The Mormon Casserole

**I thought I would share with you an excerpt of my essay writing, this one is about my mother's Mormon cooking (sorry mother)**

Another meal she liked to torture us with was broccoli and cheese soup. I remember the day the recipe arrived. Hearing a light knock, I bounded down the stairs, swung open the door and came face to face with Rhonda Eddy. Her unsmiling face greeted me and she looked highly annoyed that I had answered the door, her swollen face staring down as she asked, “Is your mother home?”

“She’s in the bathroom, “ I replied confidently. We continued to stare in silence as I left her plump body standing on the porch, her sunken eyes piercing into my inner thoughts.

Toilet flushing, water running, mom rushed down the stairs, smiling in embarrassment. Ms. Eddy’s neck seemed to appear as she raised her head to greet my mother.

She proudly announced, “I brought you a new recipe to try.” And she slowly slipped a piece of paper past me into my mother’s hand, like she was giving away a top military secret.

My mother read, “Broccoli Cheese soup. “

It was like Hell had opened its’ gates, I just didn’t know it at the time.

My mom was energized to start testing this mystery recipe, because she piled us all into the car, drove to the store, and loaded the cart with the supplies. Lots of Velveeta cheese.

Mom boiled up a batch and strapped my two-year-old brother into his highchair. He couldn’t escape.

Then she began to test it on us.

Immediately there were screams of horror. Moans were heard throughout the room as I glanced at my sister gagging, which made me gag. My brother was smart and started to pour it over his body. A clever toddler method to avoid the concoction.

How could a soup go so wrong?

Then the threats started as we proclaimed our independence, joining together in defiance.

“You have exactly ten minutes to eat the soup! I’m setting the timer” mother threatened crossing her arms and towering over us.

I looked to my older sister for a solution. She looked panicked. Usually she had some clever idea of putting the food in her hand, mashing it, then sticking it under the plate and calmlyu walking the plate to the sink. Soup would be trickier.

She betrayed me. She started to eat it. Then my younger sister followed suit. Traitors.

I was left to my own device. I started to cry. Hoping mother would take sympathy. No such luck. She restarted the timer giving me another five minutes. I cried and squirmed, four minutes disappearing.

Counting down to the last minute. I did not want to be grounded. It was now or never. It was go time. I pulled the heavy spoon up and began to fill my mouth, figuring I could swallow it all at once. I gagged and spit like a rabid dog.

Then it came out my nose. Chunks of broccoli.

Mother was not pleased. By the look on her face and her set jaw, flinching intensed anger. I knew I was grounded.

Time was up. I was sent to my room to face the wall. My stomach started to growl in protest.

The Hymn of the "Mad Hatter"

I work in a small office with about four people. It's located in Utah, so everyone is conservative....that is except for me. I try to keep my liberalism on the "down low", but my bright red hair, wild outfits, and loud laugh quickly give me away.

My coworkers tease and call me the "Mad Hatter" from Alice in Wonderland. I would like to think that I don't resemble Johnny Depp with a large frizzy red wig?

Sometimes when we are having our weekly meetings my eccentric side unknowingly comes out.

We were discussing luxury hotels and our experiences and I mentioned that I like to have a custom food service available, the ability to call the concierge, requesting to have a bottle of champagne and strawberries waiting in the room.

A coworker said, " Wow was this when you were married?"

I realize that all of them have only been with one person their entire lives and have gotten married in the temple.

I held back the truth and just nodded. I didn't feel the need to tell them I had on occasion enjoyed flying to New York for the weekend with one of my many past boyfriends.

After the meeting, I started my "to do" list. We had a few light bulbs out in the office and I was tired of working in the dark. So I set some of the antiques and decorations aside so I could reach some of the bulbs. When I moved an old Mormon Hymn book, the owner laughed and said I probably didn't even know what it was.

I quickly replied, "I've been to church and used to sing the hymns every Sunday."

He looked surprised, and asked "Were you raised Mormon?"

I said "Yes." confirming that I was once indeed a Mormon.

He said, " Well how did you feel about going?"

I tartly replied, "Hungry!"

He looked confused. I said whenever I went to church the meetings were so long that all I can remember is feeling hungry. All you had for about five hours was a measly morsel of man-handled sacrament "Wonder" bread.

You think with all those people there would be at least one snack machine in sight. He laughed and I knew he was one of the fellow hungry church goers.

We did have something in common.....food.

Mark and Morgan

Thought I would share two paintings of two friends from when I studied with Jeff Hein in Salt Lake City. He's an amazing teacher. And it was an amazing opportunity to study with him. He's an artist I definitely admire.

Mr. Sex and the Underpants

Rushing to park in the rain, I quickly slide into the next available spot, jumped out of my car and neglected pulling the park break. Damn I was late. I hate being late, and I was currently working on fifteen minutes, so I didn't want to waste another minute by properly securing my car.

Unnecessary details.

My heels clicked on the asphalt as I sprinted across the street and up the restaurant's sidewalk. I realized I didn't want my date to see me running like a crazy person, I abruptly stopped and tried to smooth my hair out and catch my breath.

Little did I really know what smooth meant, I thought it was just something I did with my hair.

Inside the entry Mr. Sex sat waiting. Impeccably perched as if sitting was too much of an inconvenience. He slowly stood up and gracefully smiled as if he hadn't noticed my tardiness.

He was cool, calm, and collected. Smooth. Very smooth. His jet-black hair and olive skin gave him an exotic look. He was Persian. Mr. Sex had the eyes of Slyvester Stallone, relaxed with thick lashes over chocolate brown ovals. I was starting to feel self conscious, his designer jeans and Affliction plaid button-up shirt paired with his trench and scarf made me feel severely under dressed.

He was groomed to a "T"-nothing out of place. The shaved arms, the smooth manicured nails, the bleached teeth, the clean smell of fresh Cologne, and the cool relaxed tone of his voice.

Smooth. Very smooth.

While spooning my parsley-infested soup to my lips, I became paranoid that I had something in my teeth. I wanted to reach up and quickly scratch at my cuspids, but Mr. Sex would see. Surely he would understand the need of removing a foreign green object? Hmm...probably not.

I was nervous. Then I asked myself WHY?

I'm human. This clearly was a strictly superficial date, and I am far from perfect. So I stopped pretending to be and had a little fun with Mr. Sex.

Raising my voice, I asked "Are you into one-night stands", and I smiled coyly, confident my teeth were parsley free.

His face light up as if this was the true question he'd been waiting for. He quickly replied, "It depends on the opportunity. If you offered to come back to my condo now, I wouldn't say no." And he smiled coyly.

Then I said firmly, "Well I'm not. I would never do that." (The Shut Down)

His smile quickly faded and he tried to back pedal. Fast. Mr. Sex said, " You are a beautiful woman, I would have made an exception this once."

I thought to myself....sure, this once. Sure.

When you ask a direct and unexpected question, the first answer is generally the honest one....the second answer is always a lie. I was positive he was used to women swooning over him and listening to his every word. I wasn't one of them. I refused to be fooled and manipulated. I had a narcissist on my hands, and through dealing with my ex husband I could see through all of his false compliments.

Mr. Sex and his charm wasn't working and he was starting to get frustrated. He said normally he wouldn't order dessert, because of his diet, but he was feeling the need to splurge. (out of being rejected)

He strolled over to the pastry counter and bent over to examine the wares closely. His tight jeans revealed another level of Mr. Sex, a midnight black, silk "man thong" peeked out.

My eyes widen.

I quickly ordered a slice of the chocolate cake. To go.

Mental Abuse

Mental Abuse: What is it?

Last night I cracked open an old book of mine and stumbled upon an article I had saved by tucking it inside. It brought back thoughts that I had not considered for sometime. This article reminded me that it's going to take awhile to heal and to acknowledge the unhealthy behaviors that I might still be utilizing from my past experiences. I want people to be aware of what mental abuse is, so hopefully they know it when they hear it.

It mentions several points, which I have added a few personal remarks. This can be with a partner, friend, co-worker, or family member.

1. Never under estimate the power of negative words. They cause progressive, long term harm. Being told that "You should have higher standards", and "You look like half a million, but if you exercised you would look like a million". It may not be blatant mental abuse like calling someone "stupid", but it's more insidious-harder to detect.

2.You are always told that it's your fault. Nothing is ever right. Nothing is ever good enough.

3.You are more inclined to believe your partner than you are yourself. Overtime the put downs, start to make you question your own judgement. You lose confidence in your abilities. You can't feel the strength of your own convictions.

4. Your Partner Blows Hot and Cold. He can be very loving, but also highly critical of you. Telling you things like, "You never work hard enough" and "Why can't you just at least do the simple things right?" He is short on care and consideration. You can try to make him happy, but it's never good enough. You are like the dog in the relationship rather than an equal partner. You are living in a control-based relationship. The mental abuser struggles with his own feelings of worthlessness and uses his relationship to create a feeling of personal power, at his partner's expense.

5.You feel as if you are walking on eggshells. There is a real degree of fear in the relationship. You dread his outbursts, he may shout or smash things. You feel anxious.

6. You can heal. You are the loving partner that tried, against all odds to make it work, which has caused you enormous emotional damage. You struggle with anxiety and low self-worth. I know I constantly expect radical immediate change of myself, which is a common symptom. But with time and acknowledging the past wrongs, while constantly working to prevent falling into another controlling relationship, I will find a healthy and loving partner. Or feel completely comfortable living just with myself. It's now my choice. The important part is to take care of yourself and make yourself happy.