tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15622802386283411392024-02-20T04:01:54.032-07:00 Deser(e)t LoonD. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.comBlogger168125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-54630472150340900452021-09-11T07:45:00.003-06:002021-09-11T07:45:27.187-06:00Short story: Pakt<p> I wrote a short story, a little LDS romance. It turned into a gesture of remembrance for the September 11 attacks, just in time for the 20th anniversary. Here it is.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;">PAKT</span></u></p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />We lie side by side, silent. <br /><br /> In love? No. In fear then? <br /><br /> I feel her body heat and I hear her breathing. <br /><br /> Together but not touching. <br /><br /> Could these work as song lyrics? A poem? <br /><br /> Footsteps approach and I feel fear. She probably feels relief. <br /><br /> Well we all agreed to this. <br /><br /> I take these kinds of things much too seriously. But I should feel relieved, like I expect Sherry does. I don't think she expected that I would be the first to find her. I know I didn't. And I almost turned away when I did, meaning to avoid the others in their search and come back later when a couple of them had joined, but she told me to get in here, and for the past couple of minutes I've been trying to figure out what she meant by her tone of voice. <br /><br /> Right now she almost sounds like she could be sleeping. <br /><br /> The footsteps draw nearer and stop. Now another voice: <br /><br /> “Well well well, what have we here?” <br /><br /> Torgersen crouches and looks in. “Hola, Macmillan.” She pronounces the double-l Castilian fashion. <br /><br /> “Torgersen.” I pronounce the g Castilian fashion too. <br /><br /> Not “Hermana,” not any more. <br /><br /> “Oh that's right,” murmurs Sherry, “the mission buddies.” She clears her throat. “Get in here April, and everybody keep quiet.” <br /><br /> Torgersen clears her throat too, sits down while she puts her hair up, and then lies down and slides over to my side. <br /><br /> A man lying with two women, in the dark. I can hear the polygamy jokes now. <br /><br /> “Comfy?” whispers Torgersen. <br /><br /> “Sh!” hisses Sherry. <br /><br /> “Okay.” And we're lying still again, no moving, no talking, waiting to see if Torgersen's voice carried enough to bring any of the others. <br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> Hush, hush, keep it down now, voices carry . . . <br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> These are the kinds of things that come into my head: frequently distracting and unhelpful. How can I take control of them? I might tell myself something happy, like: <br /><br /> At least nobody is talking about Afghanistan. I’ve had to bite my tongue plenty of times with this bunch. Invade Afghanistan? Have they not learned from history? No, I’m not a History major, I’m an English major. We’re the liberals around here. <br /><br /> So much for happy thoughts. But come to think of it, I haven’t heard Torgersen talk much about Afghanistan either. I wonder what she thinks, how she feels. I know how I feel, I’m still trying to compose my thoughts and opinions. It seems that many of my peers already have these firmly set. <br /><br /> It would be nice if Torgersen and I were alone here, just for the chance of talking about this, and other important things. Come to think of it, maybe Sherry would be up for that, if we weren’t hiding. <br /><br /> Right now the air feels like a blanket smothering all speech. Maybe I’m the only one who feels that, maybe I’m the only one who thinks of the weight of the building above us, of dark cramped spaces under buildings . . . <br /><br /> But besides all that, I’m a 21-year-old man who has the insane and useless luck to be laid out on the floor between two pretty women on a Monday night at BYU. At other universities people like us would be getting drunk – and laid. <br /><br /> You know what? I'm proud of this: that instead of all that we find enjoyment, excitement, meaning, in these games that others might find childish. Torgersen was there when I heard the talk about enjoying simple things as a mark of spiritual refinement. Having since read the Tao Te Ching I believe that even more, also since babysitting my young nephew. I never saw myself as likely to be good father material until recently. <br /><br /> What are the draft rules for married men? Fathers? <br /><br /> See where my thoughts are drawn, lying here between these two women – next to this particular one. <br /><br /> I keep re-directing my thoughts. I am so glad to be in a culture where single adults' idea of a good time is to play childhood games. Just three weeks ago we played Capture the Flag in a park, in the sparse snow. It was the first time I'd done it since I was a Boy Scout, the first time with girls. Torgersen and I were on the same team and she freed me once with a touch on my shoulder. I haven't been at peace since. Continuing to refer to her by her surname is a defense mechanism, for me at least, in my own mind at least. I tell myself she just called me by mine to be funny. <br /><br /> I think I can smell her perfume. Might I ever be fortunate enough to smell her sweat? <br /><br /> Can they smell me? Are we picking up each other's pheromones? <br /><br /> Now she's chuckling, very quietly, and Sherry shushes her again, for we hear more voices echoing in the corridor leading to this hiding place. I know these voices and I know why Torgersen is chuckling. If any two in our group were to defy the rules and pair up to look together, it would be Tim and Darlene. Now I do turn my head to the left and look at Torgersen's dim silhouette, and I take a chance and speak. <br /><br /> “Esos dos se casan dentro del año.” <br /><br /> “A lo mejor.” <br /><br /> “Keep it down, you two!” whispers Sherry. She really is taking this game seriously. But whether it's our noise or just the deductive reasoning of Tim and Darlene applied to the finite space of this building, here they are, and we hear Darlene whisper: <br /><br /> “See? I told you.” <br /><br /> “That’s quite the tight spot.” Tim's vocal cords are vibrating but he’s almost quieter than Darlene. <br /><br /> “Well get in here then, and cozy up.” <br /><br /> “And stop these two from speaking Spanish,” whispers Sherry. <br /><br /> “There are secret combinations everywhere,” says Tim, and Darlene giggles. <br /><br /> “What are you guys talking about?” <br /><br /> “World domination,” says Torgersen. <br /><br /> I'm feeling foolish for what I said to her. Was it useful – that is to say, did it serve a purpose of endearing me to her? And so I don't mention out loud how I notice that she used exactly the same words I would have. <br /><br /> “Scoot over.” Sherry's elbow nudges from my right. I scoot over. Sherry has spent time in big cities where rubbing shoulders with strangers on bus and subway is an everyday thing. The pressure of her shoulder on mine is impersonal. I think she's drawn her hands onto her chest, mummy-fashion, and I've got mine like that too, even though I want to have my left one down, and I want to clasp April Torgersen's right hand, secretly there in the dark. I want April Torgersen to roll onto her right side and nestle in and I'm not going to keep thinking about this right now. <br /><br /> “Tim, you get in here next to me. That way I'll know you two aren't getting up to anything.” <br /><br /> “Boy girl boy girl then,” murmurs Tim, “the natural order.” And with scoots and shuffles, Torgersen is right next to me, with a touch of shoulder and hip that I'm telling myself is not personal, and then we're quiet again, none of us getting up to anything. <br /><br /> Stop us from speaking Spanish to each other? I want to whisper something to April but I can't think of anything in any language. By rights it should be Torgersdatter, or however it goes in Danish or whichever language it is. I haven't asked her which one it is yet. That would have been a good sort of get-to-know-you question when we met out there in the field, but somehow at the time it would have felt like flirting. In truth we barely spoke, and the one time when we exchanged more then polite greetings it was all about how long we'd been out, what areas we'd been in, how the people were there and so on. The only personal question I ever asked her was where she was from and her answer of Perry, and my calculation that she would go home six months after me - and therefore is almost exactly a year older than me - those thoughts were constantly at the back of my mind for the next year. They never quite left in the year since I've been home, but somehow I figured we would never see each other again, and so those thoughts faded into background dreams . . . until that Sunday, in the new year: there she was, her face and arms still tanned from the tropical sun. Bienvenida Hermana. Glad you made it back, after the attack. <br /><br /> I actually said that, and she laughed, and I’ve spent the following weeks telling myself I should have hugged her. I know I’m still recovering from that shock, those towers collapsing. Right as it was happening I heard someone quote from the hymn: “Babylon the great is falling, God shall all her tow'rs o'erthrow.” <br /><br /> In a moment of shock I cast about for security and grasped at moral superiority, but then we saw and heard all that happened. Now? Again, I know how I feel, but how do I think? Nothing is certain. I don’t like the country involved in another war. Pray for our troops, they say. One of my companions is over in Afghanistan now. Here’s a prayer for all of them: <br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> For heathen heart that puts her trust <br /><br /> In reeking tube and iron shard <br /><br /> All valiant dust that builds on dust <br /><br /> And guarding, calls not Thee to guard, <br /><br /> For frantic boast and foolish word – <br /><br /> Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord! <br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> With this world the way it is we should all be hugging each other, touching each other more. <br /><br /> The first time I saw April Torgersen in jeans was that Capture the Flag game, and even after being home for six months and going out on dates and walking around campus surrounded by pretty women, I was not ready for that. Those jeans looked like they'd been tailored. <br /><br /> I guess it made it easier to call her by her first name though. We've used first names with each other about half the time since then, back and forth, I haven't figured out what's making the rhythm yet. <br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> I remember the rhythm, oh, the rhythm we made . . . <br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> No, I don't need that song in my head right now. I want to turn my head, put my right hand on her face and kiss her, so I think I ought to dispel the tension by elbowing her in the side and saying something chummy. But nothing's coming. It's not like we were old pals, we were just in the same mission and saw each other a handful of times, that's all. There was that time I heard her speak and didn't tell her how it impressed me. I told my companion: I turned to him and said: wasn't that a great talk? <br /><br /> I loved Elder Harner: he just nodded, no smirk, no eyebrow quirk. <br /><br /> I worked with several sister missionaries, and I felt comfortable saying I loved several of them. I spent two years in my sexual prime focused on dividing out the different kinds of love, sifting them out of carnal appetite. Sure, Torgersen had a nice face and voice, but like all the hermanas she wore roomy, utilitarian jumpers. Tonight she's wearing those jeans again. <br /><br /> Should I try to write songs? I'm an English major after all. You know, the people who don't know what to do with their lives. What is April Torgersen going to do with her life? I haven't even asked her about her major. Would she find an English major good enough? Would I change it if she asked? <br /><br /> And now more footsteps approach. How many more can we fit in here anyway? <br /><br /> “After years of waiting, nothing came. And you realize you've been looking, looking in the wrong place.” <br /><br /> “Is that Radiohead?” <br /><br /> “Shhh!” hisses from all around, and now it's Torgersen's elbow in my ribs. <br /><br /> “Sorry,” I whisper. “Was I really that loud?” <br /><br /> When I was a boy I played hide and seek at my friend’s house. His older sister, who was about 10 years older than us, came into the room where I was under the bed. She was eating something and she made such loud smacking sounds I burst out laughing and gave myself away. I’m not very good at games like this. <br /><br /> I read somewhere in one of those motivational philosophy books that God’s more of a Sardines player than Hide and Seek. <br /><br /> The guy who just found us crouches, still humming. I know his face but forgot his name. I didn't know he listened to Radiohead: “Pakt like Sardines in a Crushd Tin Box,” from their latest. I'll have to talk to him more. <br /><br /> “Hi guys, looks like you've got a good crowd already. Should I stand outside and point?” <br /><br /> “No,” whispers Tim, “get in here.” <br /><br /> “Everybody roll onto your left sides,” whispers Torgersen. <br /><br /> “Ooooh,” croons Darlene. <br /><br /> “Sh!” <br /><br /> “Okay, I hope we all like each other. Sherry, are you okay back there?” <br /><br /> “Yeah, I wanna snuggle Luther.” <br /><br /> I did not expect that. <br /><br /> “Come on then, don't be shy.” <br /><br /> Sherry's hands press on my spine, her knees touch the backs of my thighs. <br /><br /> A whisper from in front: “Ready, Luther?” <br /><br /> “Come on in, April.” <br /><br /> What else is there to do, except to keep my hands in front of me, no matter how badly my right hand wants to stretch out and encircle her waist as she snuggles in? And now is that her bra strap pressing into the backs of my hands? What's going to happen with knees and thighs? Her figure is generously curved, particularly behind. <br /><br /> “Oops! Sorry.” She shifts forward an inch. <br /><br /> “'Ta bien.” I grit my teeth. How much more can I adjust my own hips? Now I'm ready for this game to be done. <br /><br /> “Can't you guys make any more room?” <br /><br /> “Not unless you want us to break the Law of Chastity,” says Sherry from over my shoulder. <br /><br /> Darlene laughs: a full-on peal of echoing mirth, and then it's all up: each of us is laughing and the sound must carry through the whole building. <br /><br /> Also when I was a boy, my family used to make laughing lines, heads laid on bellies. It only took a little chuckle to start us off. For the moment I can forget anything specifically about April Torgersen and imagine we’re all in the huddle of chicks under God's own wings. <br /><br /> And I know I'm laughing from equal parts humor, tension and grief. <br /><br /> Of course it's not long before the rest of them show up, and with more laughter and jokes they start pulling what's-his-name and Darlene out of our hiding place. <br /><br /> “Clever hiding place, Sherry!” <br /><br /> “Dusty!” <br /><br /> In the hurly-burly, April pushes her back more firmly to my hands for a good three seconds. Then after scooting toward the entrance, she rolls over to face me and extends a hand. <br /><br /> “Make a chain. Grab my hand and Sherry's.” <br /><br /> We make our way out and it still feels like family. Except, when we've stood up, April grabs my shoulders and turns me around. “Let me get the dust off you.” Swat, swat. I'm a suspect and an officer is frisking me, or my big sister is dusting me after playing outside. <br /><br /> No, April Torgersen is using her hands to remove dust from my clothes. The movements of her right hand are precise and efficient, but some are targeting my backside, and her left hand is planted firmly on my shoulder, with no hesitation. <br /><br /> After her deft task is done and proper, she lets go my shoulder. <br /><br /> “Now you do me.” <br /><br /> There are pivotal moments in life that don't come announced with fanfare – this is another bit of wisdom from our mission president – nor do they give much time to decide. You have to be ready when they come, so you can just act. <br /><br /> Maybe time is slowing down, like song and story says, but however it is, I don't hesitate, I don't even think twice about her words. Brace hand on shoulder, then . . . <br /><br /> Of course the dust is not only on the side but on the back too. <br /><br /> So my world narrows: in this moment, my task is to move my hands with such precision that the unavoidable contact with that ample bottom is utilitarian, above reproach. <br /><br /> “Hey, is that allowed?” I don’t remember this one’s name either. <br /><br /> “Come on Tim, dust me off too!” <br /><br /> “Someone needs to get Sherry, she bore the brunt. Look at her!” <br /><br /> “Oh, you're looking at my butt, are you?” <br /><br /> “Stacy, you do it!” <br /><br /> Darlene's sudden loud cackle startles me as I'm finishing April's left calf, and I stumble. Her hands are up, letting her hair down, and her reaction syncs with my balance correction to make a scene I wish I could see. I get an elbow on my head, some softness that I'll be thinking about in boring classes and late nights . . . The confused tangle ends with us holding each other's forearms, and as I look in her brown eyes I see the laughter that I hear from the others. <br /><br /> “Oh, just hug already!” says Sherry. “Here! Stacy?” <br /><br /> I don't pay them any attention: I'm watching April, so I see the split second where her mouth quirks, she drops my arms and starts moving in. I still get my arms around her first. <br /><br /> We hold each other for a moment amid cheers; I feel her body relax and lean in. I look over: Stacy the Radiohead fan and Sherry are locked as tightly as Tim and Darlene, though instead of kissing like those two, they're looking our way and grinning. <br /><br /> “Gracias, MacMii-yan.” <br /><br /> “Gracias, hija de Tor-kher.” <br /><br /> She laughs and squeezes hard for a moment, then we draw apart and April says all right everybody let's go get hot chocolate. <br /><br /> Maybe the Castilian was a retreat, as is her taking the lead of our group now. But I keep pace as we walk out of there and I remember the squeeze and the flash in her eyes, and I'm not going to let myself doubt what they meant. <br /><br /> Coats on and out into the frozen night, the talk turns to the Olympics up in Salt Lake. Stacy and Sherry aren't walking together, neither are the other two, but of course Tim and Darlene are holding hands. <br /><br /> I look over at April and see her breath steam in the night. She looks at me and our eyes meet again. <br /><br /> “Come on Luther, I'll race you to the car.” <br /><br /> Thank you Sardines: you’ve done your job.</span>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-47947740638715873892021-06-16T07:39:00.002-06:002021-06-16T07:40:48.466-06:00One take: Objectification<p><span style="color: white;"> I wrote this in one sitting.</span></p><p><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></p><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">People talk about objectification like it’s a bad thing.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In order to understand it, first make it value-neutral. Then you can see how it’s everywhere – how human society depends on it. Then you can start judging the ethics of objectification with some competence.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To objectify a person is to make that person into an object. The definition is apparent in the etymology: again, let go of your emotionally-charged moral embellishments to the meaning (if I as an INFP can do this, so can you). Speaking of etymology, “person” comes from a word meaning “mask,” an object.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What do we do with objects? We admire them, we may collect them, but we use them, and rely on them. Think of all the objects you rely on throughout your day, from clothes to utensils to vehicles. Imagine human beings living in ancient or prehistoric times, crafting their tools with care and detail lacking in mass-produced consumer goods. Think of how a peasant would use his hoe or ax: strike too harshly and you might starve.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What do we do with each other? We use each other. Whenever we relate to another human being in a limited and directed capacity of that human’s being, we are objectifying. To objectify a human is first to require the human to affect a persona. Countless well-meaning people pushed English into using “person” in a way that hides the objectification at the root of the word.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Think of the service personnel you rely on, personally and impersonally: servers at a restaurant, mail carriers, plumbers, construction workers, farmers, factory workers (who made your clothes?). You’re objectifying them: you depend on them to fulfill functions, as a prehistoric human depended on tools. Do you have a job? Then you are being objectified. You’re getting paid for it, but you’re not getting paid to be yourself. You’re compensated for the time in which you condescend, in which you set the totality of your self aside to fulfill a function to others, most likely through the means of a system that regards you as a replaceable tool, even if the other human beings you work with would like to relate to you as a human being. Human Resources will put some definite limits as to how far that can go.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I mentioned I’m INFP. We do poorly at objectification: after all, we’re the ones who are notorious for talking to inanimate objects! This is why we tend to be so useless to society: we can easily develop value systems and ideals that insist on relating to other human beings in their totality as the only moral way. And we attach jealously and stubbornly to our value systems – maybe more so than anyone else. During the past six years or so as I’ve seen and heard reports of institutions and mob mentality growing more dogmatic and unforgiving (in other words, “woke” mentality and “cancel culture”) I’ve half suspected some conspiracy of INFPs behind it all.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I repeat: if I can strip value judgments from my understanding of objectification as a starting point to competent understanding, anyone can. Maybe even feminists.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This post was inspired by a conversation my sweetie and I had after she read a narc-med (that’s my term for social media) post about objectifying women. The OP was enlightened enough to recognize that a man admiring a woman for her beauty is not necessarily objectifying her.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am glad to see people refuse to shame men for admiring the beauty of women. But I wonder. It seems to me that saying “attraction is not objectification” relies on a value judgment which insist that objectification is malevolent and harmful.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If we understand objectification as value-neutral, then we can recognize that to admire a woman for her beauty, or to be attracted to any person because of how that person looks, is objectification, and we can remain at ease. No need for hand-wringing or sounding the alarm for patriarchy or misogyny.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If we understand objectification as value-neutral, and as a practice that human society depends on, we can make competent ethical judgments about it, and not least that includes considering the degree. Consent too? Sure.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you followed this very far – like into the conceptual mindscapes INFPs inhabit constantly – would it make you more uncomfortable about how our society is structured now, economically? I expect it would. Seeing a bigger, messier picture of how humans and our societies function tempers idealism. When idealism is tempered by an acceptance of the grief of resignation to the inevitable, then a human being has achieved some maturity.</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-c741e5dd-7fff-787b-7a16-b3d96a5e5821"><br /></span></p><p></p>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-49850914931328152132021-04-29T07:15:00.000-06:002021-04-29T07:15:03.583-06:00One take: No, vulnerable men are not sexy<p><span style="font-size: large;">I wrote this in one take. I post it here with no edits other than one spelling correction.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">---</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>If a woman can get her man to show him the innermost parts of his emotional world, he is no longer an immediate sexual influence on her. No longer a threat, maybe. He loses power of attracting her sexual interest at the most sincere and natural level. She might want that, because the presence of his sexual influence over her feels dangerous, threatening, or disruptive: maybe she's trying to do other things with her life and the presence of a man who gives off the kind of energy that can turn a woman on is a distraction to her. Or maybe she feels flustered by the arousal of sexual attraction, from programmed shame or suspicion or antagonism or whatever.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As a man might wish to impose dress standards on a woman working closely with him, because otherwise the sight of her will draw disruptive thoughts and feelings of sexual awareness, interest, desire, arousal: so might a woman want to make a man "safe" to be around by laying bare to her perception his secret feelings.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Make someone safe by securing a level of control over them.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A woman who has sexually neutralized a man by getting him to be vulnerable with her now has more power to take the lead, take the initiative sexually. Or to keep the sexual part of their life under her supervision. To control or to lead - maybe she thinks they're the same thing? Do you think they're the same thing?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Leaders vs. Managers.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>To control is to keep from deviating from the course you've set, or to keep from escaping from the boundaries where you've put it. A woman who does not wish to be very sexual herself is glad if she can control the sex life in her marriage: it's a way of keeping safety. And telling her husband she would feel more inclined to be intimate with him if he were more vulnerable with her is a perfect way of doing this: it keeps him working hard to get her approval, it puts him in the position where he is more likely to be called on to be apologetic for failing her - compounding even more the uncertainty and passivity that neuter his sexual magnetism. It gives her that safety and control over the use and expression of sexuality in the marriage, and it justifies her in helping herself to his emotional presence and attention. What's not to love?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>And after all isn't this the higher law of marriage: to be a communion of emotional intimacy rather than a crude license to fuck? Is she not more entitled to his emotional attention than he is to her sexual attention?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Now maybe a women is more sexually awakened herself, and she still would rather be the one to set the pace, call the tune and shots, lead in the sex life of her marriage. She might have an even easier time persuading her husband that she finds his vulnerability sexy. After all, female sexual desire is not spontaneous but reactive. Maybe she unlocks her own secret door to her solipsistic female sexuality and finds the pleasure of shared expression worthwhile enough to turn herself on and give signals of invitation regularly. I'm tempted to think that in such a situation a husband might as well go along with her manipulation, allow her to take the lead in the sexual part of their marriage. As I've written elsewhere, if she isn't going to start the fun out of a sense of generosity, maybe her own selfishness will produce the side effect of enough sex to please him.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>But I'm still suspicious: I suspect that the woman in our second example, the one who's awake to her inner vastness of self-generating pleasure, will not really wish to control her husband's sexuality by making him a toy - unless she's a psychopath or narcissist or something.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I rather suspect that a woman who really owns her own enjoyment of sexual pleasure and knows how to turn herself on would rather be married to a man who she can feel safe with, meaning she can look to him, respect him, trust him to keep himself together around her.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Maybe she will feel safer with him if he is vulnerable with her? She might tell herself that: that's a showing of an urge to control I say. As in: I wish I could peel back all the layers of this human being and find he is no mere human being but so extraordinary, so super-human that I can count myself blessed among women: I got the best one, I got this incredible superman! How safe I feel now, to know that he is mine and strong and gentle through and through.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>If you say you want your man to be vulnerable, what do you mean? Do you want him to come to you for comfort? Cry on your shoulder? Act as if he's a little boy and you're his mommy?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Don't you know? Vulnerability is not just admitting to someone that you felt scared, alone, uncertain (as much of a turnoff as those alone may be). Vulnerability includes full-on panic, inconsolable weeping...</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>and temper tantrums. Yes: the loss of control that makes children lash out in such frightful fits of rage - which the discerning adult can well see are only bluster to make up for their feelings of helplessness - well, that's just it. A fit of shouting and trying to do damage is the most primal expression of vulnerability there is.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Don't call for it unless you're prepared to welcome all of it - including this.</span></p>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-80341059543926466732021-04-19T20:06:00.007-06:002021-04-19T21:32:17.115-06:00Writing groups and classics<p><span style="font-size: large;"><span> <span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In 2015 Buzzfeed published <a href="https://www.buzzfeed.com/shannonreed/jane-austen-receives-feedback-from-tim-a-guy-in-her-mfa-work">"If Jane Austen Got Feedback From Some Guy In A Writing Workshop" by Shannon Reed</a>. </span><span>"Tim," a caricature of a young man with a goatee and fedora (not quite a neckbeard, I don't know if that stereotype had emerged yet), pompously lays out what <i>Pride and Prejudice</i> needs to make it a better book. It was meant as a denunciation of mansplaining but really that's hardly relevant: this is a brilliant satire of the problems with writing groups in general, regardless of the sex of either the writer or critique partner.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I've been in three writers' groups in the past decade, so I don't feel qualified to make general statements about what they're like from my own experience. But I will point out that two of these have been organized under the auspices of statewide writing organizations, the kind that host conferences and publish anthologies. I have heard from other writers I know about their experiences in groups. This Buzzfeed piece reinforces my hunch: my experiences - my frustrations - in writers' groups are typical of the whole institution.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My writers' groups have helped me: mostly they've helped me get over the fear of sharing my work that had me paralyzed for far too long. Fresh perceptions and perspectives of words I had come to take for granted from long brooding helped me see my tendency toward laziness and guard against it.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Maybe the most valuable lesson I have learned from writers' groups is how subjective judgments of quality can be. Sifting through critique, I've learned to tell between diagnoses of faults in grammar and clarity, and confessions of wide divergences in taste between the reader and me. This all has been indispensable exercise in critical thinking.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I thought of all this as I read <i>Anne of Green Gables</i> last year. It was my first time. After a lifetime of loving the Canadian TV adaptation from the 1980s with Megan Follows et al, and being moved by the purity of the story and the characters under the surface glamour of the cinematic medium, I decided to go to the source.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I loved it. And I wondered: could it get published now? The style has become dated, almost archaic, and I expect that those who have their fingers on the pulse of the book market hold today's writers to standards far removed from any of Montgomery's concern. But it wasn't any extraordinary refinement of the craft of her writing that held me, though as a writer of that era her craft was of course solid. What held me was my identification with Anne and other characters. Montgomery drew me into the setting effectively, agreeably; I was able to make myself quite at home in there through my own skill as a reader and my own life experience. I would not ask more of her.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>What about a typical writers' group today: how would critique or beta readers respond to the first pages of <i>Anne of Green Gables</i>? I can imagine: "This is a really slow start. I don't know what's going on. Look: if you want to grab the reader's attention you have to let them know who the characters are, what they want, what the stakes are. This just takes too long to get there. Who has time to stick with your story through all this meandering?" "Why is this important?" And so on.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My last writing group felt firmly oriented toward writing stories that would have the widest calculable market appeal. Tastes have changed greatly in the past century.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>Taking part in the group was an exercise not only in my critical thinking but my morals as well: what are my motivations for writing? Whom do I serve? Market? Self? Muse or Divine gift? What is my purpose? What hardship am I willing to bear with in pursuit of it: rejection, misunderstanding, going without the validation that I crave? What to make of this advice I'm getting: do I follow it out of a conscious decision to improve my craft or from people-pleasing? I have long known that to be one of the reigning weaknesses of my character.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In one group meeting, another member mentioned <i>Angle of Repose</i> by Wallace Stegner: a Pulitzer winner, "but I hated it."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As for me, of Stegner I've only read <i>Mormon Country</i> so far but I loved it, and if I could put out something like that I would call myself a writer. I knew when I heard that dismissal that that writers' group was not the best place for me.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>People have called me a good writer. One of Ursula K. Le Guin's many rejection letters told her "You write well." Two reviewers of my fiction have compared it to Le Guin, and I have to work hard not to cling to that, since it's about the sweetest praise I've ever received. One of these readers also called my story "bucolic," and that put me on Cloud Nine.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I wonder what that writing group would have done with Le Guin. If I join another writing group I think I'll bring a piece by Le Guin or Samuel R. Delany for my first session and try to pass it off as mine, see what they do with it. See if anybody even catches the deception.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>For that matter, I wonder what the average Utah writers' group would do with the first five chapters of <i>The Fellowship of the Ring</i> if it weren't already a classic. I think they'd rip it to shreds.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Maybe that's unfair. But one thing I have noticed over the past 25 years in my involvement with the formidable LDS SF/F subculture is an impatience to the point of dismissiveness with writing that is too difficult.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Literary Fiction" is that pretentious stuff that nobody reads. They look down on our genres as substandard but we thumb our noses back, because our stuff is better, because it's actually fun to read. So if you want to write good fantasy, you'd better make it <b>exciting!</b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> Well </span>I don't want to write exciting stories. I want to write bucolic stories. I would rather not call my fiction fantasy, but I don't know where else it could come close to fitting.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I fear that the advice an aspiring writer most often finds is nothing more than a weathervane of current trends, in taste, in genre convention, in social norms. I hope I'm wrong, but...</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Back to that Buzzfeed article: it didn't just imagine Austen in some local homebrew writers' group, it imagined her in a graduate program. You know, the kind you pay tuition for (that you probably have to spend years paying back).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I went to graduate school - in something even more arcane than Creative Writing, but much more practical. I'm annoyed enough as it with the debt I had to take on; I'm glad I didn't go tens of thousands of dollars in debt for the risk of a Master's Degree in Creative Writing. I can imagine my younger self doing it though, if I had been in a place where I "believed in my dreams" more strongly. <b>Maybe</b> I would have been fortunate enough to get in a program that aimed (let alone knew how) to draw forth my vision and gift, gave me the space and support to develop them to their best expression with training of technique (maybe through a classical Trivium model?), and struck the right balance of rigor and inspiration, neither flattering me for work below my ability nor stifling my creativity by forcing me into a mold. Maybe the more expensive the program I enrolled in, the greater chance I would have had of receiving such quality. Those who get paid by such teaching have every reason to try to convince us of that.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Maybe I'm being unfair. Maybe I should take on a regimen of, say, a year of reading the best fiction to come out of MFA Writing programs. Surely there's a list somewhere of good books produced by these programs that merit such ruinous expense: surely their graduates, trained with such consummate skill, must boast a high rate of success in drawing respectable, comfortable incomes through their writing. They must produce most of the bestsellers <b>and</b> the Pullitzer Prize winners, right?</span></p>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-83326641033761463722021-01-22T11:26:00.000-07:002021-01-22T11:26:06.757-07:00Temporal Hours<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> Let’s talk about temporal hours.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> In the winter I
have trouble making a good start to my day. The main reason for this
is that during the time when I try to get up (between 5:30 and 6:00
am; most days I do at least manage to get out of bed by 6:30) it’s
still dark. I have a much easier time getting up earlier in the
summer, when the brightening of the sky makes it easier.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> Well, obviously.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> Yes: it’s obvious
that our bodies, attuned to the natural rhythms of the earth and the
length of days, should tend to follow those rhythms most comfortably.
And leaving aside the requirements of some livestock, for most of
human history this arrangement worked and could be followed –
<i>without shame.</i></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> Recently
I read <i>The Discoverers </i>by
Daniel Boorstin and the first part of the book concerns the divisions
of time that people have devised, from keeping track of seasons to
days to mastering the flow of time during the day by cutting it into
hours. I learned more clearly about the scheme of hours that
prevailed before the division of a day into 24 regular hours of equal
length, that march along mechanically with cold indifference to the
positions of the celestial bodies: what state of light or dark
prevails outside. The pairing of regular hours with reliable and
ubiquitous means of artificial light “liberated” humanity from
living in the dependency on
natural day length that kept our poor benighted ancestors in lower
stages of civilization…</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> Which
means that, living at about 40 degrees latitude, during December and
January I not only have the privilege of coming home from work in the
dark, but of feeling guilty for lingering in bed after my alarm goes
off, and shame for the weakness of my flesh that is so reluctant to
keep in tune with the stricture of a regimen of self-improvement I’ve
imposed -</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> which
in turn is necessary to fit with the schedule of my paid employment,
locked in along with the rest of the world to the ruthless
synchronization of regular hours.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> Meanwhile
those who live in the arctic region are “free” to order their
economic activity (and govern their bodies’ natural rhythms along
with it) according to the same structure of time that would make more
sense in the tropics.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> I
take for granted my privilege of being granted some semblance of
natural normalcy: the daylight for work <i>and</i>
leisure, the night for leisure and sleep. Of course in the earlier
days of industrialization the promise of squeezing out every drop of
productive capacity from a workforce independent of the
old limitations of day and night was so exciting as to wholly win
over the affections of the owners of the new machines and those who
collected the gains from others’ toil, rolling over the gentle
wisdom of humane values with the crushing indifference of a
steamroller.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"> <span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Boorstin:</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"> <span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><i>There
are few greater revolutions in human experience than this movement
from the seasonal or “temporary” hour to the equal hour. Here
was man’s declaration of independence from the sun, new proof of
his mastery over himself and his surroundings. Only later would it
be revealed that he had accomplished this mastery by putti</i><i>n</i><i>g
himself under the dominion of a machine with imperious demands all
its own.</i></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> Through
long struggles, those who held onto humane
values in some measure succeeded in restraining the hunger of Mammon
sufficient to allow enough of us a package of eight or nine hour days
with lunch breaks and paid time off and even for some of us yearly
salary rather than hourly wage, with all sorts of additional perks
distributed here and there so that we feel ourselves making up a
fairly stable class of ordinary people who have it better than our
ancestors could have dreamed.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> And
yet, after learning more about the revolution in timekeeping that
laid the foundation for all of this, I found myself wishing for a
lifestyle marked instead by temporal hours.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> In
brief, temporal or temporary hours are units of time that divide the
day and the night separately. Even if you divide the periods of
light and dark – between sunrise and sunset for day, sunset to
sunrise for night, say – into exactly equal periods, even if you do
this anew each day (and pioneering clockmakers were working towards
this), this will still give you “hours” that vary in length
through the seasons, if you live outside the tropics.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> Boorstin:</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"> <i><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">The
“hours” of their daily lives – their temporary “hour” was
one-twelfth the time of daylight or of darkness on that day – were
more elastic than we can now imagine.</span></i></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> To
a modern mind this seems inconvenient, imprecise, messy. But I found
myself wondering: if a civilization, if the societies of an entire
world, developed sophisticated mechanized means of production, yet
kept a scheme of temporal hours, would <i>that</i>
have provided enough of a check to prevent the worst excesses of an
industrial revolution?</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> I
have staked the history of my fictional setting on that proposition.
This was a crucial link to add to the economic history of Koth. Now
I have a better idea of how my characters work, how they use their
daylight and nighttime hours, how their institutions work, what those
institutions demand -</span></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">and
what they don’t. </span></p>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-34250692332439999922021-01-05T09:15:00.019-07:002021-01-05T09:20:16.049-07:00Pencilcast: "Patriarchy" is Galenism in our time<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDujBbVLlBKwESRUwd_Tr02VgmhMdxazARP9eWVzHcQ1YfTnqPbYmmlQ_RlMfJnTY2PTcz6IgSk2VV-Bcg3q5rVMnsgUhySy6gce53NY57GWBVb8zD7EH_haDZupZStikFYkpJUl3ziq9r/s1922/Pencilcast+2021-01-05+reduced+more.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1922" data-original-width="1439" height="1128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDujBbVLlBKwESRUwd_Tr02VgmhMdxazARP9eWVzHcQ1YfTnqPbYmmlQ_RlMfJnTY2PTcz6IgSk2VV-Bcg3q5rVMnsgUhySy6gce53NY57GWBVb8zD7EH_haDZupZStikFYkpJUl3ziq9r/w845-h1128/Pencilcast+2021-01-05+reduced+more.jpg" width="845" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-57534282049189890052020-11-19T23:39:00.017-07:002020-11-20T10:02:15.608-07:00Jennifer Finlayson-Fife: a review<p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"> Out of woman comes a man,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Spends the rest of his life getting back when he can.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">- Peter Gabriel, “Humdrum”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Jennifer Finlayson-Fife is the star of the LDS sex therapy scene. I first encountered her work over five years ago and was impressed by her enlightened and progressive views on human sexuality and the problem we have with it in the Church.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">As a rising star, JFF as I like to call her (because it reminds me of a nickname of an ancestor of mine) has been building up an impressive online presence. If you’re curious I highly recommend browsing the ample archive of media available from her well-kept website:</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><a href="https://finlayson-fife.com/">https://finlayson-fife.com/</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Her demeanor is both calming and vivacious, professional and patient. She radiates an aura of confidence, helped, I am sure, by her age. (I would earnestly caution people against trusting any sex therapists under the age of 40 – or who are not parents.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">JFF has helped countless women in the Church and in conservative religious cultures generally to take ownership of their sexual desire and agency, and in this I commend her for doing God’s work. But I am not here to introduce her for a lecture or interview. In fact, because so many of the interviews I have heard with her feature interlocutors whose manner too often is downright obsequious, I have written this essay here to lay out some of the sticking points I have run into as I have spent more time listening to her. Mormons amplify the human tendency to cathect to authority figures and follow them with blind devotion; this is my brake to that when it comes to Jennifer Finlayson-Fife and her philosophy -</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">especially as it concerns men and our sexuality.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">One of JFF’s main talking points is to diagnose – and lament – a particular problem with our cultural conditioning: men feel like our wives have to validate or legitimize our sexuality by their desire. Every time I’ve heard this I’ve been confused: what does she mean? Especially since I’ve heard her launch into it hot off the standard lamentation of the ills of male sexual entitlement.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">I have come up with three hypotheses.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">1. Most pessimistically: this is doublespeak. She is just continuing her denouncement of the stereotypical male villain: the husband who feels entitled to slake his lusts, barges into his poor wife’s time and space and overrides her autonomy by selfishly demanding that she accommodate his “needs.” Maybe he’s a really archaic “patriarch” and expects her to accommodate his whims whenever he gets them, whether she wants to or not, maybe he’s a bit more sophisticated and thinks that her will should be subordinated to or dependent on his as an appendage (lacking her own agency) so that she should be glad to serve him thus. This is the kind of man we love to hate.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">2. Less pessimistically: this is lazy language, amounting to the same meaning as the first hypothesis, but without the conscious intent to disguise it in words that don’t fit. In fact, taking the words at face value I hear the opposite:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">3. Men believe that our sexuality is validated or legitimized by our wives’ desire. JFF truly sees this as unfortunate.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">But why?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">I confess I still doubt what she really means. Putting the “she has to” in there obfuscates, allows a plausible deniability, leaves open the quick escape of “that’s not what I meant” and keeps the previous two interpretations close at hand to step into and between when we’re not looking. But I don’t want to believe she is guilty of either of those. Let’s say that simply calls out a doctrine that a man’s sexuality is made valid and legitimate by his wife’s desire, and that she charges that it is a false doctrine.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Stop, and look closely: a man who believes this doctrine is the exact reverse of the stereotypical male villain sketched above. Instead of the man making demands, this is a man being afraid to make a move unless he gets a clear signal from his wife of her desire, because he feels that to do otherwise is an act of aggression, an invasion, a predatory threat.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Does JFF admit that this is a <i>feminist</i> idea?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Disapproval of male sexuality, making men’s sexual attention and advances predatory and criminal by default unless the woman clearly signals not only her consent but her enthusiastic consent – which amounts to her sincere desire – this is a cherished feminist goal which activists are trying to write into policy and enforce legally. Does JFF admit this?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Does she truly deplore men’s submission to this feminist false doctrine? I hope so. But it opens up a view of the wider issue:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">What does make male sexuality valid and legitimate? Is our sexuality really valid on its own, something we should not feel ashamed of or apologize for?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Who really wants to see us LDS men throw off the shackles of our shame and guilt, stride comfortably in our resplendent sexuality without apology? I reserve a great skepticism as to how acceptable that would be: to our wives, to the women who watch our behavior, to the men who watch our behavior, to the standards we have promised to live by.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">(I’ll give you a hint: you know those insufferable, creepy men in the Church who like to fantasize about the reinstatement of polygamy? Or is that only what JFF calls the indulgent state of sexuality, not the integrated state?)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">I call out two false doctrines that restrict the sexuality of men in the Church:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">1. Feminist insistence that men’s sexuality (henceforth by this I mean heterosexuality) can only be validated by women’s desire.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">2. Romantic insistence that men’s sexuality can only be validated by depending on and reinforcing emotional intimacy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">They work pretty well together, really: men’s sexuality is made moral by serving women’s wishes. But that’s not the only yoke we men have taken on. Another one is maybe even more important, and maybe here is a cause for the misunderstanding that makes us such attractive targets for accusation.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Before getting to that, I ask: does JFF really want to rock this boat?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">She sounds like she does. She has called out feminist inculcation of female hypoagency. She sounds like she does not want to let women get away with using sexual refusal to put their husbands in their place. I hope she is sincere in all this.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Still, I do wonder how many LDS sex therapists who are more or less feminist really are willing to go the distance in:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">1. admitting the role of feminism in shaming men for our sexuality,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">2. recognizing that as a bad thing, and</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">3. truly helping men free ourselves from sexual shame, if by doing so we turn away from their feminist ideas – as I have.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">I think I ought not hold my breath: part of the standard doctrine of feminist LDS sex therapy is that our sex problems in the Church come from the centering of male sexual experience as the standard, against which women are seen as deficient; and the entitlement men feel to insist on our “needs” being met at our poor wives’ expense. Rigorous diagnosis of whether this is caused more by culture, tradition, policy or doctrine would not be particularly helpful to the feminist LDS sex therapy project: it would weaken the ambiguity and plausible deniability that keep therapists safe in their aura of special expertise whence they are free to throw shade while dispensing their wisdom.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Of course conservative religious culture does place shame on human sexuality, for women and men. Men’s sexual shame is compounded by feminism, but traditional Mormon culture already laid a huge burden of it on us. As an example: women rightly deplore the inhibitions placed on them by the “chewed gum” or “licked cupcake” object lesson (which still has an undeniable grain of truth <i>in cases of extreme promiscuity. </i>But like so many moral directives, in trying to prevent extreme behavior this analogy catastrophizes common behaviors and human weakness.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Meanwhile, as women face the prospect of being seen as damaged goods for engaging in certain acts with men (another need for clear and consistent distinction: acting on her own desires or giving in to his predation?), men face the prospect of being seen as damaged goods for what we do in the privacy of our rooms: indulging in masturbation and especially pornography. More than that: an LDS man who looks at porn risks being seen as unholy, an evil-doer … <i>a threat to the safety of women</i>. So again: yes, traditional Mormon culture, the clumsy ways that leaders, teachers and parents (in, I propose, ascending degrees of influence) have taught and tried to preemptively enforce doctrine and policy, that has given men a burden of sexual shame that is unfair, unhelpful and unnecessary.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Feminism is not the antidote to this because it opportunistically misdiagnoses it as patriarchal oppression. Feminism is not an escape route for men from sexual shame in the Church. It has presented itself as such, and I charge that many men have gone through that proffered escape hatch, only to find themselves burdened with a different kind of sexual shame, which is another of JFF’s talking points: the sense of our sexuality being damaging, destructive, corrosive, dangerous to women.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">This works to feminist advantage: as men feel more shame, feminism can keep putting the blame for all of it on the religious culture with its supposedly male-centric view, and keep promoting more feminism as men’s salvation. Question this and you can be told off as part of the problem. Every sensitive and enlightened LDS man proves his quality by accepting his share of the collective guilt: until the speaking docket in General Conference has been at a solid 50/50 for a generation, every husband is an oppressor by default, and is under an obligation to solicit more ways to serve his wife in atonement.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">I reject that, and I say: if women need to be freed from cultural messages that their sexuality should only serve their husbands’ desires, then men also need to be freed from messages that our sexuality should only serve our wives’ desires.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Now to the more legitimate yoke on male sexuality.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Religions are largely social mechanisms for regulating sex to prosocial ends. Safe reproduction, stable environments for child-raising: these are requirements for a peaceful society. The family (in its variations) is the basic unit of society because it is suited to provide these social needs.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Human sexuality is made moral – is legitimized and validated – by serving prosocial ends. Religious sexual repression can be understood and ameliorated only when it is acknowledged as collateral damage from religion’s essential role of making and keeping the space in which sex builds society – and therefore giving it its meaning. JFF is fond of bringing up her golden question: what are you creating with your sexuality? Societies and civilizations exist because religions have been trying to answer this question for all of human history on this wise: you should be building a family and a social order with it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Male sexuality is made moral when it is sacrificed, or <i>consecrated</i>, to serve those things.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Do we want to rock that boat? The sexual revolution already capsized it. LDS sex therapists act like they can afford to talk about sexual fulfillment and satisfaction and (most irresponsibly) <i>freedom</i> because our lifestyle in the Church is allegedly still so backwards or insulated from the sexual revolution and its aftermath. But in the Church we do partake of and are shaped by the secular societies we live in. Comic caricatures of homeschooling and no R-rated movies obscure just how beholden First World Latter-Day-Saints are to First World culture. And look at the state of it. As tiresome as it can be for a progressive sensibility to hear about how The World keeps getting wickeder, it does not do to ignore the sexual chaos that prevails in affluent societies: norms of casual sex prevail throughout the secular First World, with a Babel of slut-walks and “rape culture,” praise and condemnation of pornography as liberating and oppressive, liberals and radicals clashing with remarkable hate under the same banner of feminism that continues to proclaim itself as The Way to equality.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Sure, our stubborn stance on sexual sacrifice to marriage has insulated us from all that to some degree. That just gives therapists all the more responsibility to analyze and understand the complexity of influences on our sexual beliefs, practices and problems. It may be only due to time limitations, but I have to report I hear a lack of that in JFF’s talks.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">I repeat: feminism insists that male sexuality can only be validated by conforming to women’s desire. The romantic marriage model insists that male sexuality can only be validated by serving emotional intimacy between the husband and wife – the extra-special Best Friend relationship that should make all other friendships obsolete (especially for the husband, who should be getting vulnerable with his wife instead of contaminating himself with sexism by hanging out with the boys).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">These two doctrines can and do work together quite well in LDS culture. Let men reject both.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Reject them, I say! We already submit ourselves to a yoke that our sexuality is loath to accept at first. To stay within the Church in any meaningful way we accept a heavy restraint – as JFF says, we domesticate our sexuality. To be sure, I think the guilt laid on young men for masturbating is misguided and harmful: that pressure-reducing mechanism is the most useful tool for helping us resign ourselves to living the Law of Chastity, in other words, bridling our desires to prosocial service.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">There’s a third doctrine, which I think is a product of the two I named above. It finds elegant expression in JFF’s words on the romantic idea of marriage in <a href="https://youtu.be/jNyJyIXRroU" target="_blank">an interview with Greg Reynolds</a>:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">“… precisely what would be disgusting to many other people to do with me, to her or him they find it exciting, that I am being welcomed, that I am being received, accepted: we all want that.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Here she betrays astonishing credulity in subscribing to some of the most incredible wishful thinking promoted by liberal feminists: the conceit that male and female sexual desire really are basically the same, and the obvious differences are due to social conditioning.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">In other words, by making her assertion in that gender-inclusive way, JFF implies strongly that normal male sexuality recoils in disgust at the prospect of casual intercourse. I find this hilarious. But the humor evaporates when reflecting on the doctrine implied: male sexuality naturally conforms to feminine reticence and romantic exclusivity. Deviation from this is pathological, a result of patriarchal social conditioning, and it can and should be rectified by feminist intervention.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Is it any wonder men feel their sexuality is dangerous and corrosive? (Is it any wonder men flock to female sex therapists to fix themselves?)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Men should not feel any responsibility to be restricted by such an outrageous delusion. Our sexuality is not validated by its conformity to female sexuality with its radically different (if not opposed) biological warrants.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">But this does get pretty close to the truth.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Male sexuality (again, I mean heterosexuality) is defined by an awe of the female body, and the male fascination with the female body far surpasses the reverse. Ask a million married women how they would feel if they woke up in the middle of the night to find their husbands masturbating. Then ask the same number of men how they would feel if they woke up in the middle of the night to find their wives masturbating. I am confident in my prediction that by far the husbands would be more excited, delighted and eager to watch.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Look at the explosion of DiY porn venues in recent years, populated by enthusiastic women entrepreneurs who strip and play with themselves in the comfort of their own homes – paid for by offerings from men they will never meet. Where’s the patriarchal male-centric exploitation here? Men enrich these entrepreneurs by spending money they can’t afford. There’s a word for them: simps. Women don’t simp for men like this. And despite the scorn in the label of “simp,” this continues to grow, because it is an expression of male sexuality in its honest simplicity.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">I’m reminded of a famous Patrice O’Neal comedy routine where he imagines women being tempted to throw away a marriage for a chance at Brad Pitt, versus men being tempted by a woman passed out behind a dumpster. I’ve heard a quote that men can get aroused by a chalk drawing of a single breast on the wall of a shed. I’ve got a better idea: just scrawl a capital letter Y.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqu8M3JM2WTtgFKQXFMXyiM0ejzYxeFyQt-_EDbnl1Qo_7zTAJisH434yNiIIccWCBdJ7roySsQzZCrZTXS13OY3pq_9GWqDKPsppQLNuOOtSuV86BPv2SDNRFuxX2IEjIB2qiuCNGSoUK/s645/five+hours+now.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="387" data-original-width="645" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqu8M3JM2WTtgFKQXFMXyiM0ejzYxeFyQt-_EDbnl1Qo_7zTAJisH434yNiIIccWCBdJ7roySsQzZCrZTXS13OY3pq_9GWqDKPsppQLNuOOtSuV86BPv2SDNRFuxX2IEjIB2qiuCNGSoUK/w400-h240/five+hours+now.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Do feminist LDS sex therapists have the nerve to confront this unpleasant truth? Do they have the grace to trust any of us to figure out on our own how we can take this raw energy that is the background radiation for our lives and refine it into something that works for good? How about you keep from pathologizing it, discourage the infamy that our love of the female body is dehumanizing and oppressive, then let us men take it from there?</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><b><i>This is what validates and legitimizes men’s sexuality: that we express and use it in service of loyalty and commitment</i></b> to … our wives? Better said: to our marriages. We consecrate our sexuality by dedicating it to feed the marriage, as a third entity between husband and wife. This is hard work, this is ruthless pruning. It belongs to us. If you're not going to be of help, stay out of it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">This is not the same as subordinating our sexuality to female desire: I should clarify that I mean spontaneous female desire, or in other words, waiting until your wife is in the mood. Maybe this quote by my beloved Camille Paglia will help explain what I mean: “There is such a thing as seduction, and it needs encouragement rather than discouragement in our puritanical Anglo-American world.” (“No Law in the Arena,” 1994)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">It’s not the same as emotional intimacy either. JFF acknowledges that men commonly (I dare say typically) express love through sex. “Making love” is a euphemism that turns out to be spot on here (pun intended); maybe “intimacy” as a euphemism for “sex” isn’t entirely misleading either, after all: the kind intimacy of the body's greatest pleasures is the kind we most deeply crave.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Now I believe that emotional intimacy often smothers sexual desire: I believe that the romantic sentimentalization of marriage as the Arch Best Friendship has hobbled the sexual dimension of marriage, and has especially hamstrung wives’ sexual attraction to their husbands. I believe it has set up unrealistic expectations that cause as much resentment as sexual disappointment, if not more. When therapists tell married couples that the way for the husband to get more sex is to be more emotionally vulnerable with his wife, it reminds me of one of those “Demotivator” posters: “If you’re not part of the solution, there’s great money to be made in prolonging the problem.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Deep emotional connection? Where in the scriptures is that condemned as a grave sin outside of marriage? Think of examples of hearts knit together in love between people of the same sex: David and Jonathan, Naomi and Ruth, entire righteous utopias. Emotional intimacy should be cultivated in several relationships to secure a person more stability and happiness. But if sexual relations are only allowed in marriage, then let’s keep them as the definitive and expected expression of the marriage commitment and covenant. Let’s honor the male act of making love through cherishing a woman’s body. Let’s encourage women to receive that desire for their <i>bodies</i> without laying guilt trips about objectification or crypto-prostitution.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Let me give JFF credit here: I have heard her advocate for such recognition and reception.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Instead of holding teenage boys under suspicion that they’re fantasizing about inflicting their ejaculations on their inert wives (even if we admit they might feel guilty about that), let’s encourage teenage boys to fantasize about pleasing their wives, about becoming expert in blessing a woman through his sexual attention and technique. I’m sure there’s some porn for that – probably feminist porn, in fact. So it’s good for something.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">How many men in the Church have arrived at this point already? Do we care to imagine? Do we care to investigate?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">A man thinks his sexuality is only validated by his wife’s desire – or her pleasure?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Is his solicitude for her pleasure really just a cloak for his own egotism? Oh, what better way to keep men on our toes than to charge us with <i>that</i>? And I have heard JFF do so.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">No wonder men get confused at the diagnosis and advice these women give. Women are so complicated after all. Or, if that’s too patriarchal an idea, maybe it’s just that we men are deficient and need intervention by feminist therapists to think right.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">What, do you men not like that? Well that’s what you get for implying that your wife is broken for not serving your selfish so-called needs.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">The ongoing contention is sad to see, but I happen to believe that conflict is the natural state between the sexes. I fear it will not be assuaged unless both men and women sacrifice, or dedicate, our sexuality to serve the third party: not feminism, but our marriages.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Let men reject the manipulation of our wives saying “I feel like you only want me for my body!” Let us reject the manipulation of “I feel like sex is a chore!” Women’s right to sexual agency entails the responsibility to share their sexuality in their marriages in generosity; men’s responsibility to attend to our wives’ sexual pleasure entails the right to expect our wives’ willingness to share the blessing of the experience regularly and frequently. I call that fair.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">If women feel they need to get more in touch with their authentic sexual desires in order to get better at sharing their sexuality within their marriages, I guess that’s their business. Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, right? As for men, we learn pretty early on that our authentic sexual desires are not fully acceptable if we want to be seen as righteous, safe, worthy and eligible.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Maybe it’s different for women after all: maybe the reason women need the affirmative action of therapy is not because their desires have been kept down by social conditioning but because their desires don’t press with such natural urgency to penetrate through so many restraints on their own.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">I refuse guilt for any social conditioning that repressed the sexual desire of young LDS women, and I call on any LDS man who hoped or hopes for a wife who likes sex to join me in this refusal.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">In any case, I’m glad JFF and others like her are working to encourage women to accept sexual relations as essential to the marriage covenant by claiming their female birthright to sexual pleasure, which is obviously superior in the female body.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">What if we do judge a man’s sexual validity by the peculiar virility of how well he pleases his wife? </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Yeah, you know what? Challenge accepted!</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAFhjysVH8A1TZi5es2VFGHsDOLL3jaekCIjTRPRqNCIZxv8F4qMfMJTPTpvaJdhhvYSbspOwONbcNwyzdviRPc54RJ5-EPgEgy-CoIgRkMNgiNdo4GlQvPU4PCdm0D-gthZ2gwf9IVqi-/s1280/Skeletor+meme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAFhjysVH8A1TZi5es2VFGHsDOLL3jaekCIjTRPRqNCIZxv8F4qMfMJTPTpvaJdhhvYSbspOwONbcNwyzdviRPc54RJ5-EPgEgy-CoIgRkMNgiNdo4GlQvPU4PCdm0D-gthZ2gwf9IVqi-/w400-h225/Skeletor+meme.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Men thrive on challenge, after all.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">JFF has emphasized that her mission is not one of succcor for those “poor husbands” suffering from sexual deprivation, and I believe her. I remember the dismissal in her voice when I heard her say it. Our comfort is not her priority. I think men should keep that in mind when she undertakes to teach us about our sexuality. Still I applaud her work with women and hope that it prospers. I trust that she won’t begrudge any dividends of sexual gratification that happen to fall on us men. If devotion and generosity are intolerably oppressive motivations for our wives to welcome our attention, then selfishness will do. I for one will not be shocked. Come, women, let’s see just how horny your selfishness makes you. Hit us with your best shot.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/vldh7oQD-a4" width="320" youtube-src-id="vldh7oQD-a4"></iframe></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-40673683657611641562018-07-23T21:53:00.001-06:002018-07-23T21:53:31.349-06:00First corn<span style="font-size: large;">This is the second year in a row that we have planted a garden in the yard of our new house - for which we are and will ever be grateful. Last year we had some tomato plants and herbs. This year we have tomatoes, peppers, melons, cucumbers, corn, beans, squash, herbs . . . and a cabbage. I'm constantly making plans for improving, and since I'm doing a no-till approach for most of it, I've got cardboard boxes laid down over more land to expand.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We have two kinds of corn growing: Painted Mountain and Hopi Blue. I timed their planting so they wouldn't cross-pollinate, and it worked: the Painted Mountain, which I planted in April, came up in the beginning of May, and its ears are ripening as the Hopi Blue is just starting to pollinate.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This evening I picked the first two ears of the Painted Mountain corn, and here are some pictures.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH-SQ6nEckZeTTZmqIS8NEteIthY9Ukecp3oHmbq_-YzlKU1WqqL_AB2AYdqM35WMsBRUiBi_4UG99sDGrjWRWt6wsfnVQHgIuC8dnY4TIlzoawX_pftGr0K3QbLQIN_FgnL0mG3tnMGCK/s1600/2018-07-23+first+corn+03.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="1600" height="353" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH-SQ6nEckZeTTZmqIS8NEteIthY9Ukecp3oHmbq_-YzlKU1WqqL_AB2AYdqM35WMsBRUiBi_4UG99sDGrjWRWt6wsfnVQHgIuC8dnY4TIlzoawX_pftGr0K3QbLQIN_FgnL0mG3tnMGCK/s640/2018-07-23+first+corn+03.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks to my sweetie for taking this picture.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14VDeZvU4tjXeWc-jAsGuzBIW1sn4e4D-reIeDJHuyX89OVvnujvJGys7qk298nczwvEsixhQFWgZqo43DGEm5ibckiaIeUzCGJiQ1UL_5Go_wBtcAl9vtrKIC4-A40Ph1J4pOxd8PWKW/s1600/2018-07-23+first+corn+04.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="1600" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14VDeZvU4tjXeWc-jAsGuzBIW1sn4e4D-reIeDJHuyX89OVvnujvJGys7qk298nczwvEsixhQFWgZqo43DGEm5ibckiaIeUzCGJiQ1UL_5Go_wBtcAl9vtrKIC4-A40Ph1J4pOxd8PWKW/s640/2018-07-23+first+corn+04.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJtaUfiQpo-fElo5cFeDHjHeY6_LfyyUbI-Bch_tsopyUPwimNsx_KFDYLmqQBQ1ta4uOpk0eJIbNC3u5sBIYRCwStxTcKPLuGhhubHaE2iU52PHMgJN0-8669e-jJKBqRq0Ve7hqTwDrC/s1600/2018-07-23+first+corn+05.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1154" data-original-width="1600" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJtaUfiQpo-fElo5cFeDHjHeY6_LfyyUbI-Bch_tsopyUPwimNsx_KFDYLmqQBQ1ta4uOpk0eJIbNC3u5sBIYRCwStxTcKPLuGhhubHaE2iU52PHMgJN0-8669e-jJKBqRq0Ve7hqTwDrC/s640/2018-07-23+first+corn+05.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oKQgGl4mBLyljAsr4VWlZfQfSkO-BtzyZdKyl1NxA2z10gk5l45TsiVgwBgbQ_9rERz7o8AFOSH9a_YCytsjI51mV4qfAfJEJlyBfh8JGlvHXhD03sHDgp4HIuyuhBB8Wuf5NM_skkHJ/s1600/2018-07-23+first+corn+06.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="1600" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oKQgGl4mBLyljAsr4VWlZfQfSkO-BtzyZdKyl1NxA2z10gk5l45TsiVgwBgbQ_9rERz7o8AFOSH9a_YCytsjI51mV4qfAfJEJlyBfh8JGlvHXhD03sHDgp4HIuyuhBB8Wuf5NM_skkHJ/s640/2018-07-23+first+corn+06.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">These were the early birds. The rest of the ears will probably be ready in a week or so. We'll hang them up to dry, use some as decorations in the fall (along with the blue), and then . . . </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We will eat it!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If you want to see a little tour of our garden as it looked about three weeks ago, you can watch the video below. The tomatoes and blue corn have grown a <i>lot </i>since then.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<br />D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-52353814562182189092018-05-31T21:16:00.001-06:002018-05-31T21:16:21.489-06:00My first published story<span style="font-size: large;">I am now a published fiction author!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It's a small start, but it's a start: <i>Warp + Weave</i>, the science fiction and fantasy magazine for Utah Valley University, has published my short story, "Lightness," in its latest issue.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">A little under 5,000 words, this story is about a 13-year-old boy who has lost something dear to him, and how he deals with that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">You can download the pdf at this link:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">http://pdfsr.com/pdf/stainer-lightness.pdf</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-15171395743763727602018-05-23T23:11:00.002-06:002018-05-23T23:13:34.858-06:00Magic and Religion: an LDS Perspective<span style="font-size: large;">I wrote these two blog posts for the Jung Society of Utah; unfortunately their website seems to have just gotten hacked and I can't link to my posts there at the moment. Also, I had to cut the length of my second post to publish on their site. Here I'm posting its original version.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<h3>
<span style="font-size: large;">Magic and Religion: an LDS perspective, Part 1</span></h3>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Far away, across the fields</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The tolling of the iron bell</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Calls the faithful to their knees</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>To hear the softly spoken magic spell</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">-Pink Floyd: “Breathe (Reprise),” <i>Dark Side of the Moon</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Christianity has an uneasy relationship with magic, to greater or lesser degrees among its branches. Mormons are some of the wariest of all, which is ironic when you consider the origin of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. The regions of North America that nurtured this faith have also hosted folk magic practices for hundreds of years. Since the rise of various new age movements, notably Wicca and Neopaganism, modern aspirants to magic have been attracted to these homegrown systems. In response to this, people who work to preserve these traditions take pains to point out that they are <a href="http://braucher.webs.com/frequentquestions.htm" target="_blank">firmly based in Christianity</a>, and are not to be taken for any kind of crypto-paganism. The purpose of all these charms, incantations and concoctions was to bring about miracles – usually healing – by the power of God.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Along with this went a very real belief in and fear of witchcraft: if God could give power through special rituals, then so could the Devil, and much of the work of a Cunning Person (of whatever tradition) is to protect against evil enchantments. (As a side note, the notorious “heavy metal sign” with the index and little fingers extended comes from an <a href="http://www.metal-rules.com/zine/index.php?option=content&task=view&id=666" target="_blank">Italian gesture of protection against the “evil eye.”</a>)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Mormon attitudes to magic range from dismissive to fearful, with a healthy dose of defensiveness along the spectrum. Such defensiveness is perfectly understandable: the difference between “faith” and “miracles” on one hand and “magic” on the other looks entirely relative from a psychological perspective. Much depends on what words are chosen to describe phenomena and experiences – and who chooses those words. Any given group may identify its practices and rituals as religion and others' as magic – and in so doing, project its shadow.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>And it came to pass that there were sorceries, and witchcrafts, and magics, and the power of the evil one was wrought upon all the face of the land</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">- Mormon 1:19</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>These are they who are liars, and sorcerers, and adulterers, and whoremongers, and whosoever loves and makes a lie. These are they who suffer the wrath of God on earth. These are they who suffer the vengeance of eternal fire.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Doctrine and Covenants Section 76: 103-105</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Church members should not engage in any form of Satan worship or affiliate in any way with the occult. ‘Such activities are among the works of darkness spoken of in the scriptures. They are designed to destroy one’s faith in Christ, and will jeopardize the salvation of those who knowingly promote this wickedness. These things should not be pursued as games, be topics in Church meetings, or be delved into in private, personal conversations.’ </i>(First Presidency letter, Sept. 18, 1991).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">-Handbook 2: Administering the Church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Official teaching holds that Satanic minions do in fact roam the world seeking to do mischief, and in popular understanding, “messing with magic,” even experimenting with common divination tools like Tarot cards or Ouija boards is a perfect way to open the door to such mischief. While Joseph Smith canonized instructions on how to tell if an otherworldly messenger is trustworthy or not (Doctrine and Covenants Section 129), and the early days of the Church were noted for angelic visitations and dramatic manifestations of spiritual gifts (like speaking in tongues), in today's church that sort of thing is greatly downplayed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Still, from a psychological perspective many rituals and practices still exist in the LDS Church that could be considered magical. The Mormon version of the Eucharist lacks the dogma of transubstantiation but is still seen as a potent renewal of baptism, itself a ritual that enacts a transformation of the soul through a symbolic enactment of death and rebirth.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Mormon fear of magic goes along with a general unease with ceremony. For the most part the really important thing in Mormon ordinances is the faith and worthiness of those taking part. As such, the working of miracles through faith in Mormon belief might not look very magical: “no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations.” Though there are points of mechanical procedure that are prescribed with some precision, in the non-secret rituals these are minimal to the point of austerity.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The secret rituals are another matter (and Mormons get touchy about the use of the adjective “secret” even though it fits). These are understood as a gift of power from heaven which enable a soul to reach its final destination in unity with God. And then there is the remarkable “Patriarchal Blessing.” The title, so unfortunate to modern ears, is a metaphor of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and their prophetic blessings to their sons. The practice offers an individual a private prophecy to help direct their life, given by a man with a special calling (in the early days of the Church, such men were referred to as “evangelists").</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Describing these rituals as “magic” might seem very disrespectful or offensive to those who identify strongly with the tradition. While a psychological imagination can see the kinship between magic and religion, some believers find this hard to take: Dr. Jung constantly defended himself against accusations from Christian clergy that he reduced the message of our faith to nothing more than a working of the mind.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Jung's work gets it from both sides: believers who resent their faith practice sharing any names with what they regard as devilish counterfeits, and skeptics who despise magic and religion alike as a pathology unbecoming enlightened and civilized people.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Since Jung's great work was the reconciliation of opposites, I write in service of that goal.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<h3>
<span style="font-size: large;">Magic and Religion: an LDS perspective, Part 2</span></h3>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In 1994 the journal Dialogue published an article by <a href="http://www.gnosis.org/Lance-Owens.html" target="_blank">Dr. Lance Owens</a>: </span><span style="font-size: large;">“Joseph Smith and Kabbalah: The Occult Connection.” One of Owens' sources was <i><a href="https://books.google.com/books?id=3zsAAAAACAAJ&dq=Early+Mormonism+and+the+Magic+World+View&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiT4sqh79XVAhVI3GMKHZksAqIQ6AEIKDAA" target="_blank">Early Mormonism and the Magic World View</a></i> by D. Michael Quinn – who had been excommunicated the year before. Quinn's work had been used as source material for the popular anti-Mormon comic book <i><a href="https://www.chick.com/reading/tracts/0061/0061_01.asp" target="_blank">The Visitors</a></i>, so Owens was hitting a nerve. The mid 1990s in the Utah Mormon culture zone were also marked by lingering fears of Satanic cults (anyone who lived in Provo at the time probably heard all sorts of urban legends about goings-on in the old Academy building before it was renovated as the new city library). The word “occult” had picked up plenty of negative baggage through popular media already, and the use of it in such a context at such a time was bound to ruffle some feathers, as Owens himself anticipated.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In 1996 William J. Hamblin wrote a <a href="http://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1305&context=msr" target="_blank">footnote-laden dressing-down</a> of Owens' article. In pointing out its scholarly shortcomings he elegantly missed the real point, because after all the purpose was not only to deflect suspicion of any “occult” connection to Joseph Smith's experience or mission but to continue deprecating and depreciating any similarities between the two at all – similarities which I for one came to find inspiring rather than alarming. It took another nine years for the Mormon establishment to come around to admitting Joseph Smith's magic background, after a fashion: in Richard Bushman's authorized biography <i>Joseph Smith: Rough Stone Rolling</i> we read that “Magic and religion melded in Smith family culture” (p. 50) and there is even a frank admission of the seerstone “blending magic with inspired translation” of the Book of Mormon (p. 131). Even so, Bushman downplayed the association, casting magic as a “preparatory gospel” for Smith's prophetic calling (p. 54).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The original meaning of the word “occult” after all being “hidden,” it would behoove us Mormons to consider how often our unique scripture mentions hidden knowledge. One striking example comes from the “Word of Wisdom”:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>And all saints who remember to keep and do these sayings, walking in obedience to the commandments . . . shall find wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even <u>hidden treasures</u></i> (Doctrine and Covenants Section 89:18-19, my emphasis)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We might consider Alma's sermon to the Zoramites, with a beautiful metaphor of a Tree of Life growing in each individual soul (Alma 32), the gnostic experiences of several Lamanite rulers (Alma 19, 22), and disciples of Christ at the time of his visit (3 Nephi 26, 28). Sometimes people shared what they learned through their experiences, sometimes they were told to keep it a secret, like Nephi (1 Nephi 14:28), Alma the younger (Alma 12:9), Mormon (3 Nephi 26:11), the Brother of Jared and Moroni (Ether 4).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Our</i> religion is of God, <i>their</i> magic is of the Devil – this is too easy an accusation to make. Even in the Book of Mormon there are several instances of the true prophets being accused of deceiving people by their “cunning arts” (1 Ne 16:38), “the power of the devil” (Alma 15:15), and “the cunning and the mysterious arts of the evil one” (Helaman 16:21). Accusations, labels, meanings, are so easily used as weapons against those whom a group fears or distrusts, that an earnest truth-seeker can't afford to take such words at face value.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">A psychological understanding, or a psychological imagination, helps us understand that magic and/or the occult is a way of engaging with the unconscious or the realm of the imaginative (one modern practitioner calls it the science of experiencing Truth). To recognize this means to admit the close kinship of magic and religion as branches from the same root – indeed interchangeable depending on one's point of view. There can be two ways of dealing with this: </span><br />
<br />
<ol>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">a fundamentalist rejection of any religious expression outside one's own, </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">or a curiosity about the different ways that Truth is perceived and sought from different perspectives.</span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>If the theologian really believes in the almighty power of God on the one hand and in the validity of dogma on the other, why then does he not trust God to speak in the soul? Why this fear of psychology? Or is, in complete contradiction to dogma, the soul itself a hell from which only demons gibber?</i> (Jung: Psychology and Alchemy, Collected Works Vol. 12, p. 19)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In a series of lectures on the <a href="http://www.gnosis.org/gnostic-jung/Remember-Sophia.html" target="_blank">gnostic myth of Sophia</a>, Dr. Owens talks about this secular age and its intolerance for transcendence. Fueled in part by absurd fundamentalist insistence on impossible dogmas as fact, a rationalist attitude has grown which pathologizes myth and gnosis (an attitude reflected by Korihor, one of the most notorious figures in the Book of Mormon). To believe in any religion or myth in light of modern scientific knowledge requires setting aside or overcoming both the rationalist dismissal of myth and the fundamentalist dismissal of fact.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When we open our mind to the possibility of revelations of something from outside the secular or even religious ego – and if we also open our minds to a pragmatic means of measuring the claims of such revelations based on the criteria given in Alma 32 – then we have the opportunity to see the dogmas of our professed creeds with new eyes: to recognize their value as myth (here I would also recommend <a href="http://www.gnosis.org/tolkien/index.htm" target="_blank">Dr. Owens' lectures on Tolkien's mythopoeia</a>). This means ceasing to disparage or even define myth as false distraction from truth, and instead seeing it as a way to approach Truth. This is how we can truly recognize the value of others’ myths, and our own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>No matter what the world thinks about religious experience, the one who has it possesses the great treasure of a thing that has provided him with a source of life, meaning, and beauty and that has given a new splendour to the world and to mankind. He has pistis and peace. Where is the criterion by which you could say that such a life is not legitimate, that such experience is not valid and that such pistis is mere illusion? Is there, as a matter of fact, any better truth about ultimate things than the one that helps you to live?</i> (Jung: Psychology and Religion - Collected Works vol. 11, p. 113)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We might evaluate the ways our neighbors engage with myth and the psyche by truly perceiving the fruits of their actions rather than relying on rumor or applying the yardstick of dogmatic correctness like a punishing rod. We may still have the option of holding out faith in metaphysical facts concerning the “ultimate things,” but even if that loses traction to a more pragmatic approach, might we not find that the humility, empathy, respect and compassion we gain in return is after all the treasure our faith enjoined us to seek?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Those who found these posts interesting might also be interested in <a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/panmankey/2013/07/josephsmith/" target="_blank">a pagan's view of Joseph Smith in this article</a>.</span>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-44889871936557318812018-04-11T21:51:00.001-06:002018-04-11T21:51:53.052-06:00Typecast: Pipe organs in Utah Valley<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSAUUfi1niTsfwR1rZphUv8mGnfGdgVaNZxCKlGObqa1nAqpG6AL-5tVbMbaVCEE0bnITF8CUiLWHbmPoIAglwRXV8vHgJj0W0YR_fd-W1vpJVyQG9OHdgst9hHfqrGQHaCL4JQSSUR1_/s1600/2018-04-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1422" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSAUUfi1niTsfwR1rZphUv8mGnfGdgVaNZxCKlGObqa1nAqpG6AL-5tVbMbaVCEE0bnITF8CUiLWHbmPoIAglwRXV8vHgJj0W0YR_fd-W1vpJVyQG9OHdgst9hHfqrGQHaCL4JQSSUR1_/s640/2018-04-11.jpg" width="568" /></a></div>
<br />D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-5312994299280389032017-10-29T21:22:00.001-06:002017-10-29T21:22:25.711-06:00Sunday check-in: tomatoes<span style="font-size: large;">When we moved into our house this past May, we were so busy with all the unpacking, painting and other maintenance that we didn't get around to much garden work, but we did manage to plant nine tomato plants. Since they were in a part of the yard that doesn't get as much sun, they only ripened a handful of their fruits before the frost. But we were able to pick a good harvest of the green fruit, which we have been keeping inside. They have been ripening gradually, giving us fresh tomatoes through the month of October, and we'll see how far into November they go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We planted four varieties: Early Girl, some sort of beefsteak, Supersweet 100 cherry, and Old German. These last ones are supposed to get pretty big but none of them did; I plan on putting in more of them next year in the sunny spot of the yard and hope we'll get big ones. I like their flavor and their yellow color (tinged with red).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Some pictures:</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIDzKG4r9tvfjxxmOPpIbzwtaY2jYc0ZUllWpKYAqx8-KG_2ui1-DFHuRIeBFJG4tKH1TXsI0YNWjHXbOw_2UhpxOjxbvJAMqoI1RK03CVb26_uV7cjM2CghL-h1erXkMDxHRWoaIhQ41/s1600/2017-10-28+tomatoes+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1055" data-original-width="1600" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIDzKG4r9tvfjxxmOPpIbzwtaY2jYc0ZUllWpKYAqx8-KG_2ui1-DFHuRIeBFJG4tKH1TXsI0YNWjHXbOw_2UhpxOjxbvJAMqoI1RK03CVb26_uV7cjM2CghL-h1erXkMDxHRWoaIhQ41/s640/2017-10-28+tomatoes+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The still-ripening big ones, and the ripe ones, sorted out as of yesterday</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNUKZeu-qsMNuhJcp3T2QPS7qjYyLlCQo2ENUFhQHRfmSveIqlzqS5gRu9XbLtTuF7orBej0CTG5b3Bh-43a409kiqDm3wZjWDabaxNDk2_Gisat1wv1Qo2uwo64o3pkWeTcvQVGR9ZvLF/s1600/2017-10-28+tomatoes+ripe+closeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="994" data-original-width="1600" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNUKZeu-qsMNuhJcp3T2QPS7qjYyLlCQo2ENUFhQHRfmSveIqlzqS5gRu9XbLtTuF7orBej0CTG5b3Bh-43a409kiqDm3wZjWDabaxNDk2_Gisat1wv1Qo2uwo64o3pkWeTcvQVGR9ZvLF/s640/2017-10-28+tomatoes+ripe+closeup.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ripe big ones (please excuse my pajamas)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And of course with Idaho's latest potato crop in, it's also hashbrown time again! I devised an "October Breakfast" of hashbrowns surrounded by fresh homegrown tomato wedges, with a slice of cheese (Havarti) on top.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-jTaQ84_2H3_AIgaC67JZo4-M9e0ijohdsgAyd2rmyqjqqAyZpuL_miVXMK-Jx2MwR94CQb0KVxPIVId92aaYQTib-KUD2gQp7oTS3uXq8JgDYGdAZ6OG6bF_MqA5A0GLrlGHmh3EuhVs/s1600/2017-10-28+October+breakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1386" data-original-width="1600" height="554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-jTaQ84_2H3_AIgaC67JZo4-M9e0ijohdsgAyd2rmyqjqqAyZpuL_miVXMK-Jx2MwR94CQb0KVxPIVId92aaYQTib-KUD2gQp7oTS3uXq8JgDYGdAZ6OG6bF_MqA5A0GLrlGHmh3EuhVs/s640/2017-10-28+October+breakfast.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My "October Breakfast" - I know it could be fancier, maybe with some radishes and sprigs of herbs. I'll keep working on it.</td></tr>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have eaten this several times - one big Russet yields a batch of hashbrowns, so if we bake a few extra then I've got a variety of hot breakfasts for a week (along with grits and Scottish oatmeal - ground at home on the Corona mill).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This isn't even mentioning all the apples we've got from our untended old tree: a box still in the garage and almost a gallon of applesauce in the fridge - just puree these apples and they make a wonderful sauce, no need to add sweetener or anything else! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here's wishing everyone a spooky scary Halloween! Snake's Knees and Ratchafratch! </span>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-87224207053549155912017-09-10T21:29:00.000-06:002017-09-10T21:29:21.005-06:00Quest cooking: Rice pilaf<span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday I decided that too much time had passed since I'd used my rocket stove, so I cooked a simple meatless pilaf on it. It had been a while since I'd done rice on this stove.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Here's what I put in:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">About a tablespoon of ghee </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Half a yellow onion, sliced</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">A carrot, sort of julienned</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Salt</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Cumin (about a half teaspoon?)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Two cardamom pods, shelled and ground</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Red chile (a teaspoon or two, my hand slipped) - in honor of a departed sister of mine who used to live in New Mexico, may she rest in peace</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1 cup basmati rice</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1 2/3 cups water </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here are some pictures, taken by my sweetie. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMtuhRbdwRj23SRFiS5dFXOuNv5NSYJyXzL3YPqpO3Qac3-slttO9qL3XhCaUH6wqBxCly8UeugwDNuiS9SE7xRqKJGOMdCBEyz_KYOZNUdYVGuBt4UdW7SkLpXXPOZPDV7sCBmaW1RVgG/s1600/2017-09-09+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMtuhRbdwRj23SRFiS5dFXOuNv5NSYJyXzL3YPqpO3Qac3-slttO9qL3XhCaUH6wqBxCly8UeugwDNuiS9SE7xRqKJGOMdCBEyz_KYOZNUdYVGuBt4UdW7SkLpXXPOZPDV7sCBmaW1RVgG/s640/2017-09-09+03.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tending the flame while sauteeing the onions. For the initial hotter flame I used twigs cut from our quince bush earlier this year.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjinKjXX_TJaRcBrHAJPQYrKdeVjlK1s6_dkPfNsFLNZ_KdsaHtjbRRgu9hJhj80M1hJxn5wCunbotOgUFOmY5fCL6pb0eY2DFJDcIlpLwcLB_Zb9RlQOBVkxEcdwz7cQVt7DcIvAOKPqRJ/s1600/2017-09-09+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjinKjXX_TJaRcBrHAJPQYrKdeVjlK1s6_dkPfNsFLNZ_KdsaHtjbRRgu9hJhj80M1hJxn5wCunbotOgUFOmY5fCL6pb0eY2DFJDcIlpLwcLB_Zb9RlQOBVkxEcdwz7cQVt7DcIvAOKPqRJ/s640/2017-09-09+04.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carrots and spices waiting to go in</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1magWYJXinGWSaaQSnRQchQk4sjh5R6Ys80XFmWTCnWJ5oSifDi1e9UdN6r159Ft_4HDkxcrwCyKPSoaKRB_7hX1p_Y6zOdLZDxHDl9FPLRiWtlX0qEw5XL3veQ65EvGEmObuZ5MJUzqY/s1600/2017-09-09+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1magWYJXinGWSaaQSnRQchQk4sjh5R6Ys80XFmWTCnWJ5oSifDi1e9UdN6r159Ft_4HDkxcrwCyKPSoaKRB_7hX1p_Y6zOdLZDxHDl9FPLRiWtlX0qEw5XL3veQ65EvGEmObuZ5MJUzqY/s640/2017-09-09+05.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After frying the dry rice with the vegetables and spices for a bit, add water . . .</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXuHpqWYVbf9HqdEjDXdRtwpzjytg83Gmz3fh19y0KraTl1G1h64PVqXayjEt2bsh4HPRqqlb6fpmgMOK3nbUS7RixJXOtxsXbK2AtymF6dHGf270YXm4ykapzqTB1K8gFJDYeqGsb95Dr/s1600/2017-09-09+08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXuHpqWYVbf9HqdEjDXdRtwpzjytg83Gmz3fh19y0KraTl1G1h64PVqXayjEt2bsh4HPRqqlb6fpmgMOK3nbUS7RixJXOtxsXbK2AtymF6dHGf270YXm4ykapzqTB1K8gFJDYeqGsb95Dr/s640/2017-09-09+08.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">. . . stir, and simmer over a lower flame for about 15 minutes. For the lower flame I used dead branches cut from our plum tree, about half an inch thick, two at a time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp9KsPZr_crtrV8tMv-oI-P_ntHqipLNyXbnoT17uPeKJv3MjsmYqUvjRe9fPgRmyHwAZLxDl-KkushfSgNaK-8rQnoZHioNBnaGTGZU6CtFws92tMq4SShCg8B6wrk-yIYFxy5cWqKwOZ/s1600/IMG_0203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp9KsPZr_crtrV8tMv-oI-P_ntHqipLNyXbnoT17uPeKJv3MjsmYqUvjRe9fPgRmyHwAZLxDl-KkushfSgNaK-8rQnoZHioNBnaGTGZU6CtFws92tMq4SShCg8B6wrk-yIYFxy5cWqKwOZ/s640/IMG_0203.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By moving the pot around the stove every so often I hoped to avoid getting a burned spot in the middle. I still got a darkened spot, but despite what it looks like here it wasn't really burned, and didn't adversely affect the flavor of the dish.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At church we've been attending a meeting dedicated to emergency preparedness (something that Mormon culture can sometimes take to extremes). With recent events reminding us both of the necessity to be prepared for disruptions of all kinds and the appropriateness and limitations of different strategies for this, I want to keep my skills up in strategies not only for preparedness where we live, but also self-reliance and voluntary simplicity. I'm glad we have neighbors on our street who are also interested in this kind of thing.</span><br />
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<br />D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-85236845634020561992017-09-04T22:03:00.001-06:002017-09-04T22:03:34.915-06:00Typecast: a Sunday check-in<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisPkHcWwn1jgE5NpF-saBKaS7_ScB_bMTbkdGUt8SflMrIOsqFqPdPfV_ma6j_DkeYSwPkEXLQyF-n_b1xBfJp1lZFlSvojZ_eP9sVcnUvY8pQCqzpPBH-lVfMFMHBK2iiTiPNikjoiuyZ/s1600/2017-09-04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1283" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisPkHcWwn1jgE5NpF-saBKaS7_ScB_bMTbkdGUt8SflMrIOsqFqPdPfV_ma6j_DkeYSwPkEXLQyF-n_b1xBfJp1lZFlSvojZ_eP9sVcnUvY8pQCqzpPBH-lVfMFMHBK2iiTiPNikjoiuyZ/s640/2017-09-04.jpg" width="512" /></a></div>
<br />D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-59638276072735107422017-08-04T06:57:00.001-06:002017-08-04T06:57:21.735-06:00Preserved lemons<span style="font-size: large;">I haven't got apricots this summer, and I might have missed my chance, which is too bad. I wanted to eat some fresh, dry some, and pickle some like I did last year. I still have some of the ersatz umeboshi that I blogged about, and they're still good and salty and potent. I've used them to flavor beans, grits and sauces, only rarely eating them straight because they're <i>so </i>salty. It looks like I'll run out of them and not have any to replenish, unless I can quickly get some apricots. The harvest has been meager around here this year, so I might have to settle for store-bought trucked-in - bleah. But for the sake of the brine, it might be worth it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I wanted to report on another food project I did this spring: preserved lemons. These are a tradition in Morocco and other places (my Lebanese cookbook has a recipe). I've been wanting to try them and when we visited Mesa, AZ this April I had my chance: the last of the citrus was on and some neighbors of in-laws had a tree that was burgeoning with more fruit than they could use. So my older daughter and I went and picked <i>huge</i> lemons and grapefruits. I'm really getting spoiled for fruit: I don't want to buy lemons or grapefruits from stores any more either.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, I took some pictures. Here are some of the lemons:</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ddbr7SelgPB395iYuRe2sHnSUbOeB1GGg_cgQ74vFzLeso8tJPvz92aFgsSo2wl9Gfo4sjDI51EhWkfcObWJzwkqgOd23Eges0oEUvBdNVlWG4rESbGINhvCjqvEGY07hyBYr_uR1tXG/s1600/2017-04-09+lemons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1354" data-original-width="1600" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ddbr7SelgPB395iYuRe2sHnSUbOeB1GGg_cgQ74vFzLeso8tJPvz92aFgsSo2wl9Gfo4sjDI51EhWkfcObWJzwkqgOd23Eges0oEUvBdNVlWG4rESbGINhvCjqvEGY07hyBYr_uR1tXG/s640/2017-04-09+lemons.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the smallest ones - barely fit four in this jar</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I did two jars: the smaller one you see here, and a larger one. The smaller jar had more salt - I thought it might be too much - but it kept fine at room temperature after the first month curing. The larger jar developed a skin of mold on top but I scraped it off and the lemons are fine. I keep the larger jar in the fridge, and the smaller jar has been used up by now, from sharing with others and using in recipes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The juice - lovely salty sourness - is excellent for hummus and guacamole. The peel gets really soft and is easy to mince, crush and grind, and I like to put it in dressings and sauces, though I'm still getting used to the flavor.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Also in Arizona I picked a bunch of little ornamental oranges from my in-laws' tree. They're sour and not very juicy, but while we were staying there I found that their juice made a wonderful pasta sauce with olive oil and garlic. So I decided to preserve some of them in salt too.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghs4pMXSUZueloRYhjst7S0ScspuqYgvgwWA3Zkxliait9tLhCb7QCNnTaIFGRTv05EWMPd5eAapj8Dxdtja93djQ5I42RsisseiF-usKpDU8O6jGn2a4ddatWyQw1o_bT5TscmsKHsjbe/s1600/2017-04-09+mystery+citrus+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1345" data-original-width="1600" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghs4pMXSUZueloRYhjst7S0ScspuqYgvgwWA3Zkxliait9tLhCb7QCNnTaIFGRTv05EWMPd5eAapj8Dxdtja93djQ5I42RsisseiF-usKpDU8O6jGn2a4ddatWyQw1o_bT5TscmsKHsjbe/s640/2017-04-09+mystery+citrus+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mini oranges - on the table you can see bits of cloves from some pomander balls I also made that day (I must not have done them right because they went bad - the pomander balls I mean).</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVqG8t-5TlOrv_aEQO2JEA1W3wE0DvZeRZ58NIJcixhSbpioBWvn5dmtYRyfMi8GN-DBS16kKQn3bHsA1rBDLpuISigckLSd1KZK3YzyJ5aitxd8SAYKehAGApFI3RVEmA0AV3NAcatZ0o/s1600/2017-04-09+mystery+citrus+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVqG8t-5TlOrv_aEQO2JEA1W3wE0DvZeRZ58NIJcixhSbpioBWvn5dmtYRyfMi8GN-DBS16kKQn3bHsA1rBDLpuISigckLSd1KZK3YzyJ5aitxd8SAYKehAGApFI3RVEmA0AV3NAcatZ0o/s640/2017-04-09+mystery+citrus+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Packing them in salt</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTrUuXauqASe3TBZ_6lZa1PKGpJCkFKNvEDQNUc-pyWhWfxEpR8hmUm4yeq__ohuONPjVaC08w2bduDVzWDAKAn3gth3aRJL3ee0O9b-xOG4ttjdnmlGqYWqHPozHR4HMwqLDMLS4HW_7/s1600/2017-04-09+mystery+citrus+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTrUuXauqASe3TBZ_6lZa1PKGpJCkFKNvEDQNUc-pyWhWfxEpR8hmUm4yeq__ohuONPjVaC08w2bduDVzWDAKAn3gth3aRJL3ee0O9b-xOG4ttjdnmlGqYWqHPozHR4HMwqLDMLS4HW_7/s640/2017-04-09+mystery+citrus+4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to squish them down so they'd be covered in juice</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bjfhyphenhyphenf1tn0rvP7aGTC3aUVatX2yGPNXohoCO9WG9U9zNQLDKJPlqmA0cZcwkXtPUXWKchGA-rmB5-aGuYhfMzzCAVpYKDELVFPOBk31OdBO4l_MsUkwZoB9I2iOHuQd8zdtPSzg63uOk/s1600/2017-04-09+lemons+and+mystery+citrus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1463" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bjfhyphenhyphenf1tn0rvP7aGTC3aUVatX2yGPNXohoCO9WG9U9zNQLDKJPlqmA0cZcwkXtPUXWKchGA-rmB5-aGuYhfMzzCAVpYKDELVFPOBk31OdBO4l_MsUkwZoB9I2iOHuQd8zdtPSzg63uOk/s640/2017-04-09+lemons+and+mystery+citrus.jpg" width="584" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The two fruits in their jars ready to cure, with more lemons in the background</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The preserved mini-oranges combine the tangy complexity of orange peel flavor with intense saltiness, bringing a surprising bright taste to savory dishes. It's not something I'm used to but it''s delicious. I particularly like to use them in peanut sauces.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't know if we'll go to AZ again next spring, so in case we don't I might have to pay for family to pick and send more fruit.</span>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-24136728491913272082017-07-30T22:05:00.002-06:002017-07-30T22:22:16.242-06:00My hiking sling<span style="font-size: large;">In 2002 I went on several hikes in the mountains of Utah, including a four-day backpacking trip to the Uintas with an ascent to the summit of King's Peak. On that hike I came up with an idea: what if I used one of my Mexican blankets for a sling to carry my stuff, instead of a backpack? On that particular excursion I had carried my tent and other gear to our camp site in a large framed pack, and I didn't want to have to haul that to the peak, so something stripped down and minimal like a blanket sling made sense.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It must have been in one of my custodial jobs that I worked in college that I acquired a very large safety pin, which I had used at times to fasten a wool blanket around me like a cloak. If you're interested in doing this yourself, I recommend doing a search on ebay for "laundry horse blanket safety pin," and you should be able to find one. (I could have put a link here, could even have made it a commission link, but I've stopped doing that stuff.) I'm going to share with you the basic method for rigging one of these up:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">First, take your blanket and fold it lengthwise into thirds.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZLDkG5bERS85lyGGoQ0MT906lDDLADrxea8g9LA1iH6edYIdUym6UaKvPb1lg24Rr8lqYFDELSjBbc9Zkwh5ACLE79hCoRFWi4krg_oJJ-tOhL3DzfXcVytAqDe26k984imQAAM528Se4/s1600/blanket+laid+out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1154" data-original-width="1600" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZLDkG5bERS85lyGGoQ0MT906lDDLADrxea8g9LA1iH6edYIdUym6UaKvPb1lg24Rr8lqYFDELSjBbc9Zkwh5ACLE79hCoRFWi4krg_oJJ-tOhL3DzfXcVytAqDe26k984imQAAM528Se4/s640/blanket+laid+out.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photos by my sweetie.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMireoNDwX-ZjZqm9IUDiEu2Cf-E9uq8QEBG7rVAsiJ5Gfm690mdPChzkRiRQI5_92O_M1YJ43dbSKmA2Vg8uGGHKgSUftv1H7KdGoR3CltqgZ2jY_NyBfPCUbI-Eei9CjkT6OFLOMVopZ/s1600/folding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1323" data-original-width="1600" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMireoNDwX-ZjZqm9IUDiEu2Cf-E9uq8QEBG7rVAsiJ5Gfm690mdPChzkRiRQI5_92O_M1YJ43dbSKmA2Vg8uGGHKgSUftv1H7KdGoR3CltqgZ2jY_NyBfPCUbI-Eei9CjkT6OFLOMVopZ/s640/folding.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFh5WOkYQprBZJS35xmUU5DBJO8DB7U6yEhSWH1gcG_XZADwJo_tb0vYv0VzTiNFNlAlf__osgNqUxUzMTMFVWadP6zq4nKBqVpvhIrsmDKMHh1aDkPxYFfGFZMH6ihufXaBA4J5epfUf-/s1600/folded+in+thirds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1431" data-original-width="1600" height="572" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFh5WOkYQprBZJS35xmUU5DBJO8DB7U6yEhSWH1gcG_XZADwJo_tb0vYv0VzTiNFNlAlf__osgNqUxUzMTMFVWadP6zq4nKBqVpvhIrsmDKMHh1aDkPxYFfGFZMH6ihufXaBA4J5epfUf-/s640/folded+in+thirds.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> I might have tried folding in half twice, but thirds seems to work the best, giving a close-able pocket effect.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Next, drape the ends of the blanket over your shoulder (whichever you choose: during a hike I switch from one to the other every so often). Holding one end on the front, bring the other up from behind . . . </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGd-qTx90BGN5mAEKyG2KCiCHD6UXl5uuiCnHsql5BBbFhKfpriU-xGkMxKdeEisy6VOF4K8zU5N5b1Rp0tL7vWenzalTdD_4UseAAY5-_4MTLlKtRsMNvreLj6xIYMIoPlNSupAB6cmCn/s1600/draping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1257" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGd-qTx90BGN5mAEKyG2KCiCHD6UXl5uuiCnHsql5BBbFhKfpriU-xGkMxKdeEisy6VOF4K8zU5N5b1Rp0tL7vWenzalTdD_4UseAAY5-_4MTLlKtRsMNvreLj6xIYMIoPlNSupAB6cmCn/s640/draping.jpg" width="502" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">. . . and pin it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9BwzfKNDYA8Cz-LwzpgLL2v5hqsR77sNTDCk4M1SHBpp5-rOJ8Ku_drkMHYi6516R3oqu9bh1xBcvAAOZw9MErtuL74vVzFSGe56br1AVJTN9-nttMB7rWhM5d4TEKiw2CHrC-LhCxAYf/s1600/pin+closeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1567" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9BwzfKNDYA8Cz-LwzpgLL2v5hqsR77sNTDCk4M1SHBpp5-rOJ8Ku_drkMHYi6516R3oqu9bh1xBcvAAOZw9MErtuL74vVzFSGe56br1AVJTN9-nttMB7rWhM5d4TEKiw2CHrC-LhCxAYf/s640/pin+closeup.jpg" width="626" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Here I want to point out that it has worked better to leave it as seen here: on a recent hike I tried gathering the ends into more of a taper. It didn't work very well: the bunched cloth actually cut into my shoulder more than the simple pinning did, and somehow it messed up the neat pocket effect I had enjoyed on my previous hikes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Although I got my inspiration for this from old depictions of people carrying bedrolls to camp with, I've never attempted to carry camping gear in this, always keeping it strictly to day hike use. I carry food, water, extra clothes and first aid supplies, and it does pretty well I'd say up to maybe 15 pounds - I'm not very good at guessing weight. On my most recent hike up to Timpanogos Basin I included a small stainless steel cook kit (1 lb) with an alcohol stove and fuel bottle. If memory serves aright, I've used this rig to get to the summits of King's Peak, Squaw Peak and Mount Timpanogos, as well as several shorter hikes. Here are some views of it in action:</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgDVjTggKza6lABUPYRVY9k-Xq4wSw30RauflYThGvKZI-Em5iqDO2dhrdCMiGmuMR7eyH0qxh5a77dx0_JA1a6OCJKhGY0vHf4bADgnqSv7wnHwa5iKP1cVSeb_ctxfNG30v8b7oJfg5/s1600/Kings-summit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="739" data-original-width="838" height="564" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgDVjTggKza6lABUPYRVY9k-Xq4wSw30RauflYThGvKZI-Em5iqDO2dhrdCMiGmuMR7eyH0qxh5a77dx0_JA1a6OCJKhGY0vHf4bADgnqSv7wnHwa5iKP1cVSeb_ctxfNG30v8b7oJfg5/s640/Kings-summit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">King's Peak, July 2002, in the clouds. Man, I was in such good shape back then. Photo by one of my hiking buddies.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-HfpTDHKQgWgsgSyVMR1OkwBFA7yfIHj82SsEywSvGa7KFQiTv7muzMdtB5I3plEfYPdLb1w52jkmFknyxE4-DPxZkb5M0lbi12y-FEhvoWP3HC8S6k4zUcW4c-DRhIRwQGs-EPY8QjG/s1600/Organs-PineTreeLoop-I+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="374" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-HfpTDHKQgWgsgSyVMR1OkwBFA7yfIHj82SsEywSvGa7KFQiTv7muzMdtB5I3plEfYPdLb1w52jkmFknyxE4-DPxZkb5M0lbi12y-FEhvoWP3HC8S6k4zUcW4c-DRhIRwQGs-EPY8QjG/s320/Organs-PineTreeLoop-I+crop.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Organ Mountains, New Mexico, 2007. The blanket can get hot in hot weather, but I've never found it unbearable. Photo by my brother.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGh-4NGycd2M4HEalTQAuqE-nPn8lOK4lEz0yXMABCf_soKw8Nkfa2ZTjO-fM47HaspJDjXGbedY9X0hHNgIrwKGMQ_wv_CUjgBom8jMIHgMqEX_rrUj_y2z1j7VcqVZ1NbvQS9lpcODyS/s1600/Timp-2007-09+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="439" height="594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGh-4NGycd2M4HEalTQAuqE-nPn8lOK4lEz0yXMABCf_soKw8Nkfa2ZTjO-fM47HaspJDjXGbedY9X0hHNgIrwKGMQ_wv_CUjgBom8jMIHgMqEX_rrUj_y2z1j7VcqVZ1NbvQS9lpcODyS/s640/Timp-2007-09+crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Timp, 2007 - the last time I made it to the top. Photo by my other brother.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I like the advantage this device affords of having my trail snacks and sundries within easy reach. By shifting sides regularly I avoid getting my shoulders sore. Besides, it has that anachronistic simplicity that I love.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Recently I read about <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grandma_Gatewood" target="_blank">Emma Gatewood</a>, the first woman to hike the entire Appalachian Trail alone - and carrying her gear in a sling bag held over one shoulder. Not exactly the same thing, but even so I feel like I'm in good company. I've long felt that people set too much store by fancy modern hiking and camping equipment, and I feel vindicated by examples like hers - or the <a href="http://contentdm.lib.byu.edu/cdm/ref/collection/SCMisc/id/45482" target="_blank">Timp hikers of the early 20th century</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here's to many years of hiking yet to come!</span>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-40440411979381696012017-07-16T21:33:00.000-06:002017-07-16T21:33:36.501-06:00Type/brass cast: rocket relaunch and other things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsE59eXIs_1KCXcN2gd5myTFTXsLC6M1xHPKXgB4YPeZDbcx31vGtUACQduyFaEWu2pO6gl2wbNW3b_1PbI96ExWOANtgzoJIyn50RZMyiEtfgxmR_QBAgKabxsHfq3zmYAu_OREDQT5My/s1600/2017-07-15+parching+corn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1382" data-original-width="1375" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsE59eXIs_1KCXcN2gd5myTFTXsLC6M1xHPKXgB4YPeZDbcx31vGtUACQduyFaEWu2pO6gl2wbNW3b_1PbI96ExWOANtgzoJIyn50RZMyiEtfgxmR_QBAgKabxsHfq3zmYAu_OREDQT5My/s320/2017-07-15+parching+corn.jpg" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parching red corn over the rocket stove, photo by my eldest daughter</td></tr>
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<br />D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-41179223935628556492016-11-21T09:49:00.000-07:002016-11-21T09:49:57.786-07:00Quill/brasscast: Thoughts about roots, cut shortI wrote this with a quill and with two metal nibs, trying out some "new" old paper, while keeping track of a two-year-old.<br />
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<br />D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-86550061933768908752016-08-30T22:04:00.000-06:002016-08-30T22:04:40.881-06:00Fictional foods: apricot experiment update<span style="font-size: large;">So last month I <a href="http://desertloon.blogspot.com/2016/07/fictional-foods-experiments-with.html" target="_blank">posted</a> about salting a bunch of apricots. I've done some more work on them. A few days after I started, I saw that the brine was slowly leaking out from the bags, and so I combined both batches into one and put them in a pickle jar. So much for trying out different kinds of salt.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-glXKX7KfFyiepV__RN1E0D0jMLodi-D426XSYYCBh5GfSd29_beSGFghLqUTGFTvlOcoYEa1z6mDOdoAMDRbJT3OHmaPyUK15XeU_vytCtcVv0lhzYAsZP-f9SHI291oofPQuDi0_N2Z/s1600/2016-08-24+apricots+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-glXKX7KfFyiepV__RN1E0D0jMLodi-D426XSYYCBh5GfSd29_beSGFghLqUTGFTvlOcoYEa1z6mDOdoAMDRbJT3OHmaPyUK15XeU_vytCtcVv0lhzYAsZP-f9SHI291oofPQuDi0_N2Z/s640/2016-08-24+apricots+1.jpg" width="598" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what they looked like after sitting for a month.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The umeboshi recipe I was working with said to sterilize the vessel with vodka before putting them in it, but we don't keep vodka in the house, and besides, I kind of thought the whole point of people discovering how to preserve food in salt was so that you could, you know, put it in things like jars and barrels without it spoiling? I've made sauerkraut before in glass jars after just washing them in hot water, and my dad grew up making sauerkraut by packing the cabbage and salt into the barrel with the end of a baseball bat. So I took a risk: as long as my jar, cup and rocks (to weigh the fruit down and keep it in the brine) were clean, I'd see what happened. As you can see, they looked fine, and as you can't smell, they smelled just like vegetable matter fermenting in brine should smell.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The next step was to dry them in the sun. Since I currently have Wednesdays off from work, I decided to let them sit out that day last week and see how dry they'd get. After all, strictly speaking I'm not making umeboshi, just something very close.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1vrZ8kaaCJH5wPaMjBdYeAPLhQBzZQDMjsReF7mW97moHrc54U9pHM737EeRiEb4gGv1IwZO9IHwKaPp35n0soDsjjx7MjKGduVj-xV8YA9pC_X3_9xGQ8dRSW2w7HOh2pT5xw02NbPmD/s1600/2016-08-24+apricots+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1vrZ8kaaCJH5wPaMjBdYeAPLhQBzZQDMjsReF7mW97moHrc54U9pHM737EeRiEb4gGv1IwZO9IHwKaPp35n0soDsjjx7MjKGduVj-xV8YA9pC_X3_9xGQ8dRSW2w7HOh2pT5xw02NbPmD/s640/2016-08-24+apricots+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just out of the jar, drying on a cut-up old undershirt (washed, of course) and paper bag.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At first I kept moving them to stay in the sun while keeping them close to the house, and then when my sweetie had finished running errands, I put them on top of the car. I thought they might dry out more at the end of the day, but after bringing them in, I decided to pack them into a clean dry glass jar and see what happened.</span> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdk2MkLUFpzNPsFNtZ7pb7tdlR7HUJNpLzGq0nl1hoS2s0ogoVyEq-61qCo74_o8XeeQMlISvyoivqjpmjOrlwYfNmn6sjPOhQeNGfn1a0ljm3fmRi0BASx6s-Ny2QmeSx4inyV2nU6L9i/s1600/2016-08-24+apricots+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdk2MkLUFpzNPsFNtZ7pb7tdlR7HUJNpLzGq0nl1hoS2s0ogoVyEq-61qCo74_o8XeeQMlISvyoivqjpmjOrlwYfNmn6sjPOhQeNGfn1a0ljm3fmRi0BASx6s-Ny2QmeSx4inyV2nU6L9i/s640/2016-08-24+apricots+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After a day in the sun.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7V2SUmzzWftj5EA0ABbMXYcyCHt4vSZff7nmFCJvaeC9PkyC3CK4hRP61JtP8uJqKgnPa2uDd_wjLQ4UUpQB_LBNTUL-dV2i6yWePoNYUYdX31bEDsRNhBjSR76zlFHS5s8m-D13e0uu/s1600/2016-08-28+apricots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7V2SUmzzWftj5EA0ABbMXYcyCHt4vSZff7nmFCJvaeC9PkyC3CK4hRP61JtP8uJqKgnPa2uDd_wjLQ4UUpQB_LBNTUL-dV2i6yWePoNYUYdX31bEDsRNhBjSR76zlFHS5s8m-D13e0uu/s640/2016-08-28+apricots.jpg" width="588" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After a few days in the jar, after drying. You can see the thicker brine that's seeping out in the bottom.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />So they've been sitting in their jar for a week, and so far they're doing fine. I used one in a bowl of beans I took to work, and I have to say they work very nicely with pinto beans. Their flavor is not quite like umeboshi: its almost metallic, and is taking some getting used to, but I'll keep experimenting to see what they go well with.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I'm looking forward to tasting them in a few months and finding out how the flavor develops.</span>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-75487997099502205652016-08-21T21:36:00.000-06:002016-08-21T21:44:14.557-06:00Quest cooking: calabacitas<span style="font-size: large;">About a year ago I started a Wordpress blog called <a href="http://questfortheflame.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Quest for the Flame</a>, wherein I started writing about my experiments with efficient wood stoves, among other things. It's been months since I posted there, and lately on reflection I've found it redundant and too much effort to keep up so many blogs with so much else demanding my time. So I've more or less abandoned that blog. Today I'm going to post here about my most recent experience cooking with one of my homemade stoves.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This stove is a rocket stove, made with a #10 can and some smaller food cans. You can read instructions on <a href="http://prepared-housewives.com/how-to-build-a-rocket-stove-and-impress-the-boys/" target="_blank">making your own here</a>, if you're a cheapskate like me and don't want to pay for one of the really nice ones from <a href="http://www.silverfire.us/" target="_blank">SilverFire</a> or <a href="https://ecozoomstove.com/" target="_blank">Ecozoom</a>; and/or you like to make things yourself. I've experimented with woodgas stoves too, which I love the idea of, but I've found this rocket stove the easiest to use for cooking. (BTW, those instructions show a dremel and fiberglass insulation; I used tin snips and perlite.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After having cooked several pots of rice over this, I scored a big stainless steel wok at the local DI, and since a traditional wok stove is very much like a rocket stove, I thought that using the wok for stir-frying would be a perfect way to use mine. Yesterday I did my second stir-fry using this, and it turned out beautifully. The setting was Nunn's Park, close to the beautiful Bridal Veil Falls in Provo Canyon, a favorite picnic and walking spot. It was crowded, but we were lucky enough to find a table with a grill, where I set up.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSgfLtSpV3dPVadHZBTMKwySECsRubYmCdYrQ_lIhos_kaKEIoQxS8qCA_yloFWz7aUnJsBESngUHn8ewMssRCuYwwKIkTR-8zisD6EWAskRodIjUXD61utktylT9Bs1yn6IDMMVWCZuEH/s1600/2016-08-20+stir+fry+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSgfLtSpV3dPVadHZBTMKwySECsRubYmCdYrQ_lIhos_kaKEIoQxS8qCA_yloFWz7aUnJsBESngUHn8ewMssRCuYwwKIkTR-8zisD6EWAskRodIjUXD61utktylT9Bs1yn6IDMMVWCZuEH/s640/2016-08-20+stir+fry+04.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stove is so efficient that I cooked the dish with only these three sticks - and didn't even burn them all up!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This was a simple dish, more or less a version of calabacitas, using some of the plentiful summer produce we're swimming in. First, zucchini and yellow crookneck squash, with some garlic:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUS3Hc2pHMLAyj537qN7nWISlhaHMFzFGsrNf-kdoiVMCUBg0RDRGyl1remrqasyyB4Tn0Sy1rVuBIIAVuG2rT1Jw1umEdhqhGk0v8I25s0_ujEtArQSwzMUb9UJJIAs6rSYqvVtWUas3b/s1600/2016-08-20+stir+fry+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUS3Hc2pHMLAyj537qN7nWISlhaHMFzFGsrNf-kdoiVMCUBg0RDRGyl1remrqasyyB4Tn0Sy1rVuBIIAVuG2rT1Jw1umEdhqhGk0v8I25s0_ujEtArQSwzMUb9UJJIAs6rSYqvVtWUas3b/s640/2016-08-20+stir+fry+05.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">- next, tomatoes with salt and Turkish Seasoning from <a href="https://www.penzeys.com/" target="_blank">Penzeys</a>:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyfrFnoePeedlmPxeBgvYsi6yLlGu3mPa9olYP0Kth0abfmkhLh9xNRo6KJ8ZahA5Bydti_EBJ1cuXomIW0WaaGVQNCsBD9At_ORXriaG6PAtBUOeICvjrpovyoQwiUc80igZ4SSVTpCm/s1600/2016-08-20+stir+fry+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyfrFnoePeedlmPxeBgvYsi6yLlGu3mPa9olYP0Kth0abfmkhLh9xNRo6KJ8ZahA5Bydti_EBJ1cuXomIW0WaaGVQNCsBD9At_ORXriaG6PAtBUOeICvjrpovyoQwiUc80igZ4SSVTpCm/s320/2016-08-20+stir+fry+02.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36-N599_M0tiw05an2wgrLsHy-prKZU_9LY0dY9xcojmY-GIou9pkc-tyOBCZkrBwpLzAzSQ98BnxDicPIZRB5N_MI1L0fg_s49dX68t9aSjNsPCw44iGgdKDMVACiHGEwvI9iUqGxe7K/s1600/2016-08-20+stir+fry+06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="552" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36-N599_M0tiw05an2wgrLsHy-prKZU_9LY0dY9xcojmY-GIou9pkc-tyOBCZkrBwpLzAzSQ98BnxDicPIZRB5N_MI1L0fg_s49dX68t9aSjNsPCw44iGgdKDMVACiHGEwvI9iUqGxe7K/s640/2016-08-20+stir+fry+06.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">- and after that had simmered a bit, scallions and cilantro:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPOOVgUjPSGOp_1pWN-CvLCiXNnHFYoOLjpO9Lz5OpSP_x6C_TJdT7tLM8qlejbdWxPsYpPH9MLWl1OcPq1clID7jTuf2iCGqCRd3QLUfEThL6jLIekNVLIcAUxOYiebSS2RcRWPlyBfP/s1600/2016-08-20+stir+fry+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="558" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPOOVgUjPSGOp_1pWN-CvLCiXNnHFYoOLjpO9Lz5OpSP_x6C_TJdT7tLM8qlejbdWxPsYpPH9MLWl1OcPq1clID7jTuf2iCGqCRd3QLUfEThL6jLIekNVLIcAUxOYiebSS2RcRWPlyBfP/s640/2016-08-20+stir+fry+12.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When it was all done, I doused the stove quickly (park regulations forbid open fires during this dry summer) and we enjoyed a nice compliment to our other picnic fare.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieoYEhLHcj6LPaPTgH2uz5xTaue7D4Mx7IkwObt5w5ZJLjQ6_MtFlEdNszpEOHPfyKy4-oPsxFJGE-PJpsSnUX-Oj398kpMglAuTnlagQDvZ6VSsBk0d6m1zKhdJvUfXPDqgFHcnLMpnIp/s1600/2016-08-20+stir+fry+14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieoYEhLHcj6LPaPTgH2uz5xTaue7D4Mx7IkwObt5w5ZJLjQ6_MtFlEdNszpEOHPfyKy4-oPsxFJGE-PJpsSnUX-Oj398kpMglAuTnlagQDvZ6VSsBk0d6m1zKhdJvUfXPDqgFHcnLMpnIp/s640/2016-08-20+stir+fry+14.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Almost no smoke, a good consistent hot flame making for a quick cooking time, and a tasty result. I hope this gives some useful ideas, and thanks to my beautiful and talented sweetie for taking pictures!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">If you want to see more food you can cook on a rocket stove, watch the youtube channel <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCTsyZO38cqRxgotaW0lIb1g" target="_blank">Solid Fuel Cooking</a>, from the Netherlands.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-26680742312882190962016-08-14T22:02:00.002-06:002016-08-14T22:02:54.821-06:00More heart's blood<span style="font-size: large;">I mentioned in a previous post a regrettable decline in pioneer values that I perceive in the developing towns along the Wasatch Front. Where I live you can see a curious mix of old houses in reasonably good shape, decrepit buildings where closed businesses once stood, and newer stores, office buildings and roads built to accommodate and encourage the post-industrialist consumer lifestyle of today. It is always sad to me to see how often the older buildings with a cozier, more human, more convivial spirit to them get left to decay and then swept aside, or re-purposed: along one length of a principal street are several lovely old houses that now hold retail businesses (existing perhaps tenuously) or professional offices.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">To me this is all a betrayal and defeat of the vision that settled this area, and to my view an honest assessment of the current social and economic order of the Mormon heartland must confess that we have a sad state of affairs. Land that could be productive, used to house people in modesty, industry and communal self-reliance is regularly parceled out to build luxurious dwellings at obscene prices. Small businesses feel they must curry favor with the trendy whims of indifferent consumers in order to survive: it is harder and harder to count on a robust spirit of <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/2-ne/26?lang=eng" target="_blank">2 Nephi 26</a>:30 to keep any enterprise afloat (and you can just forget about verse 31).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">An unreflective enthusiasm for a gospel of growth and prosperity gives carte blanche to expressions of arrogance and greed that are embarrassing and insulting to an idealistic viewer. I think it no coincidence that Hugh Nibley wasn't allowed to fulfill a career of scholarly inquiry and social criticism in peace without his persona and legacy being yanked into extremes of adulatory folklore and allegations of the most sordid private sins: our culture has little tolerance and less use for principled and consistent critiques. And attempted critiques regularly veer into reactionary political stances, which I also find very sad and self-defeating.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But I realize too that self-reliance is hard, and not exciting or sexy. I think a great deal of the consumer mindset that produces such callous effects worldwide in fact is rooted in the desire for miraculous deliverance: how wonderful it is, after all, to see something like a new restaurant arise from the ground, and to spread its large printed advertisements across the land for miles, with no effort from me! Is it not something like an experience of grace, to be able to simply walk into a clean, climate-controlled, brightly-lit and fragrant space, with nothing required of me other than to be served, to make my selection, and then have the freedom to leave in search of another similar environment? Granted, we have to pay for the things we get here, but beyond the money we part with for specific goods and services, the larger message is of this abundance from above and afar: these brands, these buildings, this infrastructure comes to us, lifts us up, and asks nothing more of the worthy among us other than an attentive duty to the specialized abstracted tasks laid out before us in yet another climate-controlled and brightly-lit space.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I think that all this truly fees like heaven to many, many people, in an unconscious or at least little-examined way. My conscience, in exercise with my intellect, is still set against it, but I have a clearer understanding of it now. </span>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-48502282485160285882016-08-08T21:37:00.000-06:002016-08-08T21:37:26.090-06:00The Chocolate Project, episode 4: Enjoy Life chips (dark, 69%)<span style="font-size: large;">Ha! Thought I'd forgotten about this? Or dropped it? I've been doing more tastings, have several notes to type up and share. Here's one.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Chocolate chips, as I've written before, are good for making into a beverage because they melt so quickly. Recently I discovered the chocolate made by Enjoy Life: pure, vegan, hypo-allergenic, "paleo-friendly" (as if stone-age hunters would have eaten this!) chocolate that tastes quite good.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">And they make <a href="http://enjoylifefoods.com/our-food/baking-chocolate/chocolate-for-baking-dark-chocolate-morsels/" target="_blank">chips that are 69% cacao</a>, which is practically perfect.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here's what we did:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">75 g (5 Tb) of these baking morsels</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">~1 tsp vanilla (I always eyeball it)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4 oz boiling water</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It reminded me somewhat of the Baker's, but darker. It seemed heavy on low-medium notes, with a flavor that reminded me of chocolate ice cream, or chocolate Silk. It had a good balance of sweet and bitter. Not quite as deep or complex as others, but a nice solid comfy taste - I can definitely imagine this as a perfect camp drink! The aftertaste was more roasty than orchid-y, with a bit of lingering fuzz.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My sweetie gave it a thumbs up: a "normal" taste, she said, "straight up chocolate." </span><span style="font-size: large;">Our seven-year-old called it "a little bitter but otherwise good."</span>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-84354649682917901262016-07-31T20:42:00.003-06:002016-07-31T20:42:44.935-06:00A writing milestone<span style="font-size: large;">A few weeks ago I received my first rejection notice as a fiction writer. I had submitted a short story to a local contest back in March, a story I had drafted last year and spent a great deal of time working into what I thought was a nicely polished state. I sent it in, and then I went back to creeping ahead on my novel.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Every once in a while I'd wonder when I might hear something; it seemed like it was taking a long time. And then the message arrived in my inbox. At first I was quite hopeful - I thought I'd written a pretty interesting story, or at least a well-told one. So I'm ashamed to admit it, but admit it I will: I was crushed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And then I went and had another look at that story I was so proud of, and you know what? It's crap. It's hastily written, it's vague, it's boring, it's irrelevant . . . what ever possessed me to enter it into a contest?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, there's just one thing to do, isn't there: go back and revise it, and this time take my time to do it right. I might just be old enough by now to accept this as a necessary part of the process of getting published - after all, I've been through it before, from the academic side. It's been a few years, and I had forgotten what it was like.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Writers who get published often amass large collections of rejection notices from their early attempts. I like to think that getting this first one was a breaking of some kind of ice, and now that I've started on this stage I'm that much closer to my goal.</span>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-74067476338559254742016-07-24T16:46:00.000-06:002016-07-24T16:46:12.935-06:00Fictional foods: experiments with apricots<span style="font-size: large;">I've spent a lot of time <a href="http://desertloon.blogspot.com/p/writing-book.html" target="_blank">building my world</a>, and part of the process of making it as rich and realistic as I can is thinking about what people eat there. Over the years I've done quite a bit of experiments in the kitchen as I've concocted and invented recipes that I imagine might be on the tables of various lands and peoples. Something that I'd like to do some day for <a href="http://ltue.net/" target="_blank">LTUE</a> would be to help organize a potluck meal with participants bringing dishes from stories they liked - or wrote, or are writing. M.K. Hutchins, whom I met at the 2014 meeting, had that idea, and I need to talk to her about it again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">You should <a href="http://www.mkhutchins.com/" target="_blank">read her blog</a>: she puts recipes up there, for <a href="http://www.mkhutchins.com/search/label/fiction%20foodie" target="_blank">fictional foods</a> as well as for <a href="http://www.mkhutchins.com/2016/05/historic-foam-aztec-chocolate-drink.html" target="_blank">authentic Aztec chocolate</a>. And you should <a href="http://www.mkhutchins.com/p/publications.html" target="_blank">read her stories</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So it's apricot season here in Utah, and a nice neighbor let us go and pick from her tree. This was last week, and the fruits were only just starting to ripen - everywhere I drive I see trees loaded with fruit and it makes me sad. There's more than I can ever pick or use, and apparently more than most people want to pick or use - one more lamentable loss of pioneer values. I'll make a quick plug here, to any readers in the Wasatch Front area, for the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/gleanutah/" target="_blank">Glean Utah</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/116600071688018/" target="_blank">Glean Provo</a> Facebook groups. They need a lot more attention, as do the fruit trees around here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, in my tiny attempt to do my part, and enlisting the help of a zealous seven-year-old, I ended up with a lot of apricots that are not quite ripe. I ate as many as I could, and I still had all these others sitting here, and outside there are still more and more ripening. I thought about what I could do with these, and I decided that with the ripest ones I would make freezer jam.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And with the unripe ones, I got this crazy idea: what would happen if I packed them with salt and let them sit? My Japanese cousins had introduced me to umeboshi years before, and I remembered that those aren't really plums but a certain variety of apricot. Would plain old apricots work? I did a search and <a href="http://japanese-kitchen.net/recipe-items/how-to-make-umeboshi-using-apricots/" target="_blank">found exactly what I was looking for</a>: yes!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I thought to myself: this is Japanese, but the ingredients - apricots and salt - are plentiful in Utah, and of course also in the environment where much of my work in progress takes place (one of the states there owes its wealth to the salt trade). So why wouldn't the people in my world preserve some of their apricots in this way? How they might use these pickled fruits in their cuisine?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I got started: washed the fruits and picked out the unblemished ones,</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jA96poSFIj7YyiYK7ZVAUMqT-PsWw2EZ-zCDWjSrITysU0_Wc-DOAsM2DPwG0SbO0PuMH1hNn2cJcXh_fBv2xgObkqo9U6c-gAvwMpXOPbgOZQCsmPfjhyphenhyphenkAGXvYVsvJS48NxJHVK0al/s1600/2016-07-23+apricots+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jA96poSFIj7YyiYK7ZVAUMqT-PsWw2EZ-zCDWjSrITysU0_Wc-DOAsM2DPwG0SbO0PuMH1hNn2cJcXh_fBv2xgObkqo9U6c-gAvwMpXOPbgOZQCsmPfjhyphenhyphenkAGXvYVsvJS48NxJHVK0al/s400/2016-07-23+apricots+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">packed them in bags with salt (and a bit of vinegar)</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I used sea salt for the one on the left, and Himalayan pink salt on the right. I didn't have enough <i><a href="http://www.realsalt.com/" target="_blank">Real Salt</a> </i>(from Redmond, UT) left to use on this.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">and put the bags in a dark cupboard where they'll sit for the next month.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Meanwhile, I also found out that Mexico has a similar food tradition: <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saladitos" target="_blank">saladitos</a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chamoy" target="_blank">chamoy</a>. After all, why not? If you have certain ingredients available, people are going to figure out different ways to combine them. It just goes to show that while we might identify certain foods or ingredients with a certain culture or place, the world is wide and varied, and the human imagination even more so.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Happy Pioneer Day!</span>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562280238628341139.post-27508424196403779652016-07-17T21:36:00.003-06:002016-07-17T21:36:46.816-06:00A very short Sunday post<span style="font-size: large;">It's late, I'm tired, I go to work very early in the morning, so I should be going to bed soon, but I don't want to go to bed soon because I just got my children down and I have some quiet time to myself. That is an extremely rare commodity these days - no, not a commodity, a luxury. Two weeks or so ago I wrote about doing a post every Sunday, so naturally Sundays have made themselves very difficult to post here. But I'm crawling along, and so here are these words.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This evening we all went for a walk in a local park which we like very much. It has trails among tall trees (mostly elm, I think, with some maple and scrub oak) and on summer evenings when the golden light of the lowering sun hits those trees it creates a magical effect. But depending on where you go in there it can also be kind of eerie: there are bits of old rusted discarded things in odd places, and there are also bits of old concrete constructions that look almost like long-abandoned war fortifications. We explored some of the narrower trails going up the dirt slopes under the elms, and at times I was strongly reminded of the Tarkovsky film <i>Stalker</i>, which I haven't seen for years.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's the sort of place I can imagine being afraid of when I was younger, or that some older people might be afraid of, the sort of place you can well imagine people gathering for all kinds of sinister purposes. But in fact, it's a disc golf course, so the greatest dangers are: 1. falling down and 2. getting in the way of people throwing their discs and annoying them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I like the town where we live.</span>D. Loonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692050568996373253noreply@blogger.com0