Exponent II's Blog, page 210

What I Think of This

The server walked up and surveyed our table.

“What do you think of this?” she asked.

I had my head down trying to sort out what seemed like a byzantine list of options. To assemble my custom burger, I had to choose from five different categories of exotic ingredients. I was overwhelmed on page two of a four page menu.

“It’s a lot to read,” I mumbled.

“Not the menu,” she barked, “This. What do you think of this?”

I looked up. She jerked her head and waved a large hand with glittering fingernails toward my son and his boyfriend. She pointed directly at each of them in response to my blank expression. “This,” she repeated, “What do you think of this?”

The server was about my age and over six feet tall. She was a powerful presence dressed in drag – broad shoulders, pink sequined sweater, bejeweled cropped jeans, and impossibly high heels.  She was acting a part in the whole experience, the sparkling outfit, the tough demeanor. But the sassy tone could not mask a deep weariness in her voice. Our eyes met. She waited.

We were at a diner that called itself the “Gayest Place to Eat” in our city. My sister had searched for a fun place to have lunch. And so here we were, my sister and I sitting on one side of the booth and my son and his boyfriend on the other. We had been laughing over the menu, teasing my son that he should order the “gayest” drink or the “gayest” appetizer. All four of us were trying to outdo one another in creating the perfect combination of entrée, side and beverage from the endless flow charts. We had been oblivious to the server until now.

Although she had startled me, I knew by this point that she was not asking about the menu. But I didn’t have a ready answer to her question. No one had asked me this before. My son came out at the end of his freshman year of college. He is a very verbal, open person and we are close to him, so there was no long, drawn out secret and reveal. He talked to us a few months after he knew and we shared in many early and ongoing conversations; listening as he worked through his own understanding and self awareness.

I confess my initial reaction was not tidy. I was a liberal parent forced to apply her declared values in an actual and not theoretical situation. No one rehearses for this. He told me at 10:00 pm one night. I said a bunch of ridiculous things (“Will you still bring someone home for Christmas?”) and left on a business trip the next morning. I flew three hours in a daze and then sat in a parking lot for three more hours. I cataloged all the narratives that might be shifting, all the decisions made and unmade, calculating exponential loss and fear and worry.

Then I thought of my son. Was he any different than he had been at 9:59 pm? Was his future any less dazzling? I could see him in my mind, the delightful boy he had been and the amazing man he was becoming. His story, the one he would write on his own, was just getting interesting. My part in his story had evolved into a more supporting role, but the script to our relationship hadn’t changed. In fifteen hours I had moved through a million possible scenarios and ended up the same proud mom of the same great, gay kid.  

The server was still looking at me expectantly. I thought later of all the things I should have said: clever things, Eleanor Roosevelt things, enlightened-earth-mother things. But this whole reverie was happening in seconds and too soon after my menu confusion. So I blurted out: “I think it is wonderful.” She made a “humph” sound and glared sternly at the boys. “You are young, pretty and lucky. You have no idea what it was like” and walked away. Assumptions, reality, difference, similarity, change, no change – the past flashed forward, the future looped behind. For an instant, an ocean of history lapped like waves at our toes and then receded. 

I turned back to my menu because I really had no idea what I was going to order. 

Guest Post: The Sermon on the Mississippi

[image error]by Elle Mae

“The Sermon on the Mississippi”

I will look elsewhere for God.

I don’t know if She is here anymore.

But I remember seeing Her in the flickering fireflies swirling around my head as I ran through the damp dark grasses by the Mississippi.

And I think I saw Her the other day in the new florist down the street as she slipped money into the register for flowers to take to her newly divorced friend.

Maybe She slept in the palm of a nurse holding his patient’s wrinkled hand for an hour after his shift was over.

And maybe God is found where She said She would be all along.

“With them.”

the spiritually homeless

the private mourners

the meek misunderstood

the goodness hungry

the mercy givers

the transparent hearts

the wall breakers

and those who are “too much.”

So now when I have lost God

I wait for Her by the Mississippi.

Elle Mae is a queer Mormon feminist who believes everyone has a spark of the Divine within themselves. She is a poet, singer, and student

The One Commandment

The Ten Commandments are taught at a young age as a way to live rightly. They’ve even gone beyond the religious sphere and into popular culture such that just uttering the words “thou shalt not…” and then finishing the phrase with any set of instructions can give either a serious or humorous level of extra gravity to the instructions. We love our rules and we love to hate our rules, and we have a lot of them.

When I was in seminary, I remember that my teacher said that there were over 600 commandments listed in the Old Testament. This factoid was used to highlight the impossibility of keeping all of them with exactness and the need for grace because none of us could measure up on our own. It was also used as a jumping-off point to a discussion of the words of Jesus when He outlined the two great commandments.

When Jesus was asked what the greatest commandment was, he responded:

Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.

Matthew 22:37-40

[image error]

The phrase “the law and the prophets” is a term of art that refers to the majority of what we now call the Old Testament. [1] So, basically, Jesus was distilling all scripture extant at the time to a two-fold instruction to love God and love one’s neighbor – and that loving one’s neighbor is like unto loving God.

This is explained further in other parts of the New Testament. Jesus teaches that whatever we do to others – such as feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the sick, etc. – is the same as doing it to Him. [2] And the apostle John gets even more clear when he says “If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen? And this commandment have we from him, That he who loveth God love his brother also.” [3]

So in the end, instead of hundreds, ten, or even two, we have only one commandment as Christians. Love our neighbors.

The simplicity of this commandment obscures how challenging it can be. It’s the work of a lifetime. It can feel a lot easier to live by a list of “thou shalt nots” instead of to live by a principle of love. It requires us to evaluate our motivations for everything we do. But in the end, it’s the only way to become like God, because God is love.

[1] “The Law” is the first five books of Moses. “The Prophets” refers to most of the rest of the Old Testament, with the exception of poetic books such at Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and the Song of Solomon.
[2] see Matthew 25:34-40
[3] 1 John 4:20-21

My Other Ward

[image error]I had a dream I was talking with Prince William (of England), who was a counselor in my ward’s bishopric.  (I dream big).  We were sitting at a round table in a nondescript room that seemed like a lunch room.  He told me he had heard I was not attending church regularly. I assured him I had been at church each week.  He reflected a bit and said that’s not what he was hearing.  Just then an elderly woman in my ward emerged from behind a curtain revealing a recess in the wall.  She approached us, apologized for interrupting us, said she had not heard anything we were discussing, and then shared that her husband, who was lying on a stretcher in the recess of the wall, had cancer. She was seeking support.

I believe dreams are a way for our Inner Consciousness to communicate with our Outer Consciousness. This dream has sat with me for several weeks as I contemplate it’s meaning.   The first question is this, which ward am I not attending?   You see, I belong to two wards and have for a while now. One is my Geo Ward, located in the geographic area in which I live.  My Other Ward exists wherever I am, whatever I am doing.

My Geo Ward is full of friends, some I have known for decades. It’s the ward where my children grew up, where I gained a testimony, where I served and was served.  I can call upon these good people (and vice versa) in a moment’s notice and we are there for each other.

My Other Ward has been around for ages, but only recently discovered by me.  This ward is also full of friends and acquaintances.  I’m new and getting to know people.  I sense these people would be there for me in a similar, yet long-distance sort of way, when and if I needed them.  They are also good people.  The members of My Other Ward are both living and deceased.  I read their words and hear their stories. My Other Ward consists of people and ideas I access via books, blogs, podcasts, journals, phone calls, emails, websites and lunch dates.  We are Mormons, Buddhists, Catholics, Episcopalians, Evangelicals, Jews, Agnostics, Atheists and Mystics.  We live all over the world.

So, why do I need My Other Ward? Until recently I didn’t! I was content in my Geo Ward, that is, until I wasn’t. To borrow a phrase from Eliza Snow, “oft times a secret something whispered you’re a stranger here.”   I longed for more.  I wanted deeper, more authentic, less scripted, more expansive discussions.  I wanted more in ways I can’t fully explain.

To some extent I have found what I was looking for in My Other Ward. It’s open, diverse, unscripted, tender, strong, gentle, and bold.  It is like a kaleidoscope unfolding a large universal consciousness. Each day I find something new to contemplate, something else to ponder.

I’ll share a metaphor that might help explain what I am feeling.

Imagine a small, self-contained rustic resort at a mountain lake, with a small beach. Picture a 3-sided dock, called The Crib, creating an enclosure for small children to play in under the watchful eye of a lifeguard.  Picture a youth, passing the swim test and now allowed to swim and play outside the confines of The Crib. Picture the older children and adults gathered further out at the floating dock.

Picture others in row boats, sail boats and motorboats gliding by the dock experiencing other parts of the lake.  Picture them exploring the island and sailing around the bend.  The lake is beautiful. There is an inlet and an outlet for the fresh (living) water to enter and exit the lake.   The outlet leads down a mountainside to an even larger lake.  Following the outlet of that lake leads to a river which leads to the ocean.  The ocean! The ocean is wildly expansive and full of life.  It is so big and deep and unknowable.  It is mesmerizing.

Living water refers to water that is in motion and flowing.  It is not stagnant.  I want to swim in living water, outside The Crib, past the floating dock, past the island, around the bend, all the way to the large lake, the river and the ocean.  I want to experience the ocean. I want The Divine to be revealed to me, in me and through me.

Back to the dream.

Prince William represents hierarchy and authority.  He was kind but didn’t know about me directly. He only shared what he heard about me from others. Yes, I am attending my ward, but not fully present.  I’ve shut down in some ways. When I do speak up there is a mixed reaction of support and attack.  Some days are better than others, but mostly I have stopped trying.  I don’t want to come home bedraggled.

The nondescript lunch room represents a mediocre place to be nourished and fed.

The older woman in the dream represents the collective wisdom in the ward.  She is gentle and polite.  She is not ease dropping.  Her ailing husband represents a problem.  She is asking me and the hierarchy to help.  She is valuing what I have to offer.

Where do I go with this?  Maybe I need to attend more fully. Maybe I need to keep trying. Maybe the nourishment I get from My Other Ward is sustaining me right now while I figure things out. Maybe I have something of value to help the problem.

Discussion Questions:

Do you feel fully present in your family, friendships, wards, and community?

Do you have a metaphor for how you visualize your quest for The Divine?

Have you had a dream that helped you make sense of a situation?

Dear Carrel, a Letter from Nancy Dredge

[image error]Carrel Leading an Exponent II Board Meeting

My first memory of you, Carrel, is from that funny young
marrieds ward Paul and I were in when we first moved to Boston in 1969,
bishoped by Richard Bushman. You seemed young and hippie-ish and interesting.
But then, we were put in different wards, and I lost track of you for a bit—until
Judy Gilliland announced in my student ward Relief Society that a group of
women were looking into aspects of early Mormon women’s history to present an
Institute class on the topic. I had heard of this group—still sorry I missed
the feminist cell years of talking about each other’s lives—but was glad for a
way to “get in.” At the first meeting I attended, I picked polygamy to research
because I come from so much polygamous stock; you picked it, too, so right away
we were working together.

After the class that spring, I lived in Korea for a year
with Paul, Elisabeth, and baby David, so I missed the beginning of Exponent II, but I was happy to come
aboard on my return and began typing the newspaper. Then came the trauma of
what to do with Exponent II when
Claudia decided to “stand by her man,” after a GA make it “clear” to him that Claudia
was heading up something subversive that he (the GA) clearly thought would go
away if she did. I was such a newcomer that many had doubts about my taking
over from Claudia (as they should have), but you always expressed confidence in
me.

I loved the late evenings (mornings, mid-days) at paste-up,
getting the last-minute art, re-typing strips of paper that contained
mistakes—or asking someone at the last minute to write an article with an
opposing view to balance out that issue. At the same time, I was helping
Claudia to edit Mormon Sisters, and
you and I did a lot of the background work together—talking to typesetters and
actually entering typesetting codes and making corrections down at the
printer’s office on Mass Ave. Such fun but crazy times!

The Exponent Day dinners! Choosing the keynote speaker, and then the venue, and then inviting everyone to them—not understanding back then why some people were already rejecting our feminist forum. Remember when Joyce Chen catered it, and it was an hour late? So the men decided they could do better the following year—a Mexican fantasy meal complete with ceviche. (Ahem—but it was also late.) And the retreats—how they evolved from our little board retreats at Grethe’s farm in western Mass or Laurel’s Jerry Horne home in New Hampshire. Your direction and insistence on having them include the Friday night introductions—the most important aspect of the whole retreat, and we still seem to be the only retreat to do them—and your Friday night discussion of intention vs. expectation and the gift of trust have continued to make these retreats safe places where women can share each other’s lives—an extension of the philosophy behind the newspaper itself.

But then—what about all the other things you instigated over
the years? The fun meet-ups with friends? Popcorn in the big wooden bowl at
your house? All the trips? To Sanibel? The Northwest Pilgrims Retreat? Our trip
to Ireland with Cheryl and Barbara to see Sue? Marching with our hats in the
St. Patrick Day Parade and going to all the sacred circles? The lady who told
us our fortunes with rocks? Going to museums together? Art in Bloom? Our shared
love of Chihuly glass? The Terracotta warriors? Our Creativity workshop? Looking
at the water at Eileen’s house in Warwick? Book group—our other feminist group?
The beaches—many beaches, but especially the one in Ipswich—your house that you
let us share with you in September(s)?

It’s not just that these things were fun to do together but
that you brought so much to everything we did—by seeing through your eyes and
learning via your marvelous brain, my life was so much more than it was on my
own.

So, Carrel, you have enriched my life in so many ways, and I
love you for it. In fact, erase that last “for it,” because I just plain love
you.

Your sister forever,

Nancy

Deconstructing the P word

[image error]

About 30 years ago a Utah Valley area authority was giving a talk to a large audience. He spoke of attending a sacrament meeting where a newly baptized family, consisting of parents and several daughters, was being sustained as the newest ward members. The father of this family had been baptized a few weeks earlier. Then he had been ordained to the priesthood so he could baptize his wife and daughters the day before. The bishop of the ward saw this as an opportunity to teach about priesthood authority. After welcoming the family, the bishop invited the youngest daughter, 8 years old, to come to the pulpit with him. He asked, “What special thing happened to your family yesterday?”

She said, “We got baptized.”

Bishop – “Who baptized you?”

Daughter – “My dad.”

“Why was he able to baptize you?”

“Because he’s my dad.”

“Well, no. He has something special that makes it so he can baptize you. What does he have, that no one else in your family has, that makes it so he can baptize you? It begins with a ‘P’.”

The little girl looked a bit confused as to why she was asked to say this at the pulpit, but she gave the answer that was obvious to her. She said, “Penis?”

The area authority recounting this didn’t say penis, but he made it clear that is what the girl said. Then he emphasized the importance of not getting those P words – penis and priesthood- mixed up.

I think of that lesson when I consider this. It has not and does not work when any of us equate a physical appendage with the amazing power that comes to us when we live the qualities described in Section 121 of the Doctrine and Covenants. That section is, in my opinion, one of the clearest examples of revelation and pure knowledge as to how the power of God can work in our lives.

I grew up seeing examples of women and men who exercised the power of God in the world as it is described in Section 121 of the Doctrine and Covenants. One of the ways I saw them exercise this power was in the connection with priesthood assignments, callings and authority. When I was ill, and wanted a blessing, my mother placed her hands on my head along with my father. Mom’s work in the Relief Society was autonomous. I never remember the women she served with wondering about checking with the men who were in leadership over the ward before moving forward with plans and decisions. If they saw a need, they sought inspiration, and consulted each other in their experience and knowledge. They took action. When it needed to involve the men in the ward, they worked together. They accomplished great things. The way I saw people seeking and following inspiration was an example of partnership, and being united in purpose while honoring unique and varied ways to contribute.

No, it was not always perfect. Everyone I knew was and is a flawed and amazing person. Sometimes both at the same time. All were as likely as anyone to be carried away by power, or intimidation, or abuse of position. But I don’t remember hearing much rhetoric about strict gender roles when it came to exercising the qualities of the priesthood and the power of God.

That was then.

In the 50 years since that time, I have seen pendulum swings in messages about who can exercise the qualities of the priesthood and the power of God, and how God wants that done. Many of those messages never refer in any way to the teachings from sections 121. I have noticed that, for decades now, many have equated priesthood with maleness. Any actions that are done by men are assumed to be priesthood actions. Even callings and activities that do not require any priesthood authority, have now become inherently connected to needing someone who holds a priesthood office.

No building is secure unless a man is there. No activity is safe without a man. No chair can be stacked unless a priesthood holder is stacking it. No auxiliary leader can follow through with activities or plans until they have clearance and approval from men, even if the men have no experience, skills or understanding concerning those plans.

Much abuse and harm has and does occur because many assume that a man holding priesthood authority or calling automatically means that man has direct knowledge and understanding of what God wants, in more ways than anyone who does not have that authority can ever know.

This is often in direct contradiction to the inspiring teachings of section 121.

I have felt, since I was quite young, that women need to be included in all aspects of priesthood leadership, including ordination. I do not see how the church, as an organization that claims to have far reaching purposes and goals, and as a faith that claims to follow Christ, can possibly accomplish great things in the world that can only come when all who seek it can call upon the power of God, until all members are included completely in the work.

But including women in ordination, without deconstructing the limiting, gender based rhetoric about the priesthood that has become so prevalent in recent decades, will not make the kind of difference that is possible when all people are invited into full partnership for ministering and administering. According to section 121, the essential qualities of the priesthood, whereby any divine power blesses us, are qualities that are available to all of us. The moment anyone claims authority and power based solely on the priesthood alone, without those qualities, God’s power is gone. In that moment.

And, I consider any claims of doctrine, or policy, or “God’s law” that are contradictory to the qualities of God which are taught in section 121 show a tendency to cling to tradition rather than humbling inspiration. According to revelation, this shows a need for us to use intense scrutiny.

Yes, I realize that it will take a massive shift in the questions that many members and church leaders ask, and how open we can be to further light and knowledge before this can happen.

It will take deconstructing meanings this culture has for the “P” word.

The more we equate tasks and understanding and knowledge to biological characteristics, or chromosomes, or appendages, the harder it is to receive paradigm shifting revelation.

May 2, The General Relief Society Presidency addressed questions about the Priesthood at BYU Women’s Conference.

Like many people, I hope and look for messages that include all of the progressive, radically inclusive language that I would like to hear. But I have learned not to dismiss every talk that does not include everything I hope for. There are several interesting points made in what the Relief Society Presidency said that can help us dismantle some of the exclusionary rhetoric of gendered priesthood.

I could analyze each part, and point out what works for me in some aspect of the official conversation I hope for. But that is more than I want to write here. There are points made that acknowledge there is a difference between men and women’s priesthood roles, without trying to justify those differences, or suggest that will never change. For me, that is a good step. And inviting women to claim personal action connected to priesthood power is always a plus.

My list of wishes about how women are empowered to completely participate in priesthood ministering and administering is much longer than what was covered at the conference.

And I hope we will embrace all messages that can move us toward effective deconstruction of a small, limited priesthood. In the space left, we can look to building a practice of full participation for all who seek the qualities of God, and the sublime power that flows from that.

For me, that is a restoring gospel.

 

A Tribute to Carrel, from Laurel Ulrich

Carrel Hilton and her sister Kathy were among the first members of Cambridge 1 ward that I met when my husband and I arrived in Boston in September 1960.  She was then a vibrant teen-ager, unselfconsciously beautiful and more welcoming than one might expect from a young woman who had seen a constant procession of newcomers come and go through the Ward.  My more detailed memories pick up ten years later, after Carrel had married one of those newcomers, Garret Sheldon, who had come from Alaska to study at MIT.

[image error]

In the mid 1970s, Carrel and Garret and their lively little boys moved into a big old house in Arlington where Exponent II held late-night proofreading and paste-up parties for the paper.  I remember Carrel as the calm presence in the midst of chattering women getting things done. My deepest memories, however, are of her earnest, thoughtful, and wonderfully confident explorations of Mormon theology at all-night slumber parties and retreats.  To me, she seemed both deeply spiritual and systematic, able to make sense out of what other people might have considered flights of fancy. For her, ideas were never just ideas.  She brought a practical “can-do” spirit into our meandering explorations.  (I’m thinking right now of all those discussions we had about temple garments.  As I recall, she was the driving force behind the two-piece revolution). 

I can’t imagine Mormon Sisters, Exponent, or indeed the broader “retreat” movement that continues to blossom in many parts of the U.S. without Carrel’s “let’s do it” leadership. That is why my most precious memory right now is of being with her at the Northwest retreat near Seattle not so long ago.  I think of her beautiful white hair, even more lovely than her youthful reddish brown, and her calm, thoughtful, clear-eyed, and honest commentary, a gift that endures.

Dearest Carrel, a letter from Sue Booth-Forbes

Dearest Carrel,

[image error]Exponent II former staff at the 40th Anniversary celebration in 2014

My heart is with you, and I’m praying for your comfort and peace.  You are a beacon of joy and personal exploration, and I am grateful that you are in my life.  Meeting you in the 70s and watching you meeting your life with a smile on your face and what I took to be a song in your heart, even and especially with the challenges you and we all face, inspired me to try to do the same. You radiate an unabashed joy for living!

From you, I also learned that it was possible and, in fact, necessary to explore all facets of  your life and to work hard to make sense of it all while taking care to take care of yourself.  Your ability and willingness to live your life authentically also still inspires  me and gives me permission to do the same.

When I close my eyes, I can see you in my favourite spot for you – standing in the center of the circle of sisters in the lodge at Hillsboro.  It is the first night of every retreat we had there, and you are glowing and beginning to create the atmosphere that will turn the Exponent gathering into the retreat of unconditional acceptance and sisterly love that it always was. You encouraged us to approach our time together with well-considered intentions, not expectations, a concept that I borrowed from you and have always asked of those who come on retreat here.

Your transparent and warm acceptance of all of us and all that life puts in front of us  gave us permission and encouragement to be open and authentic.  Every year, I so looked forward to, and counted on, your doing your thing to start the weekend.  By the time you finished, the group had always changed from being a collection of like-minded women to being a gathering of sisters ready to authentically accept and love each other.

Your opening your home, your mind, and your heart to the beginning days of Exponent II has made it what it was, is, and continues to be.  You have helped and are continuing to help make the loving connections among the women who have become sisters and friends through their commitment to the work of Exponent II.  What a legacy! 

Even though, we’ve been miles and life’s experiences apart for quite a few years, you are always in my heart. I love you, Carrel, with all my heart, Sue

******

And then after she had gone:

Once again, Carrel is leading the way; I wish I could talk with her about the new things she’s learning about and exploring…  

Dear Carrel, a Letter from Cheryl DiVito

This week, we remember Exponent II founding mother and longtime board member, Carrel Sheldon, who died after a heartbreakingly swift cancer diagnosis. When Carrel was first diagnosed, her family asked that her Exponent II friends send her notes of healing and love. Today’s letter comes from Cheryl DiVito, longtime Exponent II historian and board member. If you would like to share something, please email us at exponentblog[at]gmail[dot]com.

[image error]Exponent II Staff Retreat 1997

Dear Carrel,

    When I first met you in 1980, I was struck by your surroundings.  Your house was a big victorian on Pleasant Street with awesome woodwork, pocket doors, fireplaces, and a long, stained glass window on the landing of the stairway.  I had just moved from Salt Lake because my husband had been accepted into a master’s program in Boston, and I was in love with New England and its history. Your house was part of that charm.

    The large rooms were put to good use with holiday parties and Exponent gatherings.  One of the biggest wooden bowls I’ve ever seen would often be filled with popcorn for the crowd.  I found it strange that you hadn’t renovated your kitchen considering the size of your family and the number of people coming and going.  But it became clear that you really weren’t interested in keeping house–you were focused on surrounding yourself with interesting people and projects.

    I remember your bedroom as a very personal sanctuary.  You loved nature and had brought in tree branches for the walls and could dangle pretty trinkets from them.  When you had your summer retreat in Ipswich, you transformed the cottage into your own space by replacing the owner’s knickknacks with your own found treasures.  Even when you moved to Seattle, you kept collecting interesting little objects from yard sales to add to your nest.

   You always had stacks of books and journals because of your insatiable curiosity.  Your interests were eclectic. You could tell us about the interpretation of dreams, Myers-Briggs personality definitions, and kegel exercises for improved sexual performance.   You reported back on your birdwatching expeditions, rambles though wilderness, and adventures watching fiery lava floes at night in Hawaii.

    And, like me, you have loved projects.   Of course, there was the Exponent and the retreats.  But I also remember the wedding gift you envisioned for Linda Othote–a canoe painted to resemble a patch-work quilt in homage to our shared pioneer heritage.  You even talked Garret into blow-torching the surface so the paint would be sure to stick. You also took art and photography classes. One project was to create a series of photos of yourself which imitated photographs of your granddaughter: she had a yellow raincoat, you had a yellow raincoat, etc.    When the Exponent women went to St. John’s, you took contemplative shots of us all–in black and white, I think. I was impressed with your “artist’s eye.”

    One project I have never really understood.  Maybe it was motivated by a competition with your mother and sisters.  You have always been determined to improve your beauty–from red or gray hair to the tips of your pedicured feet. But you were gorgeous in the first place!

    It was hard to see you move away from New England to Seattle.  It’s even more difficult to contemplate your going beyond our mortal reach.  I will think of you in a wonderful new place where you continue to gather the people you love and create amazing projects.

Always your sister,

Cheryl

Launching Exponent II

This week, we remember Exponent II founding mother and longtime board member, Carrel Sheldon, who died after a heartbreakingly swift cancer diagnosis. What better way to honor her than by reposting the history she lovingly wrote in 1999 when Exponent II was a newspaper (and not yet a magazine). If you would like to share something, please email us at exponentblog[at]gmail[dot]com.

[image error]A few Exponent II Founding Mothers and John Harvard

By Carrel Hilton Sheldon
Arlington, Massachusetts
(published in Exponent II, Volume 22, Number 4, Summer 1999)

You might not expect the women’s movement to have had much of an impact on an isolated Mormon mother who stayed at home.  It might not have, except that I was becoming friends with other Mormon women in my ward who had more of a world view.  Our first response to the women’s movement in the early 70s was to talk together about our lives and then to study women of the past, looking for role models.  We were thoughtful–especially about Mormonism and about women.

I started meeting regularly with these women when we were involved in a project of writing, collecting, and editing stories by and about Mormon women for the pink issue of Dialogue (1970) that Claudia Bushman guest-edited.  Some of us already had a history of publishing.  As a Relief Society fund-raising project they had created A Beginner’s Boston–a new student and tourist guide to the Boston area that sold in all the local bookstores.

The Dialogue project whetted our appetites to learn more about Mormon women of the past.  We volunteered to teach an institute class on early Mormon women’s history and each picked a woman or a topic and began researching.  The classes were great.  After that success we decided that, since we had gathered so much wonderful information that was very interesting yet unavailable, we really should write a book.

Writing my chapter for Mormon Sisters: Women in Early Utah was much harder than I thought it would be.  However, even though I had two little kids at the time, I also had a very supportive husband with flexible job hours.  I spent all the time I could in the Widener Library at Harvard and the Boston Public Library doing research and checking sources.  Both libraries had excellent collections of Mormon and anti-Mormon publications from the 1800s.

When the book project was finally sent off to prospective publishers for review, we decided it was time to begin publishing a quarterly feminist Mormon women’s newspaper.  The thought was to give our “sisters” a voice that could be heard.  Through our research for the institute class we had discovered the Woman’s Exponent, a Mormon women’s newspaper published in Utah from 1872 to 1914.  It seemed appropriate to call our paper Exponent II.

We initially formed Mormon Sisters Incorporated as the corporation to publish Exponent II.  However, we soon changed it to Exponent II, Inc. when we were informed that our choice of name offended some of our Mormon sisters because the name encompassed all Mormon women, not just a small group.  Such a possibility hadn’t occurred to us, but seemed quite reasonable once pointed out.

I helped set up the financial accounting, helped create and mail out advertising flyers, and managed the subscription data-base, which we typed on keypunch cards at MIT. Sometimes I typed the paper.  One scene, firmly etched in my mind, is of me sitting at the end of the table typing up submissions to the paper with baby #3 balanced on my knees, in such a position that he could nurse while I typed.  Children #1& #2 happily raced around our big old kitchen.  At that moment I was awed by my commitment to get the job done and felt powerful in my ability to accomplish it.  It was an amazing contrast to my usual feeling that taking care of three little children was so difficult that adding anything–like getting the laundry done–was almost beyond me.  Somehow in the process of working on Exponent II, I became someone who could do an awful lot more than I had previously realized I could.

We pasted up the paper in my dining room with women, sometimes with their babies beside them on the floor, working at all hours of the day and night.  We worked on light boards made by my husband out of junk wood from our basement.  We taped the finished pages to the walls all around the room to measure our progress, as well as to get a sense of the flow and the look of the finished product.  A typical scenario at my house was women working at the light boards and women proofreading pages on the walls, someone typing up corrections, and someone letter pressing titles.  Claudia, our wonderful editor, was there making sure the articles were in the right order, often editing late submissions.  Her connections to many women throughout the church brought us an array of interesting authors.  Carolyn Person (then Peters), our delightfully eccentric art editor, created our covers and some of the art decorating the pages of our early issues.  Bonnie Horne and Joyce Campbell were there designing the layout as we went, adding art when we had it and creating or finding it when we didn’t.  Within the first year, we had over 4,000 subscribers–which made for a big pile of papers to label and bundle and bag for bulk mail.

Our newspaper was an instant success, but our book, Mormon Sisters, had been making the rounds of publishers for a year without any success.  Deseret Book said they “wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.”  They thought it was a very good book, but “dangerous.”  We thought it was important and should be published.  So I turned my Exponent II job of “business manager” over to Roslyn Udall and set up Emmeline Press, Ltd. so we could publish Mormon Sisters: Women in Early Utah ourselves.

Within a few months boxes of books completely filled my dining room, stacked from floor to ceiling.  (We moved paste-up to Grethe Peterson’s attic for a while.)  We printed 1,000 hardcover copies of the book and 5,000 paperbacks. They were all sold within a year.  Later, a “legitimate” Utah publishing house (Signature Press) picked up the book for a second and third printing.  Happily, after several years of being out of print, it was republished in 1997 by Utah State University Press.

I learned a lot working on these projects.  For one thing, I learned that I loved these women.  They were great.  I was great.  We were great together.  We could and did do wonderful things. We were all mothers.  We were all Mormons.  Yet we were all very different from each other.  Only two of us were employed full time, teaching at different colleges.  Some of us had college educations, some of us did not.  Two were working on dissertations.  However, we all shared in the process of having our conscious-nesses raised about women’s issues and about ourselves.

Our differences, then as well as now, kept reminding us that we have no agreement on any particular cause and therefore hold no group point of view, beyond recognizing the value of each woman’s voice and the merit of offering a platform for those voices to be heard.  Our commitment to being an open forum for women kept us together through sometimes intense efforts to resolve disagreements over style, content, and control of our project.  Giving Mormon women a voice always was, and still remains Exponent’s mission.

This mission still seems very important to me.  In the early days of publishing the paper it felt like a holy calling.  And working with the group of women committed to publishing Exponent II offered a wealth of learning, a fair amount of frustration, a good amount of love and “sisterhood,” and a feeling of real satisfaction from our dual accomplishments:  the actual publication of a substantive newspaper, and the working together of a pretty amazing group of women.