GUEST BLOGGER: PAUL HILL
Paul lives in Spanish Fork with his wife and two children, neither of whom have asked to follow him around on “take your child to work” day.

Let me just say that I was once a skeptic. A non-believer. The supernatural world was as alien as anything in science fiction movies. I probably would have gone on the rest of my life like this, but then I started working at the Utah State Hospital, and everything changed.

The State Hospital is a psychiatric hospital that predates Utah’s statehood. It was originally called the Utah Territorial Insane Asylum. When I started working there, the grounds housed six buildings, including the Hyde, Dodge and Dunn buildings which were massive turn of the century brick and stone fortresses. You know those spooky, Gothic insane asylums you believed existed only in movies? Well, they exist.

For fifteen of my twenty years there, I worked the graveyard shift, myself and a skeleton crew of staff, roaming the wide halls at night, checking on patients. I don’t know a single night shift employee who doesn’t have a story or two. Nobody left employment a skeptic. Here is a random sampling of some of them. Bear in mind that these all happened to me or someone I directly know. None of these stories are third hand nor are they the ones that got passed down through the years, and have no identifiable source. Read the rest of this entry »

GUEST BLOGGER: E.B. Harper
E.B. lives with her six-month-old puppy, Smuggler, in a beautiful town center where all the guards list their blood types on their badges. They love seeing the Mediterranean every morning and pray for peace every night.

I would never live my twenties again no matter how much someone offered to pay me. I traveled to 35 countries. I lived on a pool flotation device in New York City for three months because it was the only bed I could afford. I moved thirteen times across four continents, finally invested in an expensive bed, and then proceeded to sleep in it only 211 nights in 950. I fell in love in a village where donkeys were the only street transport and I woke up every morning to the call to prayer. I attended church in a refurbished grocery store, a villa, a building in the middle of Japan’s mafia district, an apartment building, and an old convent. I never bought a couch or a car but memorized the entire lineup of Hertz’s compact rentals (never mind my various frequent flyer, hotel rewards, and passport numbers). I thought my thirties would be different.

Approximately five months before my 30th birthday I realized that was probably not going to happen. I agreed to take a position in Beirut, Lebanon, and admitted to myself that my wanderlust (like my asthma, sleepwalking, and teeth grinding) was something I may never grow out of. I needed to do something drastic. I had to prove that I could live with my younger self as an adult. I had to realize that the guy I thought I might marry had either married someone else or died, and I was never going to stick around anywhere quite long enough to find out. Either he would find me somewhere along the road or I would spend the rest of my life alone. Read the rest of this entry »

GUEST BLOGGER: HOWARD LYON
Howard is a freelance illustrator and sometimes fine artist. He lives in Arizona with his wife and three kids. He is currently chained to his easel deep in his art cave, toiling away towards the next deadline. Howard can also bake a mean cibiatta.

Spring is over.

At least it is in Arizona. April and the temperatures are pushing 100. No more open windows at night, cooling off the house and studio. Ah well, it was good while it lasted, bring on summer.

The door bursts open to chaos, kids everywhere.

“Hey dad!” Zack shouts as he runs by, several friends in tow.

“Hey buddy, welcome home, I missed you!”

“Missed you too Dad!”, Zack yells from the other room.

All right, I will catch up with the kids later, after their friends go home. Shari, my wife, comes in, sweaty, but smiling.

“Hey hon, I need to go back to the school and pick up Belle. I am going to take the car, it has better AC,” she says.

“Sounds good, see you when you get home.” I hadn’t even noticed that Belle wasn’t with the first herd of kids through the door.

Shari is always on the run it seems. Between the kids, her church callings and life in general, she sets a pretty fast pace, I don’t know how she does it.

Three kids and a beautiful wife, married for 14 years, yet it still feels like we are playing house. Any moment I could wake up and find myself just home from my mission, thinking about marriage and a career. Married! Three kids! Amazing. Belle is my oldest at 11. Zack is 9 and Alex just turned 8. Alex, what a funny kid.

Just last week in church, Alex leaned over in sacrament to Shari and said, “Mom, do you want to have a thumb war?”

“Alex, this is the Sacrament, you should be thinking about the Savior.”

He thinks for a minute.

“Mom, how ‘bout a little Jesus vs. Satan,” he says, while wiggling his thumbs and eyebrows.

So funny. His sense of humor has always been spot on. He just gets it. Read the rest of this entry »

GUEST BLOGGER: CRISTY MEINERS

On weekdays, Cristy produces The Bob Edwards Show for satellite radio.  This means that Cristy trolls for new books, CDs, movies, and articles; schedules interviews between their creators and Bob; reads/listen/watches the book/CD/movie; writes and cuts the interview; puts a little music in to jazz things up; and mixes it all down into a sound file.  The rest of the time, Cristy just tries to be outside.

This past fall I turned 31.  I know 30 is supposed to be the big number that rocks everyone’s world; I have a friend whose doctor told her that when she turned 30 she needed to come in for a full physical because “that’s when everything starts to change.”  But 30 and I got along really well.

At the turning, 31 felt good, too—a little mellower, perhaps, but steady and fine.  But about 4 months after my birthday, my religious congregation asked me to leave because I was over the age of… of youth, I guess.  Congregations in the LDS church are generally divided up geographically, but there are a number of congregations just for single people up to the age of 31 (to encourage marriage and all of that).  Once 31 hits, you then join the rest of the families, elderly, and whatnots in your local congregation.

I knew it was coming and I felt I was ready for the change from the Swinging Singles Church to the Crying Babies Church.  And I was ready… sort of.  What I wasn’t prepared for was the feeling that I was being asked to go quietly, without a fuss, so as to not disturb the blissful youngsters who were still living high in the singles scene.  I felt discriminated against and shamed, and the depth of my hurt feelings surprised me.

But more important than feeling closed out of this group, I also felt that I had to sit down and really look at my life, evaluate where I was going and what I was doing with myself.  Going to church with only single people, I didn’t have to do that very often, because everyone there was just like me and we were all rolling along together, more or less.  It’s funny how uniformity has a way of muting the desire for self examination. Read the rest of this entry »

Guest Blogger: James Lambert

James is currently working on a PhD in English at the University of Iowa. He has a wife, three kids, and very impressive wiffle-ball stats. Described by friends as “an irrepressible entertainer,” James can hold a room captive with just one mouth. Another impressive thing about James is that he used to be Rebecca’s boss. (So he claims. Rebecca says he just earned more.)

Until very recently, I had little to do with the online phenomenon of good Mormon writers, primarily women, articulating the delight and wit of their lives for a niche public. Indeed, I am impressed, and intimidated, by the four glamour shots to my left. But as I have investigated the circle of posters, commenters, and admirers of the Apron Stage and like-minded blogs, I have noticed a wide gap that needs to be filled.

The gap I am referring to is not necessarily any gap of knowledge, gender, experience—the writers here clearly acknowledge their limitations, as any good writers do, but rather spatial: a geographical gap of several thousand miles. The conversation goes from New York to Washington to Utah (and its contiguous states, usually Colorado or Arizona) and back again, skipping the space of our good country with the brightest future, at least as far as the apocalyptic doctrine is concerned, of any place in the world. I’m speaking of the Middle West. Read the rest of this entry »

Guest Blogger: Erin Allen

Erin is a small town Canadian who spent her childhood running around barefoot. She was a high school wanna-be artist turned English Major at BYU, turned middle-school French and English teacher, turned full time mother. She lives in Manhattan with her husband Mike and one-year old Jonah.

For the past 10 months I’ve been living in a bubble.  This may come as a surprise to some since that’s the same amount of time that I’ve been living in New York City.  One would think that moving to the city would make me more sophisticated, knowledgeable, and worldly.  But that hasn’t been the case.  In fact, for the past 10 months I have had very little idea what is going on in the outside world. In mid-September a girlfriend filled me in on who Sarah Palin was after I mumbled that “her name sounded familiar” during a political conversation.  I found out about “Octomom” last winter at our neighborhood Lunch Bunch and felt more freakish than her because I didn’t know who she was.  I didn’t watch a single episode of American Idol and only know Adam Lambert’s name because someone insisted I look him up claiming he bears a striking resemblance to my sister-in-law (which is true, by the way.)  It’s hard to believe that someone living in the United States who is not Amish could be so in the dark, but here I am.  

The main thing that triggered this bubble existence was getting rid of our TV.  When we moved to New York we left behind our 300 lb, wood-paneled, hand-me-down television from 1982 because it weighed 300 lbs and had wood-panels.  We meant to replace it upon moving in, but we just haven’t gotten around to it yet.  We do have the internet, but I use about the same percentage of the internet’s capacity as I do my own brain’s (does email + facebook + google maps + a little casual blog stalking = about 10%?)  I don’t read magazines these days because I can’t justify something as fluffy as a “People” subscription during this recession (I’ll read ‘em but I won’t pay for ‘em- that’s just taking the guilty pleasure too far) and since I haven’t been getting my hair done at salons either- where I usually satisfied my gossip magazine fix- it’s been ages since I’ve heard any recent updates in the world of celebrities and fashion.  (I did hear that Michael Jackson died, don’t worry.  The big stuff eventually gets to me.) Read the rest of this entry »

Guest Blogger: Amy Meyers.  

Amy is blonde, wears pink (dusty and vibrant salmon), and does a mean body roll. But don’t be fooled by the easy laugh (nigh unto a giggle), her spot-on imitation of Snow White’s falsetto, and the triple-dose of charm: Ms. Meyers is a professional. 

I grew up admiring the powerful, female executives in movies from the ‘80s and ‘90s. Every collar was crisp, every pearl whispered sophistication, every click of the high-but-classy-heel exuded confidence and purpose. It all screamed power and respect to my teenage awkwardness. What a romanticized vision of reality – sitting at a desk for 8+ hours with people who you may or may not like.

Since entering the “corporate world,” I have become disillusioned with every detail of office life…except one. I still have my weak spot: business trips. Any frequent business traveler will grumble at my confession, but being paid to travel is SO glamorous. Not to mention fun, flattering, luxurious–and a privilege only offered to those who make shipping a person cost-effective–impressive. This is a determining factor in our twisted measure of success – you travel for your job and you have arrived in my book. I know. Silly.

But I’ve always wanted to say things like, “I’m catching the flight out tonight,” or, “Hold my calls while I’m traveling,” or, “Forward my messages,” or even, “Confirm my itinerary please, I need to hop on a plane immediately following my presentation.” I always imagined the appropriate backdrop for these phrases: corner office, diet coke on my botticino classico marble coaster (on my oversized desk), floor to ceiling windows, view of the metropolitan skyline with a kiss of sunset…you get the idea.

You can imagine my enthusiasm, then, when I was told that my time had come. I was catching the flight out. The scene somehow left something to be desired:

Fluorescent lights buzzed subtly in the background – or was it the mini-fridge (circa 1950) that my neighbor stashed under his desk? – as my boss rounded the taupe partition. I immediately blushed as I realized I had already shut down my computer to duck out a little early when I had a good 20 minutes before 5:00 pm. He didn’t hesitate, “Amy, we need you to go to the Boise and Burley offices in Idaho. Would you mind very much flying out there to take care of this project?” My eager reply must have given me away because he chuckled and explained that I could even expense $150/day for food.

Let me, just for this moment, pretend that I am the classy executive who is making a difference, with the world at her fingertips. Let me feel the full implication of my rental Mustang, as opposed to the Taurus. Let me soak in the luxurious meals and HBO. And let me bask in the dream until I’ve returned, refreshed and ready for more reality, which really is sweeter than the dream.

This is actually my third business trip – the others were much more legitimate (NY and LA), but it remains a novelty and Boise has not let me down. Good night and sweet dreams from the Hilton Inn in beautiful, bustling Boise, Idaho.

I will have limited access to internet. Hold my calls.

Guest blogger: Marc Wilson.  

Marc Wilson first attracted our notice in 2003 when he quietly helped Rebecca complete her first (and only) NY Times crossword puzzle. Now, in addition to being a middle school teacher in Manhattan, he is little Harper’s dad. He’s a man who has never sold out for anything and is terrible at hypothetical games like “what would your dream (fill in the blank) be.” He always answers, “the job/car/house/wife/kids/superpowers I have.” Lucky for him, his super power happens to be impeccable taste.

About 7 years ago, I compiled a list of reasons I was not a man for a little startup independent newspaper at BYU (the Utah Valley Pulse). The list was exactly as follows here:

 

-I want to know which guys are hot as well as girls

-I don’t like to talk about cars

-I like softer music like Paul Simon and any oldies

-I randomly talk/obsess about members of the opposite sex

-I have my first two sons’ names completely figured out

-I take extra long showers

-I love cooking

-I get creative sometimes when I cook

-I like to be naked (only by myself)

-I hate 80s hard rock

-I’ve been to the opera and I loved it

-I’m an English major

-I cross my legs at the knee sometimes when I sit

-I consider myself a feminist

-I cry and sometimes I sob and blubber

-I write about members of the opposite sex I like in my journal

-I like to talk on the phone for hours

-lifting weights has no appeal to me

-I absolutely loved “The Cutting Edge”

-I write long letters to my friends and sign them with “love”

-I pass notes in class sometimes

-I eat fresh fruits and vegetables

-I can sing in octave with the Altos

-I can name at least five different shades of white without reflecting

-I cook for my roommates

-I barely eat meat

-I’m wild about a guy singing with his guitar

-I have no desire to go hunting

-I never wanted to be a police officer or a rockstar

-I speak French fluently, and I speak it with a higher-pitched lilting accent

-I hide my feelings sometimes but I’d rather be honest and talk about it

-I color-coordinate

-I plan my outfits, sometimes up to a week in advance

-I try on several outfits sometimes before deciding on the appropriate one

-I feel left out when there are baby/bridal showers

-I think babies are cute

-I use the word cute

-I’m flexible

-I have pictures of my friends in my scriptures Read the rest of this entry »

GUEST BLOGGER: RACHEL OLSON

Rachel is a philosopher, a procrastinator, a roof sitter, and a rising star. At 16, she is the Apron Stage’s youngest guest poster. We invited her to post a companion piece to Rebecca’s; accordingly, Rachel provides one student’s experience with the gritty reality of crime and punishment in the New York public school system.  Read more of Rachel here.

Yes. It’s true. I got it.

I, Rachel Elizabeth, was late to first period six times over the past three quarters (more than that, but Sra. Tuohy is understanding). A single slip handed to my sixth period Euro AP teacher and my fate was sealed.

The injustice rankles. I mean, seriously. Of all the days of all the periods of school when I could have been late since September, I’ve only been late six times! Six! What is this world coming to?

Room 112. 04/03. 3:00-3:30. Come late and you’re not allowed inside. I imagined bars over the windows. Was it okay for me to take out my school work? Twenty minutes of free time sounded nice, but no one else was working. Would the scary teacher in the front with the NY Yankees t-shirt and the cemented sneakers glare at my unsuspecting head top until I looked up and realized even homework was discouraged in this place? Read the rest of this entry »