get his wireless router working again
• Call the Maryland Court of Appeals and order letters of good standing for the job apps I am submitting everywhere
• Come up with a killer metaphor to explain online friction between worldviews

Years ago, I read a life-changing, worldview-shaping editorial. And dang it, I've never been able to find it again, so I can't reference the author or publication. If anyone recognizes, leave a comment!

The author (a woman) made the bold statement that all men fall into one of two categories; they are either boyfriends, or they are husbands. I'm not proposing to recreate this amazing hypothesis, though after two decades of adult experience (and far too many experiences with dysfunctional relationships), I will assert that it is very true.

The polar, binary formulation of the above editorial is appealing. It forces us to decide which we are, to defend our behaviors, to self-reflect and categorize. There are so many of these dichotomies in life, not all of them are real; I believe in gradations. Continuums of behavior. But sometimes, the either/or really is true.

Are you a "Type A" personality?
Beatles or Elvis?
Ontime or late?
Star Wars or Star Trek?*
Football or Baseball?
Dem or Repub?

So I propose another binary; I've been trying to formalize my concept of online interaction. Blog-reading, facebook-friending, message-board-messaging. We encounter folks. Leave footprints. You ever had an awkward encounter with someone else online? Maybe they were too aggressive? Or too combative? Too distant?

Some people interact with their online-folks like they were real-life neighbors. See, there's a boundary between neighbors, even if they are apartment building neighbors. Walls divide us. Everything we do outside the home is open for review, everyone knows that. It's embarrassing if you have a fight outside, because everyone hears it. Of course some people really don't care who hears or sees everything.

If that's the metaphor, than we presume everything that we do on online is going to be seen, talked about considered. I mean, maybe we are boring neighbors, and no one will notice us. But folks who are online like that, they use nicknames for their kids (or even themselves sometimes) so no one can learn things they shouldn't know). They are very circumspect about what they say and do online in the first place; you'll never get an online neighbor to admit that they watch trashy soap operas.

But some people treat their circle of online-folks like they are family. Living in the same house. There is a presumed, very real intimacy. They stick to people that they really know, aren't trying to recruit new folks. Their online life is often an extension of their "real" life.

When people from the first group encounter people from the second group, things get weird.

Person A, "Hey, new-friend, great house, cool furniture, love how you've decorated the place!"
Person B, "Dude. Why are you looking through my underwear drawer?"

How do you consider your online friends? I freely declare myself to be in the neighbor camp. When I shared the depressing news that I lost my job on Monday, half of the recommendations and job suggestions came from people I've never even met in real life. They are friends, neighbor-friends. My online life is an open book.

But I can understand that this flavor of presumed friendship can be freaky to someone that spends most of their online footprint staying in touch with family and real life friends.

How do we bridge that gap? I guess just be aware that where cultures collide, there will be friction. If you are a neighbor, don't go barging into a roommate's "house" and trash the place.

If you are a roommate, and a neighbor shows up with a plate of cookies, just try to understand that in neighbor culture, it's a gesture of friendship and welcome.

I believe in the capacity of the human heart to bridge gaps. To be friends. Friendship is an act of imagination and an exercise of will. What kind of friend are you? How do you bridge that gap?

* Note: every true SF fan, every true fan of good art knows there is only one true answer to that question; Firefly

Some Favorite Conversations (I want to remember)

"Man, this ketchup is bad. It's like it's gone rancid or something..."
"...that's cocktail sauce. It came with your fried fish."
(embarassed silence)


"So what's new?"
"Breaking news! This just in! My affection for you is at an all-time high!"


A young man, speaking with an adult acquaintance about the acquaintance's brother, "Say, aren't you two brothers?"
"You could say we are . . . distant relations."
"Someday I hope I'm distantly related to my brother, too."


"Thursday, we are going to the cannery on assignment for the church."
"What? I don't want to do canning!"
"Actually, you won't be canning, you are too young, you'll be labeling."
"What? But I want to do canning!"

Muddy Run campout, 2009

Our Scoutmaster is friends with a man who owns property right where the Muddy Run come out into the Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania. It's peaceful, muddy, tranquil. A great place to camp. Last week, we spent two nights there.


Jenni very kindly prepared some magnificent foil dinners for us. While everyone else ate their PBJs, we dined on roasted burgers with onions and zucchini.


The first morning was cool and beautiful. Max tried fishing, but caught only sunshine.

The funniest, messiest, silliest thing the boys did was have a massive seaweed fight. The goal, apparently, was to see who could get hit in the face by the biggest nastiest clump of slimey river-bottom plants. Friday afternoon, we did a float down the Muddy Run in tubes and canoes. Stewart wisely rested up before we left. It was a long float down.

Sam and I took Grandpa's canoe out for a spin around the corner. We were sad he couldn't be there (because of his torn hamstring from softball the week before).

Sam often talks about how much fun it would be to have a dog, but I'm not sure he enjoyed the neighbor's spaniel begging at breakfast...

The clouds on the second morning made the lighting really wild, almost like an eclipse. Max had fun skipping rocks.

The most boring part of any campout is the cleanup before going home. We had to deflate all of the inner tubes before we could leave.

I first saw this sign three years ago after going to this campout, and was glad that it was still up. This time I had a camera!


Stewart is the undisputed firemaster at all of our campouts. His best fire trick is using whatever he can find as a bellows.

Every Epic Love Story, Chapter Four; The First Kiss

My “move”. Ha!

I knew I had to do something. Seeing her around and not saying anything was driving me crazy. Talking to her without saying what I was thinking was driving me nuts.

Seeing her fence did something to me. Her grace and energy were beautiful. I was in love. I mean, it’s hard to look back and matter-of-factly evaluate how I really felt then. I was kid, I had no real idea what love means, the commitment, the work. At best, all I could have really been feeling then was a hint, the breezy echo of a future wind.

I knew so little about her. But things I did know, I knew very well.

She was smart. Funny. Gorgeous.

I knew most of all, that I wanted to know more of her.

Wednesday, March 26th, 1986. Kids, a history lesson. Back in the ‘80s, “home” computers were rare at best. So computer labs at universities were where students went to do their word processing. Back in the old days, rows of desks where filled with enormous desktop computers, rows of some original Macintosh computers (ah, the happy little sad-bomb screens and carrying a paper clip to eject 3 1/2 inch disks), and a few networked laser printers the size of mini-fridges. Those rooms, with the noise, the clutter of technology, must look today, to you, like the old pictures of the ENIAC machine looks to me . . .

I knew Jennilyn used a room in the Library to work on her papers, and had been paying slavish enough attention to her work-load this semester to know where she’d be Wednesday evening. Well, that’s not entirely true. I had already gone by the Leading Edge office, the annex building where she was doing ceramics. The library was the last place I had to look for her.

I found her there. She was in line, waiting to pay for some copies.

Mr. Suave here walked right up behind her and whispered something compelling, something romantic and clear.

“Uh, hey, so . . . I see you fixed your horseshoe?”

That noise? The thud you just heard? That’s the sound of my awesomeness hitting the ground like a lead balloon.

*sigh*

Remember in chapter 3, I mentioned my reference to the horseshoe on her porch? Yeah. Sly allusions to previous anonymous and nearly inscrutable secret notes is not the way to “make your move”.

I look back, and am so certain now about what I was feeling then. I wish I had possessed the basic sense to just be honest. I mean really; how hard is it to just . . . be honest? I wonder if our friends could see what was happening. My roommate knew I had a concussioned-dazed-crush on Jenni.

So I am amused now when I see young men stumbling through these opening conversations. My young friends, I feel your pain. Trust me, you just need to open your mouth and talk.

My great dumb-founding bon mot about horseshoes. Jennilyn turned around, and looked right by me, certain that it was someone else. I was far too young; couldn’t be me leaving notes.

So, I can’t believe that she took me seriously. I asked if I could walk her home. She assented.

I remember little else about that evening. We walked to her house. It was late.

Remember, this was college us, not middle-aged us. So being up to 10, 11pm at night was no big deal. We got to Jenni’s house around midnight. She could tell I was goofy for her. She offered me . . . a bowl of cereal and some grapefruit juice. We talked, I’m sure.

By the time we were saying good-night, it was later, closer to 1am. She took me home in her roommate’s truck.

I can’t remember exactly when, but at some point, gravity took over. Inertia, inevitability. We were coasting downhill. See, there’s an important lesson in this. There are choices we make, places we put ourselves, and if we persist long enough, the circumstance escapes our control. We can be attentive, we can forecast the routes that gravity will pull us down once our brakes are overwhelmed, but past a certain point, we have committed ourselves to the course by continuing in that direction. Good thing if we are going in a good direction. Disastrous if we are not.

I had been in love with Jenni, my limited, teen-aged heart’s capacity to love, for months. If I could have stepped outside and watched what was happening, I would have seen it was coming, and welcomed it.

Anxious to stretch out the evening, I invited Jenni to walk for a bit. We ambled across the street, circled the parking lot at The Pie, wandered through the empty lot of the college annex next door.

I stopped, turned to her, reached out and took her hands with mine. She raised my right hand to her face and kissed one of my fingers. I put my hands behind her head and I kissed her. I cannot recall that kiss without the decades of kissing since then coloring my memory somewhat. I know it was exciting, thrilling, chaste, and yearning, all at once.

We kissed, we talked, we kissed some more. We promised to see each other the next day. It occurs to me now, with my years of understanding how people relate to each other, there were a lot of things I didn’t know. What she expected (serious commitment? light-hearted dating? me going on a mission? was she only interested in the NCMO?). There are a lot of ways we expect things of each other, of our relationships. I would find, in about 15 hours, that I still had a lot to learn about being in love.

Look backwards at chapter 3.

Or see what happens "tomorrow" in chapter 5.

Book of Mormon Stories Chapter 10

1 Nephi 10 We are going to run out of summer before we finish First Nephi! I'm sad for the summer to run out, but have enjoyed the chance to have these talks with my children about things that matter so much to me.

1 And now I, Nephi, proceed to give an account upon these plates of my proceedings, and my reign and ministry; wherefore, to proceed with mine account, I must speak somewhat of the things of my father, and also of my brethren.

Do you ever have to explain some aspect of your family history when telling someone a story, explaining some event?

5 And he also spake concerning the prophets, how great a number had testified of these things, concerning this Messiah, of whom he had spoken, or this Redeemer of the world.

Do you find things in your lives which are relevant to things the Prophets have said? If not; look harder! Or ask us, we see it often.

8 Yea, even he should go forth and cry in the wilderness: prepare ye the way of the Lord, and make his paths straight; for there standeth one among you whom ye know not; and he is mightier than I, whose shoe’s latchet I am not worthy to unloose. And much spake my father concerning this thing.

Would it bother you to have to introduce someone else as "better" than you? A sibling, or a relative? Can you celebrate the success of other people without being jealous?

11 And it came to pass after my father had spoken these words he spake unto my brethren concerning the gospel which should be preached among the Jews, and also concerning the dwindling of the Jews in unbelief. And after they had slain the Messiah, who should come, and after he had been slain he should rise from the dead, and should make himself manifest, by the Holy Ghost, unto the Gentiles.

How does it make you feel when we bear our testimony? Do you feel uplifted? Harangued? Enlightened? Bored?

13 Wherefore, he said it must needs be that we should be led with one accord into the land of promise, unto the fulfilling of the word of the Lord, that we should be scattered upon all the face of the earth.

What does "one accord" mean? How do you think it feels to be that way? Worth trying for?

17 And it came to pass after I, Nephi, having heard all the words of my father, concerning the things which he saw in a vision, and also the things which he spake by the power of the Holy Ghost, which power he received by faith on the Son of God—and the Son of God was the Messiah who should come—I, Nephi, was desirous also that I might see, and hear, and know of these things, by the power of the Holy Ghost, which is the gift of God unto gall those who diligently seek him, as well in times of hold as in the time that he should manifest himself unto the children of men.

Do you desire to hear, see and know the things that your parents have? How might that help us to reach one accord? Do you think Unity is important?

20 Therefore remember, O man, for all thy doings thou shalt be brought into judgment.

Are we judged for our intentions or our actions? Why can we be judged for our malicious intentions (no matter their outcome), but not reward for our good intentions (which yield no subsequent good action)? Is that fair?

Youth Conference, Kirtland Ohio, 2009

Every time I think about the fun we had at Youth Conference, my heart is full. It was a wonderful time with my own children, as well as the youth from our ward. If the formatting of the pictures and comments are off...treat it like a game! Match the comment!

Getting ready to leave the Stake Center parking lot.

The evening of our first day, we met on the Johnson farm and heard a great lecture on the importance of Kirtland in church History.



There was a great dance later that night.
Once it got to be bed time, the boys were supposed to "keep their feet on the floor".

Chaperones had to stay up late and watch the halls.

Emma Smith's favorite china patten. I thought it was a tender detail amidst so much of the history focusing on the profound spirituality and persecution of the Saints' history in this town.

On the grounds of the Kirtland Temple.
Our bus practiced singing "All Creatures of Our God and King" on the way to the testimony meeting Thursday night.

It was nice to hug the kids on the steps of the temple. Amazing to sing hymns in the temple itself, to hear my children bear testimonies where the Prophet had testified.
I was delighted to see examples of early pioneer decoration; "feather painting" was in evidence all over the Johnson farmhouse.

The boys stick-wrestling.

By lunchtime, the kids were pretty dazed.


Stewart helped make me a cup to pour my soda over ice, using an empty water bottle and a soda can tab.

Then he played ping pong with Max.

There are more photos in a facebook gallery.

Every Epic Love Story, Chapter Three; Crushing in Earnest

Winter semester, 1986. Yep, I was smitten. Smote. Pole-axed. Twitterpated. I was lovesick and stupid.

But remember, I was also certain that I would never qualify for her attentions. So I took refuge in that course action available to hopeless romantic doofs for time immemorial.

I followed her around.

This part, I kind of worry about. Stalking is a real, violent, pathological behavior. I can make jokes (hey, it’s all very romantic until someone calls the cops), but I want to make it clear that what I was doing was silly, not scary.

Back then, students’ schedules were public. You could go look up your friends on a microfiche reader, and see where they were. She was taking fencing. I took fencing!

I was on her staff again at The Leading Edge. This semester, a science fiction convention was being held on campus, and staff from The Leading Edge featured prominently in its production. I did everything she asked me to do.

Once, there was a glimmer of hope; she invited me to her house for breakfast to discuss some of the marketing for the upcoming issue and the con.

Oh, whoops, she had something more important to do. She cancelled. This was actually an important moment; it was the first time she ever broke my heart. I knew it was too good to be true!

But I doted on her, if only from a safe and somewhat anonymous distance. OK, I guess you can’t really call it “doting” if I had no interaction with her. I certainly thought about her a lot!

At the convention, there was a small ceremony where the staff gathered to congratulate one another on our success. Jenni had been instrumental in the success that year, so she was awarded a dozen red roses for her hard work. I had conspired to sit at her table.

Whoops. People being recognized moved up front to sit with the authors and staff. So I sat at the table with her Dad.

Here again, a spectacular strategic failure on my part. He knew everything about her; I could have asked him about her life at home, about their family. Nope. I just stared at Jenni, and clapped when they gave her the roses. I did manage to say a number of complimentary things about her, one that her Dad has since mentioned remembering; that Jennilyn would make a great Relief Society President someday.

Boys, pay attention; it’s important to love and respect the girl in a way that reassures her Dad that you might someday come to treasure her as much as he does.

I upped my game, and started leaving her anonymous notes on her door. Yep, you could get every student’s address, too. I recall in particular, commenting on the horseshoe that was hanging on the post of her door, that it was upside down.

She never knew it was me.

Boys, pay attention. Don’t be coy, your intent will be lost.

The Fencing Tournament! Remember, I said she had fencing? She was in the advanced class. I was a beginner. I think by now she was beginning to glean from the litter of my haphazard behavior that I had a crush on her. She was polite, but she was pretty clearly not that into me. At one point during the fencing tournament, she even suggested I walk her roommate out of the building, suggesting that we might have a lot in common.

As if. Her roommate was great, but I am pretty focused.

I watched her fence, delighted at her energy and grace. I put on a brave show, and tried not to embarrass myself, not realizing that she was really not paying the same attention to me that I paid to her.

But I was in love, and did not care.

A week later, I would make my move. To be continued ... in chapter 4.

Or look backwards at chapter 2.