Please....release me.....let me go......

Do you know the song? Can you sing along? It's an old song; one I thought I was through singing when I left the Mormon church. If you are now, or have ever been, of the Mormon persuasion (good pun there), you'll understand my story. Here it is:

I had been asked some months ago if I would run for the board in my little gated community. The Village needed an idiot, I guess. I respectfully declined, citing job and family priorities. What I didn't say was that I had no intention of getting involved with the politics and personalities of running anything, been-there-done-that, didn't like it. So they sicced one of the brethren on me! He came to the house, talked in that subdued low-key voice they use as they lay on you some guilt trip about "you've been called", and we all have to help where we can,and you mustn't hide your light under a basket, or some such nonsense. I finally told him NO, in no uncertain terms.

So a few weeks later, another neighbor asked me if I would help them proofread the newsletter that goes out monthly. Okay, I can do that, so I agreed. At the first meeting, I got assigned to do interviews on new residents, appointments to the board, couples leaving to serve missions (like I care!), and just generally highlight somebody every month. I tried to back down, saying I'd been recruited under false pretenses, but agreed to do what I could.

I hated it! The older I get, the less of a people-person I am. I don't WANT to call total strangers and ask them how they met, where they vacation, what books they read for God's sake, and what improvements would they like to see in the Village. Oh, and how about this suggested question: "Do you want to tell us about any divorces or diseases you've experienced?" Who the hell thought that one up?

Well, after about 6 months on my new "job", I've had a gut full. So I called the neighbor who persuaded me to get involved with this crap (a guy I really do like -- it's the only reason I agreed in the first place), and told him I wanted to be released from my calling. I told him to call somebody else. Actually, I sicced him on my other neighbor (sorry, Franny!). But really, she likes people a lot more than I do.

I know this seems to be much ado about nothing. Easy for you to say. Maybe you didn't internalize that guilt-thing like I did. When I explained I didn't like calling people, my handler said, "Well, you shouldn't do anything you don't what to do. Don't worry about it. I'll do it. I'll find.....somebody. But you shouldn't have to do something you really don't want to do." My thoughts exactly!! So why do I feel like I left him in a lurch?

Well, that's my tiny little suburban crisis. So beware! A "carefree community" comes with strings attached. There's the Social Committee, the Finance Committee, the all-powerful Architectural Committee, the Pool Police, the Water Master, and the Club House Committee. And these are all in addition to the Board of Directors and the Association Officers! And you better be prepared to do your part or face the disapproval of the Village fathers (who are also the Ward Brethren). Is there no escaping it?

Somewhere the sun is shining......Somewhere hearts are light

And last week, I found that somewhere. It's in San Diego! What a great week of getaway for some much needed change of scenery.

I made extended eye contact with this big brute even though the sign told me not to. They find it threatening, or some such nonsense. I tell ya, he and I connected on some really primal level. Everyone else had walked on, and the Beast and I made goo-goo eyes at each other.

It was a week of sunny and windy beaches during the day, nearly non-stop witty repartee with the Hawkes', and evenings awash with martinis and wine. Ah, the good life.

We had dinner one night with Peggy, a friend from my first childhood, who remains one of the nicest and most pleasant people I know. We had dinner another night with Sheri, a friend from my second childhood, who continues to make me laugh after so many years. We dubbed the disembodied voice of the GPS, Sally, with whom we developed a real love/hate relationship. When she got us to where we wanted to go, we thanked her. And if we missed a turn, turned too soon, or tried to second guess her, we called her a sleezy bitch -- and worse. But all in all, we appreciated Sally and wondered how we ever got along without her.

We discussed politics, religion, marriage, family, business, literature, and art. We didn't always agree (the war in Iraq), we had spirited differences of opinion (Hemingway was an asshole), we supported each other's efforts (here dumbshit, let me find that knitting stitch you dropped), and we discussed at length the merits of grandchildren and the failings of old acquaintances.

But alas, the week ran out, and we returned to a snowstorm that started just after we landed in Salt Lake, and continued throughout the night. This morning we had about 5 inches of white reality and were forced to concede that winter's not over yet (which made last week's respite all the more memorable). We had a great time, but now it's back to the grind.

Good Hunting, Will

Like any other teacher, I can't help but like some students better than others. There are some who can't exit fast enough for my liking. But every once in awhile one comes along that gives me hope. Such a one is Will. He's been locked up for a long time -- long enough to go completely gray; long enough to lose whatever contacts he had on the outside. This can be a bad thing of course, but it can also be a good thing. For Will, it's been a good thing.


He finished High School with me about a year ago, but has continued to stop by my classroom to chat and to let me know how he's doing. As his parole date neared, he teeter-tottered between over-the-top anticipation and paralyzing fear of what life was going to be like for him on the outside. As fast as the world is changing, how do you make the transition from being told what to do, how to do it, and when to do it to having unlimited choices as well as unlimited consequences? How do you go from knowing exactly what you'll wear every morning, noon, and night, which is exactly what every other inmate is wearing every morning, noon, and night to having to make a choice about style, color, appropriateness, and all of the subtleties that go along with dressing yourself?


And food.....does he remember how to grocery shop, cook, or eat with something other than a plastic fork? Where does he begin.......again? To make better choices, and better friends, and ask for help when he needs it? These are all things I wonder about when I think of Will. I wonder what he did after he walked out the front gate. How did he spend that first day? Did he sleep well that first night? For several years now, he's been living in a dorm-setting with 50 other guys where there is virtually NO privacy. It was never completely dark; it was never completely quiet; the temperature was never completely right. He had a flashlight shined in his face every hour during the night, and he shared toilet time with 5 other guys.


How does he walk away from that and assimilate back into society? When he came to say goodbye to me, we hugged (against all the rules), he shed a few tears. He told me he had a place to stay, a job waiting for him, and support from his adopted family (volunteers from the LDS church program at the prison). I told him to go buy some cool duds to wear -- NOT white -- and take life verrrrrryyyyy slowly.


When I asked him if he felt strong, he said, "I've forgiven God -- and He's forgiven me -- we're working things out." It's hard not to know the end of the story, but I only want to know it if it has a happy ending. I have high hopes for Will.


Good hunting, Will.