tea

I sat at the kitchen table drinking some herbal tea. My son asked where I got the tea, and I told him my mom gave it to me.

"She drinks tea?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, herbal tea."

"Even though she believes in god?" he asked.

"Yes," I smiled, "even though she believes in god," I answered. "But, you know, most people who believe in god still drink tea. It's Mormons that don't drink tea."

"Oh," he answered. "So Grandma FTA is not Mormon? She drinks tea."

"Well, yes, she is Mormon. And she drinks certain kinds of tea. Like herbal tea."

"Why?" he wondered.

"She thinks herbal tea is okay, but not other kinds of tea. It's kind of weird."

"But my other grandma doesn't drink tea?"

"No, I don't think she does."

"Is she Mormon too?" he asked.

"Yes, she's Mormon too," I told him.

"They're both Mormon?" he marveled.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"You know what I was thinking?" he said.

"What?"

"If got caught in a tunnel like Curious George did," he said, "and they covered the holes with metal, I would use my lasers to blast a hole and get out. Wouldn't that be cool? If a laser came right out of my forehead?"

"Dude, that would be sooo cool."

brave?

If I drank coffee in front of my in-laws, does that count as rude or courageous?

Either way, it's frustratingly lame that it even matters to me. I can't believe my Mormon heritage exerts so much control over me that I have to think about whether or not to buy a cup of coffee on the road to help me stay awake.

The coffee was good, by the way.

coffee, cigarettes, and cognitive dissonance

Chilling with my never-Mormon sister-in-law (finally, someone I can really be myself around!), I decided a afternoon iced coffee was in order. So on the way to our kids' swimming lessons, we stopped by a shop and ordered a iced latte for me, an iced green tea for her, and an ice water for the kids. After the lessons, she dropped me off at our mutual mother-in-law's place. This was the first MIL had seen of me and my son since the big family reunion in June, so she came out to the car to greet us.

I couldn't help but notice where her eyes drifted: right to the cup holders where three Starbucks cups sat, empty. As she talked to us and the kids, her eyes went from one cup to the next, to the next, and back to the first. She must have looked four times at each one. Her face showed mild confusion.

I smiled, because I recognized that look. I've made it myself. It was the look I had on my face when I saw cigarette butts in Jack-Mormon brother- and never-Mormon sister-in-law's flower bed in front of their house. I looked and looked at those cigarette butts, trying to figure out how they could possibly have gotten there. That my brother-in-law smoked couldn't be the explanation. Could they be from his non-Mormon friends? He was too good, too Mormon (never mind that he hadn't attended since high school), too father-of-two. My brain wouldn't really let me have the thought that the cigarettes were his, though it should have been the most obvious. They were, of course, his.

Just as the coffee cup was, of course, mine. Perhaps it had never occurred to my mother-in-law, just as it had never occurred to me, that people who leave the church probably don't follow the silliest of the rules.

sweet pleasures

I stopped by BYU campus today, because I needed an in-hard-copy-only article from the library. Driving up the hill, I couldn't help but notice the new Hinckley building, recently dedicated. It's prominently placed on the edge of the hill near the Tanner building, and not too bad looking. Certainly better looking than the buildings built in the 1970s. I wondered if the Hinckley building is the only one to be named after a prominent church leader while he was still alive. (I guess he preferred a worldly building to a mansion laid up in heaven, eh?)

As I walked across a quad toward the library, I noticed the clean-shaven, short-haired men, and the modest women, sometimes in 3 shirts (cute, low-cut or spaghetti strap shirt; a chemise to cover up the garment top; and the garment top). Overly dressed for the 100 degree weather. I'm no fashion guru, to be sure, and I know the layered look is "in" this summer, but a spaghetti strap shirt does not look good with a white T-shirt underneath. It just doesn't. That Mormon version of the fashion came in to style in my high school, years ago. When I saw it, I turned to my friend and said, "Promise me that if I ever even consider thinking about possibly wearing one of those, beat me up until I've had some sense knocked into me. Please." That said, I myself used to take pains to keep my wardrobe garment-friendly, but I did so by simply not buying things that didn't cover my garments. Low-cut, sleeveless, midriffs, etc., were just not a part of my wardrobe. Sorry, but I'm not going to put on 2 extra shirts when it's freaking hot outside, just so I can wear the latest fashion. But that's just me. Sorry to anyone who did or does that. Off my soapbox now. (My favorite shirt is a spaghetti strap. I feel so scandalously not frumpy when I wear it.)

On campus, I smiled at myself that I was walking around as a non-LDS person, but an alumna. My dirty little secret, with no one the wiser. I went into a computer lab to look up the call number of the book I needed, and was happy that BYU, unlike my current university, allows alumni to keep their log-in privileges. While online, I remembered that BYU, unlike my current university, restricts which websites students can access. As a little jab, and out of curiosity, I googled the ex-Mormon discussion board, FLAK, and was pleased to find that BYU didn't restrict it as An Evil Site Spawned by the Devil. Maybe I should have googled "hot chicks" just to see if I would be banned from ever logging in again. Later, I passed by a set of bathrooms on the second floor of the library, and thought fondly of c.l.hanson, and her little way of rebelling as an non-believer at BYU.

Walking back to the car, I smiled nostalgically that while at BYU, I became more liberal, politically and religiously. I then drove to a Barnes & Noble in Orem. I perused a couple atheist books, slightly surprised that the store carried them and didn't even make them hard to find. Then I ordered a coffee at the Starbucks there, and read the article I'd just copied at the library. I noticed the others in the cafe: long-haired, goateed, body pierced, tattooed, coffee drinkers. And, once again, I smiled, and wished I were wearing a sleeveless shirt to let them know I was one of them. But then I remembered I had a cup of coffee in front of me, and that was just as effective at announcing my status.

Ah, the sweet pleasures of life.

quest for coffee in Utah Valley

Preparing coffee at home would make our hosts uncomfortable. On our first morning in Utah Valley, we decided to spend some quality family time, just the three of us, on a search for coffee. Now, we happened to be in Provo at the time, so we knew out quest would be difficult and dangerous. My husband remembered a coffee shop he had visited last time he was here, many moons ago. We drove by the spot, not too far from BYU, but it seemed to have died.

Coffee drinkers: 0; Mormon culture: 1.

Next, we drove up the hill to Orem and remembered a Barnes and Noble with a Starbucks inside. Sweet. We ordered grande coffees, and chilled in the store reading stories to our son until we had our fill of caffeine. We could almost feel like we were back home. Except that the only other customers ordered hot chocolate and soda.

Coffee drinkers: 1; Mormon culture: 2.

That coffee moment in the bookstore lasted us a while, but on Father's Day, when everyone else was at church, I headed out to find a coffee for my husband. First, he googled "coffee and The-town-we're-in, Utah" and came up with one place. One. Googled Barnes and Noble to see if there was at least a Starbucks hiding in one. Closest one twenty minutes away.

Coffee drinkers: 1; Mormon culture: 3.

I went for the one place, a converted house, and got the last cup before the place closed up for the day. Good coffee, too.

Coffee drinkers: 2; Mormon culture: 3.

Any recommendations?

(I don't know how long it's been since I had an adult beverage.)

visit

Well, my sister was here all weekend, which is partly why I've been neglectful of my blog. She had no idea about my blog, and I still want it to stay that way.

This is the sister I get along with smashingly, and am the closest to. I'm not going to give a play-by-play of the weekend, but I will highlight some of the thoughts and moments where the whole we're-not-believers-anymore thing came up (which was probably 10% of the whole weekend).

The Word of Wisdom

We debated whether or not to hide the coffee pot, tea boxes, and signs that we drink alcohol. I ended up leaving out the coffee pot and the tea, but moving the open bottle of wine and the shot glasses out of the line of sight. I left them in the open, but up on shelves, along with the wine and martini glasses. There was also beer in the fridge. I don't think she noticed them, but that didn't matter much since Mr. FTA openly said he was 29 the first time he tried alcohol, and then had a beer at a dinner party we all went to. At the dinner, the drink options were beer, ice tea, and cherry juice--for the kids. She had a cherry juice, and we smiled at each other about that in a knowing way. She didn't say anything about the alcohol, but I think it was probably a little uncomfortable for her. She has non-Mormon in-laws that drink, so it's not like she's never been exposed to it. Still, I'm sure it's a little weird.

At the same time, though, I think it's made her see us as the Secret Keepers. That is, she can tell us things about "sins" that she wouldn't tell anyone else in the family. She can comfortably "confess" things, because she knows we're non-judgmental and won't spread the gossip. Which is kind of flattering, really.

She was, at least, comfortable enough to bring things up. In the kitchen, she sat on the counter next to the coffee maker and casually said, "So, you drink coffee now, huh?" And we had a conversation about how caffeine affects us, how we like the smell, etc. She was really laid back and cool about it. She just doesn't care, because she recognizes that we don't think the Word of Wisdom came from God. She also confirmed that my mom knows I drink coffee, and that Mom is weirded out by it. "I'm just afraid they started drinking because they left the church." Um, no, Mom, we started because there was no good reason not to, and lots of reasons to start. Oh, and because we like it.

The Sabbath Day

We wondered what my sister had planned as far as attending church. Honestly, I would have been a little miffed if she decided to attend 3 hours of church, when she was only visiting me for less than 48 hours in the first place. Sunday was our only full day together. But I also didn't want to get in the way of her religious choices. If I had decided to put my foot down and say, "Family is more important than religion, and you should spend this time with me!" I would have been hypocritical, because I would have been putting religion (non-religion) before family. Demanding her not to go to church would have been as ridiculous and my family demanding I attend with them. So on Saturday night, I asked her what she was thinking about church. She said she'd at least like to go to sacrament meeting, so I told her when and where the LDS ward meets. Then I offered to take her to the UU meeting, which started an hour later. She seriously considered that, but felt enough desire to go to sacrament that she wanted to go to both meetings. The timing wouldn't work out, I explained, and she decided on the LDS services.

Sunday morning, I drove her down and dropped her off. She was going to take her kid too, but since he would have just been restless and wanting to play with his non-church-going cousin (my kid), she let me just take her kid along with mine to the park to play.

Family Relations

After church while we were eating lunch, Mr. FTA asked my sister what the talks were about. She said the missionaries spoke about missionary work. I joked, "So are you going to try to give us a gospel message?" She laughed and made a joke about it. We got into a discussion about how she's the only one comfortable enough to talk to us about the whole church thing, and she expressed how stupid she thinks it is that everyone else is so uncomfortable. She suggested that next time we visit the family, we sit everyone down and acknowledge the 800-pound gorilla. That we say, "Listen, we left. So what? We don't want to tear anyone down. We still want to be your family. We still want good relationships with you. Don't be afraid to ask us questions, or tell us things, or talk about church in front of us. But if you do bear your testimonies, be prepared to hear our opinions too." It's probably a good suggestion. Most people are probably just waiting for us to say something first, worrying that they will offend us or drive us further away if they bring it up. Things are better (less awkward) with everyone we have talked to about it. I don't know what we'll do. I'll think about it some more.

A little awkwardness aside, we had a great weekend.

my word of wisdom "problem" out

I reported before about my trip to Utah to see my family, and how I got away with my preschool-age son not saying anything about alcohol. Turns out he wasn't so silent on the word of wisdom matter after all.

Back at home, we joked about how he didn't say anything. But then he piped up with, "Your mom thinks your stuuuupid!" My smile faded, because I knew exactly what he meant. I'd spoken before about how my mom would think drinking is just stupid.

"What do you mean? What did Grandma say?"

My son realized he'd said something wrong. "Nothing."

"When did you talk to Grandma about alcohol?"

"In the work room."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing," he lied.

"Come on, it doesn't matter. I don't care that you told Grandma, I just want to know what you told her."

He wouldn't budge.

Over the next couple days, I kept trying to catch him by surprise to get it out of him. He's just an innocent little boy, so I couldn't blame him for saying something to my mom, but what did he say? I had to know.

Finally, my husband weaseled it out of him when I was out of the room. According to my young son's memory ("I don't remember; it was last week."), this is what happened.

My son saw my mom drinking something out of a mug, a steaming hot drink.

"Is that coffee?" he asked innocently.

"I don't drink coffee," she said.

"My mom drinks coffee," he answered.

He won't tell me what my mom said in response.

Why do I care?

Actually, coffee isn't so bad. It's the alcohol I would care about. My grandpa was an alcoholic; my mom has good reason to hate alcohol. Coffee is just...enough to send me to hell. Whatever.

first coffee

After we moved out of Utah, I got my office job. The first thing that struck me when I walked into that office to sign all the hiring paperwork (the interview had been elsewhere) was the smell of coffee. A slightly burnt caramel-ish coffee. I didn't like the smell. It was way too strong, permeating every corner of the office, and represented heathenism to me. The office manager offered to get me some coffee or tea, and I quickly declined. Thank goodness I didn't blurt out, "No, I'm Mormon." I've done that before, and I've regretted every time.

I still was a very believing, practicing Mormon at the time, and I'd never even considered wanting coffee. Not only did God disapprove, but I couldn't stand the smell. Or the flavor, based on accidentally mistaking coffee Jelly Bellys for chocolate or root beer or whatever. We avoided coffee flavored candy and ice cream like the plague--what if they had real coffee in them, and, by eating a piece of candy, I was breaking the Word of Wisdom?

The smell was strongest at my desk, since it was closest to the kitchen, where the coffee brewed in two pots, regular for the office, and decaf for the boss. Don't touch the boss's decaf.

After working there for a few months, and seeing everyone going in and out of the kitchen with their insulated, disposable cups of coffee multiple times a day, I started to feel a little stupid. Like it was somehow out of place of me to work in the office and not drink the coffee. Instead of giving in to the coffee, though, since I was still Mormon and still didn't like the smell, I started drinking the hot chocolate I found in the cupboard. It was just powdered swiss miss packets, but I felt a little more "one of us" now that I had a cup at my desk. I'm sure they could tell it was just hot chocolate from the smell, but no one ever commented on it. I felt a little childish, like hot chocolate is the kid's version of coffee. But I liked it.

Sometime after I stopped believing (was it within a week? a month?), I made the leap to the coffee. Was it the regular or the decaf? Was I too scared to touch the boss's decaf? Or did I try it anyway because I wanted the try the flavor, not the caffeine? I honestly can't remember. I do remember I didn't like it, even after I poured sugar and half-and-half into it. I think I put in two packets of sugar, and still didn't like it. But three packets was too much, too sweet. Did I finished it anyway? Or did I let the last of it get cold, sitting next to my computer? The memory eludes me.

I didn't tell my husband. It was my little secret rebellion for a couple weeks, until I found him with a cup from the local coffee shop in his hand. He'd been so weirded out by the whole purchase that he didn't even put sugar or milk in it, not sure how this all worked. Neither of us liked that cup, black and strong.

For a while, I mixed my cups of office coffee with hot chocolate, made my own little mocha. Eventually, I've come to appreciate the flavors (yes, flavors! who knew?) of coffee, and I can even take it black now, if I'm in the mood. One of my favorite late afternoon snacks this summer was black coffee and sugar dates from the Middle East. Sweet and bitter.

It took us until a couple months ago to get the guts up to buy a coffee maker. How can you decide with all those models and features? We just picked one that looks good, and it's served us well.

why the obsession with coffee and alcohol?

Why is it that I feel the need to talk about alcohol and coffee and my consumption of them? Why is it an issue at all? Why don't I just partake and not feel the need to justify it? Why don't I just shut up about it? I must've mentioned it five times already on this blog, and I certainly talk about it with my ex-mo friends in person (usually while we're drinking it). Of all the subjects I could be posting about, why does alcohol take such precedence?

Partly, I suppose, it's just that there's this whole world of alcohol and coffee I never knew much about, and there's a fascination with discovering it all. All the varietals of wine, the years, the vineyards, the aromas, and I don't even know what else. The endless questions about which wine goes well with which food and which weather. Just the other night I discovered that the extra sharp cheddar from my fridge went really well with the red I had. And that I like pinot noir. At least I liked the bottle we had over a game of Texas hold 'em. Yeah, I know red wine and poker don't normally go together, but it worked, because it got me a nice buzz, and I'm happy when I'm a bit drunk. I can always claim ignorance: but I was raised Mormon! There was never a bottle of wine in my house! Or beer, for that matter, so how am I supposed to know which goes with which?

And beer. Turns out there are more taste combinations with beer than there are for wine. Who knew? Between the hops, the malt, the different grains, the extra flavors, the barrels it's aged in, and who knows what else, you can get all sorts of flavors. Forget Miller and Bud and Coors, all those beers I saw advertised when I was a kid, the ones we joked were really made from bear piss. (Except we didn't say piss; that as a swear word in my house.) I'll go with Sam Adams summer white or oktoberfest. How about Rasputin Imperial, with flavors of malt, caramel, and coffee? Or Ephermere cranberry, or a Tusker from Kenya. Try them all. Tonight, we had brats boiled in Stella, butter, and onions, then grilled. (Sorry, Zarathustra, to use Stella that way, but it's the only beer we had.)

And don't get me started on liquor. I'll just say a shot of tequila goes a long way to ease a social situation.

But why does it even matter to me? Why can't I just be normal and drink it, commenting now and then on how nice a wine is, or how I found a great deal on a sauvignon blanc. 'Cause normal people (people not raised Mormon) talk about it, but only in the way they would talk about any food. "Oh, these almonds really accent the salad well; good choice of white; we're switching to red for the main course; that dessert looks luscious."

Mostly, I suppose, it's that I was raised to think that alcohol and coffee are evil. Forbidden in a way that never had an appeal to me. Never mind that I had relatives who drank; we just pretended they didn't, or talked about how it ruined their lives, or, more importantly, their eternal souls. Getting drunk was just wild and crazy and stupid; who needed to get drunk to have fun? We have plenty of fun playing Taboo and Scattergories and watching PG movies! See how much fun we're having? (Yeah, you don't need to get drunk to have fun, but a buzz certainly helps.)

So is it some residual guilt that drives me to talk about it, justify it? Or is it that it so symbolically, so visibly, so easily marks my passage out? It's the most obvious marker of an apostate, and therefore, somehow the most horrid, too. "She went off the deep end. And started drinking and everything!"

Of all the things that are different about my life on the outside, alcohol is the least important change. So why does it get so much of my attention? Because I didn't get my drunk-every-weekend college years? Because I don't have the stories where I woke up, not knowing where I was and how I got there? (I've never been that drunk, and I don't want to be. I'm a mother; that ship has sailed.) I don't think that's it. I missed out, but all that comes with a lot of hangovers. I've had two, and that's plenty.

Hey, I haven't even told the stories about my first alcohol and coffee. Those small but significant acts of rebellion against my old world view; those rites of passage into...normalcy.

it's not a big deal

I met a fellow former Mormon friend for lunch the other day, and afterwards, we headed to a local coffee shop for an afternoon pick-me-up.

"You know," she said, "of the Mormon 'forbidden fruits,' I like coffee the best. It helps me get through a long day, and just a quarter of a cup will wake me up when I need it to finish work."

"Coffee doesn't affect me so much as that," I said. "I like it, but I have to drink a couple cups to notice any affect. But if I drink too much in one morning, I'll have a buzz so bad I can't concentrate. My brain gets too wired. But I sure do like the social effects of alcohol."

"Oh, yeah, I like alcohol. I really enjoy a glass of wine with dinner. But I can't just drink. All it does is make me tired, so it kills the possibility of helping in an awkward social situation."

Alcohol, I've found, makes me more relaxed and talkative. It really helps in a dinner party, because I'm a little shy, especially around people I don't know well.

The point is we've both picked up coffee and alcohol since leaving Mormonism, yes, but we've also been able to be rational, reasonable decision-makers about it. We cautiously eased our ways in, and have observed how it affects us personally. We know our limits. We can say yes, we can say no. It's just not a big deal.