been reading: Under the Banner of Heaven by Jon Krakauer

This book, recommended to me by SG, is a fascinating look at a religion I knew pretty much nothing about. Although his focus is on Mormon Fundamentalists, Krakauer also provides more than just a glimpse into the beliefs of followers of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The two are, in fact, intricately linked and it would be impossible to examine the history of one without considering the other.

The book weaves the account of the Lafferty brothers (who in 1984 murdered their sister-in-law and her infant daughter because they believed they had received a revelation from God to do so) with a thorough look at the history of the Mormon faith. Extreme violence and a belief of being above man's law (gathering instead under the "banner of heaven") are, in fact, characteristic of the Mormon history, as Krakauer discusses in the book. The Lafferty brothers are but modern-day examples of many Mormon men before them who took lives in the name of God.

When most people think of Mormon Fundamentalists, they think of polygamy. Krakauer examines this facet of the faith as well, and takes a particularly close look at women who were married off to church leaders - sometimes men related to them - at young, often preadolescent, ages.

Perhaps what makes Mormonism so interesting to study is that it is a relatively recent religion. It was incorporated in 1830, in the age of the printing press, and so the entire history - from the earliest beginnings to present-day - has been documented. There is a record of everything. What is amazing (and, at least to me, mind-boggling) to read is how one day a man claimed that he had received a revelation from God and people started listening to, and believing in, every word he said.

Of course, such blind faith is not unique to Mormonism. And shedding blood and proclaiming it "God's will" is in no way unique to Mormonism, either. And that is perhaps what I found most provocative about this book. It is, specifically, about the faith of Mormon Fundamentalists. But more generally, the questions raised apply to all religions and faiths. "Organized religion is hate masquerading as love," says one of the Lafferty brothers to Krakauer in a recent prison interview. A strong statement, for sure, but one that doesn't feel completely off-base by the end of this book.

My latest distraction...here and here. (The duets are the best.)

I am so signing Bridget up for piano lessons.

I'm doing it again. Procrastinating, that is. The course I'm taking ends Thursday, and on Thursday we have nine reflective journals and a final project due. I have, to this point, completed five of the journals (all within the past 2 days), which I think is pretty damn good. I mean, that's over half of my homework! You know, if you don't count the final project.

Shit.

This evening I've been sitting on the sofa with my laptop, typing away. Rob is being very good about not distracting me. He's also being very good about bringing me beer. I never drank beer in college, so I figure now's the time to catch up. I never procrastinated in college, either...

At least I'm a productive procrastinator, looking for any and all legitimate tasks to complete. Like replying to emails. Like doing laundry. Like brushing the cats. Like loading the dishwasher. Like making a grocery list. Like checking the forecast. Like lint-rolling the sofa. Like looking up the word procrastinate in the thesaurus.

A few minutes ago, I looked up from my laptop and asked, "Hey, how many total nights have we spent in hotels in the past 12 months?"

Pause. And then, "Are you taking a survey?!"

Um, maybe. I happen to love surveys. And I happen to have received a customer satisfaction survey in my email, which I happen to be checking every 5 minutes. Not that I'm looking for a distraction or anything.

Ooh, the laundry just buzzed. Gotta run.

When I was little, my mom's sister lived in the same town as us. She was a nurse, and so she had a day or two off each week, in return for night shifts. She often babysat me on those days, and she quickly became my best friend. We'd do aerobics with some exercise show on tv. We made rolls and cupcakes and an absolute mess of Mom's kitchen. Usually we hung out at our house, but sometimes she'd take me to her apartment. I still remember every detail of that place, from the chain lock on the door to the sunlight streaming into the tiny kitchen to the big concrete step in the parking lot.

Back then she wore her hair down to her waist, and she'd bend over and flip it upside down to brush it. I loved her hair, and while she brushed I would walk beneath it, through it. She'd shake it all around me and I'd giggle.

Tomorrow she goes into the hospital to begin preparing for a bone marrow transplant. She has leukemia, and without a transplant she will die within two years, if not much sooner. The transplant is a blessing, for sure, although it's not a guarantee. No one in the family matched her closely enough. They have found her a match, from a noble stranger, and it's a good match. But not a perfect match. And so basically the transplant will either cure her or kill her. The risk is so significant that she has struggled with the decision to have the transplant at all. If she doesn't, she will die. But at least she might get two more years with her kids.

She has chosen to fight for the chance at much longer than that, and she's been emailing updates to all of us regularly. Today she wrote to say she wouldn't be able to email while she's in the hospital. She talked about this choice she has made, and said she's going into the transplant with a positive attitude. But she said she believes this is out of her hands, and she's uncertain whether God will take her home to be with him or bring her through to be with us. She asked us to pray for her kids, and she thanked us for standing with her. And then she told us all that she loves us. She is saying goodbye, just in case.

I can't bring myself to say it back.

It's hard to find a role model. I mean, I can't have someone in my family as a role model, because I know everything about them - good and bad. And it's impossible to idolize someone whose every flaw you know. But, at the same time, it's hard to admire someone famous, because you're afraid of what they might be hiding, that you'll never know. But, just the same, here are some people I admire:

Jesus
Mom
Aunt I
Dad
Aunt W
Wendy
Janet Jackson
Mariah Carey
Whitney Houston
Gabrielle Reese

Last week Rob and I dug through dusty boxes in the basement to find my high school diaries. I knew they were in a box somewhere, but I hadn't seen them since we got married. I was curious to read them, and also a bit anxious to confirm that they were in my possession and not stashed at my parents' house somewhere. I can only imagine my brother's delight if he discovered these diaries. Well, at least until he got to the descriptions of my make-out sessions. Or to my proud report of the first time I successfully inserted a tampon.

We eventually found the diaries and since then I've been immersed in the past, reliving literally every day of my high school life. For my freshman year, that means reliving every day of my obsession with Rob. Which was pretty much exactly as I remembered it, only even more pathetic.

We also found The Email Binder. My senior year of high school, Rob went off to college and so we emailed all the time. Back and forth, many times each day. And I printed out every single email from him. Every Single Email. Printed them out, hole-punched them, and stuck them in a binder. A three-inch binder. No, really. I have three vertical inches of emails. And those are just the ones he wrote.

I quickly grew bored of perusing the diaries, but I've been absolutely delighted to read Rob's emails. I'd forgotten what he was like back then, what we were like.

"I'd forgotten" I said to Rob last evening as I was poring over the emails, "that you always started your emails to me with 'Hey toots'."

"Yeah, I'd forgotten that, too."

"That's so cute. You never call me toots anymore."

"I never called you toots then, either, except in email."

"Aww, you signed this one, 'Longingly, Rob'."

"Uh-huh," he replied as he headed to the kitchen.

"You never long for me anymore," I whined, following him.

"I don't need to. You're right here."

"You used to play guitar for me," I continued while sliding plates into the dishwasher. "And you used to tell me how great I looked, and you especially liked it when I wore skirts. And you'd say all the time that I was 'irresistible'. You never call me irresistible anymore."

"And you never wear skirts anymore." He handed me some dirty silverware.

"We used to be so intense. We used to yearn. And now...well, now we load the dishwasher," I sighed.

"Come on, this is quality time right here," he said ironically, and then grinned. (One thing that hasn't changed? His grins still make me want to strip off all my clothes.)

Tonight after dinner, and after we loaded the dishwasher, he dug out his guitar. I watched as he played. Time has passed, but still his tenderness is apparent. His style is different, but still it's a beautiful expression. The songs have changed, but still the strings sing beneath his fingers.

This month's credit card bill listed more trips to Target than to the grocery store. And we get groceries several times per week!

She says she goes straight to the gym after work, but the bill reveals the truth: the credit card is the one getting the workout.