2014: The Year in Review

To say that 2014 has been an eventful year would be an understatement.

Deseret Book published my book on Columbus. Kathleen and I signed a contract and submitted a manuscript for a new book for returned missionaries. We returned to Spain for two weeks, our first trip back. We visited Cincinnati three times (for baptism, blessing and the setting apart of Rob as the bishop). We visited Greenwich and New York twice. We sold our home of twenty years, purchased and remodeled a town house, and moved. And we began filling out missionary papers for another mission!

Here, in no particular order, are some selected photographs of the year:

The Best Books

In the manuscript of my proposed book for returned missionaries, I include a paragraph on the importance of reading. A lot. One the returned missionaries who reviewed the manuscript for me asked how to decide what to read. Good question. Google "100 best books" and you will find several pages of best books lists, including one listing the 623 best books of all time!

So just for fun, here is the beginning of my list, starting in this post with classic fiction, and not necessarily in any order.

Moby Dick, Herman Melville

I had the advantage of not reading this in high school or college, so I didn't really care or worry about any deep symbolism. I loved the story! The only thing I was really interested in seeing in Hawaii was the whaling museum at Lahaina. Still hoping to get to Nantucket.

The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald

What can I say? The quientessencial novel delineating the difference between the rich and the poor, Easterners and Westerners. I have read it at least three times.

To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee

Read it two or three times, and it never fails to inspire. Atticus's closing speech to the jury motivated me to take the LSAT.

Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien

One of the few great books I read for fun in college. Have since read it at least two more times. The classic struggle between good and evil, all set in a very medieval world.

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain

A classic for all the right reasons. In fact, just about anything by Mark Twain could be on this list.

My Antonia, Willa Cather

The introduction alone, about riding the train across Nebraska, is sufficient to make this a classic. Like Twain, pick any Willa Cather. Death Comes to the Archbishop!

The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck

The writing is so good you have to stop every once in a while just to marvel at Steinbeck's writing. 

Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck

More of that incredible writing, this time in a very short volume.

Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe

I had never heard of this for years, but it kept showing up on "best books" lists so I finally read it a few years ago. Life-changing.

Cry The Beloved Country, Alan Paton

Cry, indeed. "It is true that there is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills." Multiple reads! 

1984, George Orwell

The Cold War is over, but doublespeak lives on.

The Lord of the Flies, William Golding

Haunting.

The Bridge at San Luis Rey, Thornton Wilder

Just a good read.

The Maltese Falcon, Dashiell Hammett

The best best of noir crime.

Hamlet, William Shakespeare

The best of the Bard for the casual reader.

Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad

The original Apocalypse Now.  

The Call of the Wild, Jack London

And I don't even like dogs.

Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll

Everybody's favorite mathematician plays with words and our minds.

A Child’s Garden of Verse, Robert Louis Stevenson

Fun for all ages, and no childhood is complete without these verses.

A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens

Read it every year without fail. The book that created Christmas as we know it.

Kim, Rudyard Kipling

Coming of age in British India. The next best thing to riding the Grand Trunk Railroad across India yourself. You can almost smell it.

Two Years Before the Mast, Richard Henry Dana

Nineteen year-old boy drops out of college, spends two years out of his comfort zone, and it changes his life forever: the original missionary story.

Where the Sidewalk Ends, Shel Silverstein

Sarah Cynthia Silvia Stout. Need I say more?

The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde

Just remember that everyone eventually pays the price...

The Phantom of the Opera, Leroux

It's the ingenious engineering...

Les Miserables, Victor Hugo

24601.

Animal Farm, George Orwell

Oh, yea, it's doublespeak again. Welcome to modern politics, where the politicians are always more equal than others.

The Divine Comedy, Dante

Perhaps it would be even a little more hellish if we left them just a little hope.

The Good Earth, Pearl Buck

It's the most populous country on the planet.

North of Boston, Robert Frost

Mending Wall, Death of the Hired Man. The New England we all long for.

So that's my Great Classics list so far. A Thousand Years of Solitude shows up on almost every list, but I have yet to read it. I have also not included some "classics" because I am not interested in the language: Catcher in the Rye, for example. And I have never read Pride and Prejudice, though I am told that Elizabeth Bennett is one of the most complex characters in literature (I think that's the way it goes). What else have I missed? What would you add to the list, and why?

Extreme Weather: Pregnancy Edition

On Wednesday, school was cancelled due to an icy snow storm that dumped several inches on us Tuesday night.  All ward activities were cancelled this week as a result, which meant that Rob was home Tuesday night and I didn't have to gear up for the Relief Society quarterly activity Wednesday night (named, ironically enough, "Freezing in February" - it was going to be lessons on making freezer meals).  Rob stared out the window Tuesday night and declared, "It's like the end of days!  It's Snowmagedden! There's no way anyone's going anywhere tomorrow!"  Sure enough, by 9:00 p.m. the phone call came that Loveland schools would be closed.

In the words of Loveland's superintendent, "This has been a most unusual winter for school districts all across the state" and "we still have several weeks of winter left."  That last bit I think he learned from the Groundhog.  (But last year, the Groundhog said winter would be short, and we had snow during spring break - never trust a rodent).  We ran out of snow days at least one snow day ago, and the state has now approved up to three days of Blizzard Bags in the event that the winter weather continues to pound us.  The Blizzard Bag is not a bag - it's a website where students will go to pick up assignments that they can complete so that further snow days don't cut into summer vacation.  A virtual backpack.  And yes, that's right - this Midwestern winter is now threatening my summer.

I managed to get my minivan over the icy snow and out of the driveway, squealing and swerving, to get to the chiropractor on Wednesday morning, but it would not go back up the driveway when I returned.  So I spent an hour with a big shovel trying to dig a path for the car back into the garage.  This did not send my body into labor, much to my dismay and Rob's relief.  It did, however, enable me to get to my OB appointment later that afternoon.  Sensing that the weather and snow day and driveway situation had pushed me beyond my limit of endurance, Rob ditched work and came home so that I did not have to drag all the children to the OB.  He tried to pick up rock salt on his way home, since we used up the last of our supply in the previous week's weather calamity.  The rock salt at the store was long gone, so even after Rob spent another hour plowing the driveway in that early evening's plummeting temperatures, our driveway is still a bit of a bumpy path.

I should have expected unusual cold this year - it happens with every pregnancy.  The summer that Ellie was born, Cincinnati declared a heat emergency.  The weather people warned us not to go outside unless absolutely necessary, and even then to refrain from any strenuous activity such as walking.  Violation of this warning was sure to send the entire population into deadly heatstroke.  I walked 5 minutes each morning from the parking lot to my office, sometimes 9 blocks up to the courthouse for mid-day litigation tasks, and another 5 minutes back from my office to my car at night.  I did not have heatstroke, but I did swell up like a balloon.

The week Matt was born, a major hurricane (was it Katrina?) hit the south, and we encountered the remnants in the form of a disastrous windstorm.  It knocked over trees and destroyed roads and houses.  By the time we arrived home from the hospital with Matt, our power was out.  That first night home from the hospital (which is always the worst night of your life), we tried very hard to feed Matt without shining the flashlight right in his eyes.  We were lucky - our power came back on just 24 hours later, although it took several more days to restore phone and internet service.  Unlike the house up the road, our trees didn't fall over and smash our roof.  The Gibsons didn't have power for a week, so they came over at least a few times to share the meals people were bringing us.

And that brings us to Tessa, wherein we encountered another heat emergency season.  The day after my due date (and two days before she was born), our air conditioning broke.  Just shut off.  Repair companies said it might be 2-3 days before anyone could get out to fix it, because the same thing was happening to overstressed air conditioning units all over the city and they were swamped.  "Would that be okay?" one customer service rep asked.  "Well, I have two young children and I'm 9 months pregnant, so NO THAT WOULD NOT BE OKAY!!"  She was sorry she asked.  The day Tessa was born, Rob and I were wide awake, sweating, at 3:30 a.m.  "Maybe I'll just go into work," Rob said.  "No, please don't leave me," I begged.  Mercifully, my body went into labor just two hours later.  Bus met the air conditioning repairman at our house the next day.  "I bet it's just all froze up," he told Bus. That was the official diagnosis:  our unit was "all froze up" from trying to cool the sweltering air.  We paid him a few hundred dollars for his well-spoken diagnosis and he worked some trick to get it to unfreeze faster than it would on its own.

So here we are.  In 2014, we've endured the Polar Vortex and Arctic Apocalypse, Winter Storm Maximus, Snowmagedden, ice storms, and apparently we're about to encounter something called Winter Storm Orion. Rumors are floating that there will be bad weather tomorrow and again on Monday.  Weather.com doesn't indicate what, if any, weather severity may be in store for us over the weekend, but the temperature certainly isn't going to be high enough to melt the ice on our driveway before the next real snow arrives.  The good news is that by sometime next week, I'll be able to pull my boots on with much less effort and ordeal than it currently takes.  Some days, just being able to get your boots on is all you can ask.

The part where I cry myself to sleep over paint colors

I didn't actually cry myself to sleep last night.  I wanted to, very badly.  But before I let it happen I remembered that I am 266 days pregnant and that bursting into tears was likely an exaggerated response to a relatively minor difference of opinion.  Later came silent anxiety over why we were having a difference of opinion about paint color, and why we can't come up with a name other than Caboose, and whether such matters reveal any serious flaws in our spousal communication.  Later still came actual sleep.  Resolution on paint color is pending.  Resolution on Caboose's name is also pending, presumably, although I think it may not come up again until we're on our way to the hospital.

The painter is coming on Monday at 8:30 a.m. to paint the living room/office and the playroom.  This deadline means that yesterday I finally pulled out the paint samples I bought two weeks ago and put brushstrokes up on the walls.  When Rob got home last night, I had four options on the walls:  City Loft, Wall Street (both chosen, I believe, because as a native New Yorker the names subconsciously appeal to me), Antique Red, and Perfect Greige.  I had almost settled on Perfect Greige for the office and perhaps even for the wall above the chair rail in the playroom, because Perfect Greige is everything it sounds like.  Wall Street, which was my favorite paint swatch, proved way too dark for either a playroom or a largish office that is poorly lit and spends most of bathed in outside shade.  City Loft, as it turns out, is an okay, not overly stunning white.  Antique Red looks lovely on the swatch but looks more like Cherry Red on the wall.

Rob's assessment:  Perfect Greige is too light and somewhat bland.  Wall Street is perfect - dark and rich, just like the olive green walls he's loved so well in his upstairs office (which, come to think of it, were the subject of my last near-meltdown).  City Loft is an okay white.  Antique Red looks lovely on the swatch but looks more like Cherry Red on the wall.  Writing this in the light of day I now see that we actually agreed on 50 percent of the paint colors!  Glass at least half full!  But last night, I agonized over his dislike of Perfect Greige.  I thought about how many paint colors we have already in this house, and how I really would prefer navy blue cupboards in my kitchen but I can't have them because the walls are green (and also because we're not remodeling the kitchen right now and, come to think of it, if we were, repainting the walls would be a mere drop in the money pit).  I thought about how dark and gloomy the office would look painted in Wall Street, how it would clash with the black piano and dark wood end tables.  This is the part where we said goodnight and I rolled over and decided not to cry myself to sleep.

Today I went back to the paint store for more samples:  Spaulding Gray and Storm Cloud.  Spaulding Gray is just a shade darker than Perfect Greige.  Storm Cloud is a shade lighter than Wall Street.  I want to name paint colors for a living, because I really think that Wall Street looks more like a storm cloud and Storm Cloud is much cheerier than the name suggests.  I asked the paint store employees what white I should use, and they suggested either Snowbound or Pure White, since those tend to be the most popular.  There are precious few opportunities in this world to safely follow the crowd; why not take advantage of the places where we can?  Do you think we will raise our social standing if we have Pure White below the chair rail rather than City Loft?  I'm likely to veto Snowbound, because I hate snow and I'm afraid it might be a bad winter omen to put something on my walls that is named after winter storms.  Why I am not similarly vetoing Storm Cloud is not rational, but then again, women who have been pregnant for 266 days are not known for their detached, rational opinions and decisions.

After carefully examining today's paint colors, Rob offered the following:  "I love you more than paint colors.  Please choose what will make you happy."  And so I sat, indecisive, for several minutes before deciding that I'll make this decision in the morning.  In the meantime, I think our spousal communication is in pretty decent shape after all.

Musings from Four Weeks Out

Yesterday I was reading People StyleWatch, which I absolutely never do, except for every month.  One page featured something called Vita-K, a serum that will cure puffy baggy eyes as well as those pesky dark circles.  I immediately ordered it from Amazon and then looked in the mirror and thought, "I can't wait to use my anti-wrinkle cream again."  See, you can't use anti-aging products when you're pregnant.  And then it occurred to me that perhaps one shouldn't need pre-natal vitamins AND anti-wrinkle cream on the same day in one's life.  Perhaps the need for anti-wrinkle cream is a clear indication that it's time to leave the baby-bearing stage of life.  Multiply and replenish the earth:  check.

I think my nose looks fat and I'm wondering if a new shade of lipstick would help.

I broke the cardinal rule of pregnancy, which is never, ever cut your hair.  In my defense, it was only bangs that I cut and, furthermore, I didn't actually cut them.  My Korean hair dresser Kimmie cut them and she says I look like a movie star.  Then again, I pay her to say things like that.

Caboose is still without a name or a room.  The room is slightly easier to resolve.  At 10:30 pm last night, Rob said to me, "We need to come up with a three week IKEA strategy."  He was at IKEA last Friday after work, bought several things, and spent several hours building two of those things last Saturday.  So we started discussing this weekend's IKEA trip, including returning two bookcases that we bought before accurately measuring the space in our family room.  They don't fit.  Meanwhile, the wall shelf and media cabinet he built last Saturday are still in the basement, because we're too tired to haul the completed pieces upstairs.  Fortunately, the missionaries are coming over for lunch on Saturday and when they say, "Is there anything we can do for you" we have our answer ready.  We'd ask our home teacher, but he's in his 80s.  The sweet man has already offered to come over and help out with the kids while I'm in labor.  Bless him.

By midnight, we were still discussing the IKEA strategy, only now it had moved to a complete reconsideration of room arrangement chez Lesan.  We've been thinking of installing Caboose in the room that has served as the guest room/Rob's office for the last few years.  I floated the idea of painting it something other than its current dark olive-ish green.  "Veto!" was Rob's response.  "This room has been a sanctuary lo these last few years, and the color cannot change!"  But it's such masculine space, I countered.  We can't put a baby girl in here.  "Matt and I need some masculine spaces in this house.  You girls can't paint everything pink." Moreover, Rob can't face painting one more room in the house, and he's not emotionally prepared to pay someone else to "ruin the office."

Rob thinks if we take out the desk and move the bookshelf to the back wall, there will be just enough space for a mini crib or pack and play; then we could put a rocker in between the guest bed and the mini crib.  I think that sounds ill-configured and I start to get weepy about my little girl having to live crammed into a guest room with olive green walls.  I realize that I'm weepy because it's midnight and I'm 36 weeks pregnant, which is to say that my feelings, while valid, are highly exaggerated.  It's a delicate balance really.  One we'll try hard to strike over the next few months as we navigate round four of late pregnancy/early postpartum emotions.  (Which reminds me that several months ago as we were falling asleep, Rob decided it would be funny to recite every postpartum conversation he anticipated us having - and did so with amazing accuracy).

We finally came to what I think sounds like a reasonable solution, one Rob floated and I vetoed months ago but which now sounds amazingly sane.  Matt will move into the guest room/office with masculine walls and his current room, which until 6 months ago was Tessa's nursery, will now be Caboose's nursery.  On the rare occasions when guests come, Matt will get to have a sleepover with the girls or he can crawl in bed with us.  He crawls in bed with us at least once a week anyway.  Some nights when we go to bed, we find Matt fast asleep hiding under our pillows.  (Totally freaked out a babysitter last week when she went to check on the sleeping kids and Matt was nowhere to be found.  She called us in a panic, afraid Matt had snuck out of the house. Thank heavens we knew otherwise).

But with everyone coming through in the next few months for birth and blessing, it doesn't seem logical to move Matt right away.  So by 12:30 am we decided that all the upstairs rooms will currently stay as configured, and we will make a little corner for Caboose in our room with a bassinet and a glider.  The more things change the more they stay the same.  I think I'll go buy lipstick.

ORIGINALLY POSTED ON "THE BEST IS YET TO COME" 

http://brillanrayos.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-best-two-years-so-far.html

With Thanksgiving approaching, I have been thinking about some of the many blessings I enjoy. One of those blessings has been an unending series of of experiences that, in retrospect, have built upon one another.

During my first week as a new mission president, my secretary brought a stack of letters into my office and asked me the sign them. In response to my query, he explained that they were the “death letters” for missionaries who would be released in three months.

Death letters? I soon learned that there was a rich culture of death surrounding the completion of missionary service: we sang for the “dead,” junior companions “killed” their senior companion. I had only been mission president for a couple of weeks when we had our first transfers and I interviewed a group of missionaries they day before they returned home. It was a somber occasion, not unlike a funeral.  What I began to realize during the course of those interviews was that these missionaries – most of the 21 years old – felt that the best of their life was over. It became clear during the course of the interviews that they had been told over and over again in countless ways that their mission would be the best two years of their life. It also became clear that my job was to convince them that that was a lie!

A mission is a remarkable, memorable, unique and life-changing experience in so many ways it would be almost impossible to describe them all. But the best two years of your life? I hope not! A mission is the best two years of your life so far. One of my jobs as mission president was to remind missionaries that, and incredible as the past two years or eighteen months had been, the best was yet to come. For missionary at the end of his or her mission, it is hard to imagine that any two year period could even match, let alone exceed the past two years. But it can, and it should. No one should reach their apogee at age 21.

Noah's Ark - click to enlarge

The Best Two Years: Between High School and Mission

As evidence, I have been reflecting on my own life. For more than a decade, I lived it in two-year periods, each building on the previous. I was seventeen when I graduated from high school, and the next two years – as a college student – became the best two years of my life (so far). My decision to attend BYU was made after high school graduation, and I didn’t know a single soul who was planning to go to BYU that fall. I unpacked my bags in a stark dorm room without a friend on the campus.  Because of missionary restrictions imposed due to the military draft, I would not be eligible for a mission for another year and half. Those early semesters at BYU were the best two years (actually about eighteen months) of my life to that point. It was a period of personal growth, great new friendships, social development, learning. What could be better than being a college student in the Sixties?!

The Best Two Years: A Mission

What could be – and was – better was being a missionary. I arrived in Cordoba, Argentina in June, two years after I had graduated from high school. The next two years were amazing. I learned a new language, experienced a new culture, met remarkable people, struggled, worked, got rejected, and witnessed miracles. My companions and I were given responsibilities and expectations. We got up early every morning, we worked hard, and we slept well. We did things. By the time I returned home two years later I was a very different person than I had been when I left. I had confidence, I could look people in the eye, I could teach, I knew things, I could do things. It was the best two years of my life.

The Best Two Years: More College

I arrived home from the mission field one week before classes started, and I spent the next two years finishing my college degree. It was as different from being a missionary as being a missionary had been different from being a college freshman. But it was a remarkable two years, filled with learning, growth and fun. I had wonderful roommates. Many of them were friends and companions  from the mission, but we rarely spoke of our mission memories – our life was too full with classes, dating, Church service, and planning for the future to spend much time reminiscing. During those two years, my gospel knowledge increased, my social skills improved (I still had a long ways to go from the geeky high school kid whose primary extracurricular activity was teaching a slide rule class), and my testimony deepened. It was the best two years yet.

The Best Two Years: Graduate School

After college graduation, I spent the next two years in Boston earning an MBA at the Harvard Business School. It was an amazing two years, and changed my life. I have often joked that my experience at the Harvard Business School was the best two years and $10,000 of my life! Everything about it was life-changing for me: living in Boston, traveling around New England, school, Church, new friends. Many of my closest friends today date from those years in Boston. Between years I worked in New York City, and no one can live in New York without having it change their life. And it was near the end of these two years that I met and fell in love with a beautiful young woman from Dallas, Kathleen Hansen.

The Best Two Years: Ad Infinitum

I could continue. The next two years Kathleen and I spent in New York City. We became “city people” – and we still love urban life. I served in a bishopric, we made great friends, we learned, we grew, and we had our first child. It was such a remarkable couple of years that we thought nothing would ever be better and that we would never be that happy again! We then went to Salt Lake City for two years where I dabbled in real estate development, served on a high council, had another child, and had experiences which shaped our lives. 

After that, the two-year cycle changed: we spent a year in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan (where we had another child); five years in Grand Rapids, Michigan (three more children); two more years in Bloomfield Hills (a ward that changed our life); ten years in Arizona (where we wondered if we had really been happy anywhere else). There we had our sixth child, I served in a stake presidency, and we had Church, work, family and social experiences that kept us growing and learning.  A career move brought us reluctantly to Salt Lake – could anything ever be better than that magical decade in Arizona? 

The answer, of course, was yes. We segment the past nineteen years in Salt Lake mostly by Church callings. I served for several years on the high council under the tutelage of the legendary stake president, Theodore M. Jacobsen. When he was released, I was called as stake president. I was pretty certain that serving as president of the Bonneville Stake was the best calling in the Church and that nothing would ever compare to it. Then I served three years as president of the Spain Barcelona Mission. More miracles, more learning, more growth, increased faith, deeper testimony, and the most amazing young men and women I had ever met! Then it was over. Could anything even come close? I never imagined how much I would learn and how much fun I would have after the mission. I have felt the guidance of the Spirit in remarkable ways, seen many miracles in my family, and continued to learn and grow. I thought I understood baptism as a mission president, but working in the temple has given me a deeper understanding and appreciation of the power of ordinances. Pursuing my goal of writing has been extraordinarily rewarding. And the great friendships and associations from BYU, Harvard, New York City, Michigan, Arizona and Barcelona continue to be a source of satisfaction and learning.

I can hardly wait to see what’s next!

Tell us about your most recent two years. Share your thoughts by commenting below, or submit your own post to the blog (send to [email protected]).

Sprint the Finish

On October 29, Ada and I received the following email from the one and only Brooke Clayton Boyer:

There is a saying in marathon training that you should always "sprint the finish," or put your final, hardest, strongest push in the last mile of the race.

It's November, the holidays are upon us, I just spent a week eating chocolate in place of everything else, and I feel like this holiday season, I want to give myself the present of health!  Back when I was single and had hours a day to work out and disposable income for Whole Foods (sigh), my sister put together a community health challenge.  I thought she was nuts.  Now I, too, am nuts, and crazy loves company, so I'm swiping her idea (I take it all back, Heather), and hoping I can find a few other crazies out there to up the ante for us all.  I'm adding a big list of women on here, and please feel free to add more: no cap on entries! The more, the merrier.  And no pressure whatsoever if for any reason this doesn't interest you.  

Here's how it works:

• To join, you pay $30 into the Challenge Fund.  All the $$ in the Fund goes to the PRIZES described below
• Earn points each day (10 max per day, 70 max per week)
• Stick to a list of daily health goals, plus a bonus goal each week.  One point per goal per day. Here are the goals:

1. Drink 6 glasses of water 
2. No more than 1 serving refined sugar per day
3. No eating after 8 pm or when dinner finishes, whichever is later
4. Exercise for at least 30 minutes, 5 days per week
5. Eat at least 6 servings of veggies and fruit
6. Study 20 minutes of holy text (or other personally uplifting work)
7. Record one thing you're grateful for in journal
8. Work toward one personal goal
9. Record daily points on the group Google Doc to stay accountable and encourage others
10. WILD CARD, announced each week (ideas welcome)

The Challenge will start on Friday, November 1, after we binge through Halloween, then we'll stick to the goals every day, for about eight weeks, and finish just in time for Christmas on December 22! 

Now, most importantly, the prize $!  There are 2 categories of winners:

(1) The three participants with the most points. 80% of the cash in the Challenge Fund will be divided among the three challengers with the most points. For example, if there is $500 in the kitty, $400 will be allocated amongst the three players with the most points. And, (2), a prize everyone can be eligible for: All participants with more than 70% of the available points. Because the Challenge is partly about getting the most points, but mostly about process, any person who gets an average of 7 points or better per day, will have won, and will be eligible for a random giveaway which will be funded by the remaining 20% in the Challenge Fund. 

After a bit of consideration, we decided to join up because it's mostly things we ought to be doing anyway.  Even in my pregnant state.  Caboose will surely be happier with 6 servings of veggies and fruits rather than the 6 servings of Halloween candy she's been getting.  Right?  By the end of Friday, there were 46 people signed up, making the available pot of gold a whopping $1380!  Brooke created Google spreadsheets in which to record points, with instructions for each competitor to record their personal goal for the group to see.  

As we should have expected, the competitors list includes mostly type-A super accomplished personalities, including a smattering of Claytons, several lawyers and law professors, at least one doctor (who we later learned is also vegan) and more Ivy League degrees than we can count.  Almost immediately, the collection of lawyers started requesting further defined terms.  The biggest exchange to date has been over The Sugar Rule (in caps because, well, that's what we do with defined terms).  Roughly a dozen emails flew back and forth on Saturday about what exactly constitutes 1 serving of refined sugar.  After consulting with The Doctor, Brooke sent a refined rule:  

"Three ways to answer, "Is this my one serving of sugar?"  Choose the one that's strictest:  (1) You can consult WebMD Sweets and Treats portion size.  (2) Read the nutrition information on the packaging.  (3) If it tastes like a treat, smells like a treat, bumps you off the wagon like a treat, IT'S A TREAT!  Now get back to that edamame."

One lawyer responded with a proposal that we return to "the original version of rule 2 with regard to sugar" which was "one serving means the usually-very-small-defined serving size for the refined-sugar item you are eating, and anything with refined sugar added/on the ingredient list, including sugary cereals, yogurts, beverages, etc. counts."  His expanded analysis:

"I can see reasons why the new rule (which as I read it says "you can only eat one serving per day from the following three categories: (a) food with refined sugar in it, (b) food with 15g or more of sugar per serving, and (c) food that can be plausibly categorized as a 'treat'") would be overall better for my health, but I think it has some serious problems (for example, it rules out lots of fruits, which kind of conflicts with rule 6), and it is much more complicated than the prior version and harder to administer/follow.

People could certainly make reasonable arguments in favor of the original rule AND in favor of the new rule (or in favor of any number of other specific sugar-intake rules that could take their place),so  I suggest that we just stick with the version that was in place when everyone signed up and move ahead with that one.  None of the rules are perfectly tailored as a guide for healthy living for the rest of my life, but all of them (including the original refined sugar rule) will have a beneficial impact on a person's lifestyle, and at the end of the day, contest rules are all inherently arbitrary on some level, so I think we should just use the rule that everyone was planning/expecting to follow, despite its flaws."

Michelle Mumford (resume: BYU law grad, former associate for Very Large New York Firm, current elected official in the Utah Republican Party, new Associate Dean of Admissions at BYU law school, and mother of 6 - including twin boys less than a year old) responded with a simple "I guess I didn't see the new rule as a new rule but only how to define sugar intake. I understand I can't eat refined sugar and I can have one serving-size treat a day. Is that correct?"  

And here the doctor weighs in again to explain the 15g rule:  "If a product (muffin, yogurt, juice, luna bar, green smoothie, ice cream, M&Ms etc) has more than 15 gms of sugar per serving then it counts as your serving of sugar for the day. Yes, this means that ice cream and orange juice would both count - choose wisely.   Naturally occurring sugars in the form of whole fresh fruits are exempt.  So I think this is more of a clarification of how to define your preferred sugary-type product."

YIKES!!  My orange juice and green smoothie could count?  Matt Clayton pointed out that a Costco apple spice muffin is as much of a sugary treat as the chocolate donut next to it, which is an idea I can get behind. But Ada and I can't process the thought of orange juice as our one-serving treat.  Another participant said she felt that if the treat was just a small piece of candy that was shy of 15g of sugar, then it didn't count as your sugar serving.  Which as I read it means that I could have a rather significant number of Halloween candies a day if I just spread them out over several non-servings.

Brooke issued her final ruling late Saturday night:  "I think the preceding sugar comments have been provocative; thanks all.  If nothing else, it's clear that lots of folks are making some pretty impressive efforts to cut added sugar out of all their food, not just dessert, as a matter of habit.  So if you find yourself in the more liberally-minded "one serving sugar" camp, and you're in it to win it, it's probably worth scaling back your big-dessert-dreams (or not taking the point when it's a stretch).  Rising tide lifts all boats."

So that's where we currently stand with respect to sugar.  Now, what does "personal goal" mean?  After noticing some hard-to-quantify goals on the group challenge board, people started weighing with suggestions for term definition.  Brooke's eventual ruling:  "The idea here is that you choose one challenging goal that you can score a point for every day.  So to earn the point, you need a measurable, specific, 'reach' goal that you can identify as having hit or not hit each day.  And it has to show up on the Challenge Board for you to claim the point."

Ada, wisely avoiding risking input from 46 people, texted Brooke to ask about Fast Sunday.  Some Challengers are LDS, some are not.  Brooke's advice to the group was to adjust the food you do eat post-Fast to fit the guidelines.  Because what we all want is a post-Fast salad.  But given the number of Competitors, including Ada, who scored 10 points yesterday, I suspect there were lots of post-Fast salad/water-guzzling dinners last night!

So that's where we stand, folks.  Ada and I will keep you updated on this hilarious process in which we compete for cash with the most competitive group of people we know.  There's bound to be more hilarity between now and December 22.  For now, I'm guzzling water and trying desperately to stick to this week's Wild Card challenge:  no soda.  Oh how I'm missing a good Diet Coke right now!

Montgomery Ward Nostalgia Night

As requested, here are more pictures of Friday night's ward party.  You've met the happy couple above.  Now enjoy the rest of the scenery!

I took this one Friday morning while we were setting up.  Table centerpieces were mix tapes, vinyls, Nintendo games, joysticks and machines, vintage pop bottles, vintage candy, and a variety of old photos.  In case you are wondering what vintage candy is, it includes things such as Moon Pies, Charms, Ring Pops, Neccos, Black Jack Gum, etc.

Here is one of the gym walls, in the process of decoration.  The table has a Sycamore High athletic schedule from 1996-1997, as well as Katie Strike's Eastonia yearbook from 1973 and Jon's Highlanders from the early '90s.  I think all the clothes are actually from ward members; I don't think our decorating chief spent too much time at Goodwill.  Rob says he actually should have had a letter jacket, since by some odd circumstance Chess and Academic Quiz Team qualified as sports.  Someone at our table responded, "I don't think it can be a sport if you don't sweat."  Rob says there is plenty to sweat about in Chess and Quiz Team championships.  My friend Beth brought her Senior Prom dress, which she made - ruffles, tulle, poofiness...

At the check-in table, Monica had a Rolodex with everyone's names in it.  We picked our cards and safety-pinned them on.  Then we took a Senior Superlatives voting ballot:  Best Dressed (tonight), Best Sense of Humor, Most Contagious Laugh, Sweetest Spirit, Cutest Couple, Best Hair, Most Outspoken, Most Likely to be a Celebrity, Most Likely to be an Olympic Champion, Most Likely to Become President.  Winners were announced after Jeopardy (more on that to come).  Rob tied for Guy's Best Sense of Humor, told a good lawyer joke, and came off the winner.  I tied for Girl's Most Contagious Laugh, but in the "heads down thumbs up" runoff I lost to my friend Ally.  After trying to stage a sit-in in protest to the judge's ruling in Jeopardy, Tony Strike won Most Outspoken.  He did not, however, win Most Likely to Become President.

 Dinner!  Served by lunch ladies in a kitchen buffet on school lunch plates, with cartons of milk.  And the cartons of milk are genuine school cartons - Monica got them from her elementary school.  The hairnets are my favorite, as are the slopped mashed potatoes.  Because real lunch ladies slop the food on your plate.  Note the Nintendo gun on the table, and think back to how good we were at Duck Hunt...

Beth (aka "I made my own prom dress") was in charge of the food, so the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans with citrus zest were delicious.  The orange jello with mandarin oranges, served on a lettuce leaf, was as good as such a thing can be.  Once we got our plates, we entered the gym and looked at the long rows of lunch tables and wondered nervously who we should go sit by.

Jon's Tevas with socks.  Rob's Converse and authentic high school sweatshirt.  

Left:  The chambray shirt girls.  Julie Proudfoot (aka "The British Princess") with the blousy look, open buttons, and slouchy belt.  Katie Strike with the hand embroidered version (she made a matching one for her boyfriend) and bell-bottoms.  

Right:  Beth, with lace socks, lace shirt, black leggings, lots of bangles and droopy necklaces, red Converse, and a hat.  She was chatting with me as she was shopping Friday afternoon, trying to finish her outfit.

B: What I need are a pair of Converse high tops, but I don't have time to go to Goodwill again.
Me: Um, Beth, they're back.  Where are you right now?
B:  They're back?  You've seen them in stores?
Me: I've bought them in stores.
B:  I'm right by DSW.  I'm going in. [few minutes pause...] Here they are in every color!  And KEDS!? Are Keds back in, too?
Me: Yes.
B:  If I buy some I won't wear them again
Me:  Yes you will.

She bought red, and as it turns out lace socks are also back at DSW, so that was convenient.

Here is the happy couple at the end of the night, against the columns and stars.  In between our school lunch and our Prom picture, we had a game of Jeopardy.  Nancy Harward had made up a whole board of questions, in categories such as Dance Dance Revolution, Bad Hair Days, Say What?, and What's Hot.  Bad Hair Days for 600 was a photo of me with a side pony and the go-to hair accessory of the 1980s.  What is a scrunchie.  Dance Dance Revolution for 800 featured a 30 second video clip of the YW leaders doing a dance popularized by Marcia Griffiths in her hit song.  What is the electric slide.  (Although there was a protest about this, because the actual name of the song is Electric Boogie.  Nancy agreed to allow both answers, and the madding crowds quieted).  You get the idea.

As we were admiring the Prom columns and star-drop with our friends Andy and Naomi, it came up that Andy's prom date was our friend Melissa - also in the ward.  This was obviously common knowledge to Rob and others of that high school era, but was totally news to every one else.  I floated the idea of having Andy and Melissa take a picture together by the Prom backdrop, but he vetoed that.  Oh that we had known that factoid when Monica was putting out a demand for high school pictures!  The Andy-Melissa prom picture really should have been in the slideshow of ward members circa age 18 that was on repeat in the front of the gym.  Of course, having your prom date show up 15 years later in your ward is probably not all that uncommon on the East Bench.  But here in Middle America it's a little more momentous.

Now we've put away our senior class rings and Rob's returned his high school sweatshirt to the basement.  But I'm keeping my chambray shirt and flower jeans and Converse handy, as well as that blue eye shadow.  It's ALL back...