In 1911, the state of California was in heated debate about granting suffrage for women. I recently came across one of the arguments against granting women suffrage, written by Sentator J. B. Sanford of the Democratic Caucus. Reading through it, I thought it would be fun to change some of the words. Below, I’ve included the full text of the 1911 argument on the left and an edited version about the ordination of women in the Church on the right. I’ve blocked the paragraphs together for easy comparison. The language is a little awkward and archaic, but so is the argument. Enjoy.Read More
Have you ever been so twitter-pated that you did something silly? Or embarrassing? Or crazy? Or all of the above? Tell us, because even feminists fall in crazy love…
I’ll go first:
My visa to move to Australia and marry the man of my dreams had arrived. I was sure to start out my future on the right note, so… years before, a sorority sister shared a story about how she took a flight one summer to visit her boyfriend. To surprise him, she wore a super-short mini skirt and a really long black wig that was opposite to her more conservative look and short blonde hair. She walked off the plane, went over and “started totally kissing him.” I thought that was the coolest thing ever! So I wanted to do that, but only for true love, not just a boyfriend. So when my marriage visa was granted, I decided I would do something similar.Read More
Freedom from Want, by Norman Rockwell
My extended family loves to tell stories. We sit around late into the night telling and retelling the same stories every time we get together. It is my favorite thing in the world. On this special occasion I thought I’d share one with you. It belongs to my father, but resides deep in my heart.
My dad comes from a family of nine kids—six boys and three girls. It is a Norman Rockwell-esque type family. The kind that you can envision in any brightly colored Americana painting, where the adults resemble heroes–big, handsome, and strong– and freckles dot the sincere smiles of children’s scrunched noses. My dad is the fifth child in his Rockwellian family and exhibits relatively few attributes of middle child syndrome. He is obedient, kind, content, easy going, and tender. He is almost the perfect child.
One of the stories he tells is of the time when he wasn’t perfect. It was Sunday dinner one night in his youth. The whole family was sitting around the large dinner table. Kids were passing the rolls, teasing each other, dribbling the gravy, and bickering over some unimportant inequality. On this occasion he did something wrong. He can’t remember what, he always says, but he got caught.
“Eric” my grandpa yelled “get over here.” My dad pushed his chair from the table and walked over.
“You can either get a spanking right now and finish the meal or go to your room for the remainder of the night” my Grandpa said matter-of-factly.
“I’ll go to my room” my dad remembers saying obstinately.
“Fine.” Grandpa replied.
My Dad walked down the stairs, but didn’t go to his room. He sat at the base of the doorway listening. At first he was still uncompromising. Lips pursed, arms folded. But something happened as he remained there eavesdropping. He heard them having fun. He listened as they chaotically talked over one another. He heard them laughing about a comment he had missed, a story that he wasn’t a part of. He longed to be the recipient or origin of that joy.
As my dad retells this part, four decades later, he has tears in his eyes. He remembers running up the stairs and begging his dad, “I changed my mind.” His words falter, heavy with emotion and nostalgia. “Please, give me a spanking. I just don’t want to miss out on anything else,” his younger self begs.
It wasn’t Thanksgiving Day, yet in a way, it was.
From ours, to yours. Have a Happy Thanksgiving Day.Read More
Last month, I ran my first race, a Ragnar relay race in Las Vegas. It was a great experience and not just because I got about 24 hours away from my kids.
Lots of my fellow runners (the ones who “road-killed me” while saying, “You’re doing GREAT!,” without a hint of irony as they left me in the dust) were Mormon.
I was surprised. We were in “Sin City” after all, so I began to wonder why the heck do Mormons run Ragnar?
Is it because that as a culture that espouses the goodness of funeral potatoes, we take Section 89 as a green light to carb-load so that one can “run and not be weary?”Read More
I recently read the book “The Gift of Imperfection” by Brene Brown for my ward’s book club. It is an excellent self-help book, one that I recommend. There was one idea that was particularly useful to me. Brown believes that when we feel shame the best way to overcome it is to share that feeling with somebody who can be supportive but can also help us be honest with ourselves.Read More
Today’s guest post comes to us from Claire, as part of the Doves & Serpents and The Exponent Blogger Swap.
Turning 30 means you have SOME life experience. And therefore, if you live in the ‘mission field,’ you have met the first (and sometimes only) requirement that puts you on the short list for Relief Society President.
And so I found myself the Relief Society President in a large urban ward far, far away from church headquarters. A few things I didn’t know when I accepted the calling- 1, most of my time would be acting as a social worker, 2, things would be so hectic upon occasion that I would actually forget to assign someone to teach the lesson and would have to fake it myself, and 3, there were two unofficial members of the RS board that would rotate regularly and over which I would have very little influence or control…. the Sister Missionaries.Read More