Cultural Diorama

(This is an assignment for my multicultural education class)

My three artifacts:

• Cultural: Book of Mormon
• Social: Cousin Book
• Ethnic: Cowgirl boots

Label: White-Female-Texan-Mormon-Sentimentalist 

My blog is also my form of journal-writing, so to reflect on each of my artifacts, I will "journal" or tell a story about each of my artifacts.

Cultural: 

I chose the Book of Mormon, because I think its probably my biggest cultural identifier. Everything else seems a little boring. I'm white, I'm from America, and I enjoy hamburgers and pink lemonade. Typical. Growing up, people knew I was Mormon, and treated me as such. Sometimes respectfully, sometimes with distaste. I remember when I was 9 years old, being told by a friend that her mom wouldn't let me play with her anymore because I was Mormon. It was something kind of hard to swallow for a 9 year old. I didn't really understand what the gospel really meant anyway, and to be identified as something viewed as negative to other people probably lowered my self-esteem a bit. Mormonism to me is more of a lifestyle than a religion. It is something that I practice everyday, not just once a week. I've been a member all of my life, and I believe it with all my heart!

I was 14, when I had my "conversion." During a devotional at girls camp over the summer, we were given a journal and a list of scriptures to read. We were all separated and sent to different parts of the camp, so that we were alone and could have a personal experience. I was sent into a woody area with just my camp chair, scriptures, and journal. I remember just sitting in my chair, surrounded by tall, skinny trees, wondering whether or not I could really get an answer about whether the church was true or not. I had definitely tried before, and had issues discerning the spirit. Was it just that the thermostat in my house was on high heat, or was I feeling a burning in my bosom? So I decided I'd give it my best effort. I read the scriptures, trying to drain every bit of meaning and wisdom that I could from them. I wrote in the journal the feelings that I had when I read them. And then, with hope in my heart I knelt down on the dirt and leaves in the shady woody clearing and fervently prayed with all my little 14-year old heart and asked if the church was true. This is the first time that I can really say that I truly felt that I could feel the spirit giving me a yes or no answer. It was yes! There was no bright light, or heavenly beings but I my questions were strongly and undoubtedly confirmed. 

Ethnic:

No, being Texan is not an ethnicity. I'm aware (even though sometimes I act like it is). I'm white, I'm American, but within that ethnic group, I identify with being a Texan. I feel very tied to my Texan identity because it is one that I chose. I was born in Tokyo, Japan (my parents both went there on their missions, and then moved there after they graduated from BYU. I lived there until I was two, and I don't really remember it), then lived in Chicago for 6 years. I moved to Texas when I was 8, and did most of my "adolescent developent" there. I then spent my four years of high school in Seattle, my family moved to Provo for my freshman year of college and then moved back to the same neighborhood we lived in, in Texas. Maybe it is because my adolescence was mostly spent in Texas, that I identify with it the most. But really, I think it has more to do with what Texas is.

Here is my association with cowboy boots:

Cowboy boots

Cowboys

The "outlaw"/"freedom"/"carefree"/"lawless" lifestyle.

=The definition of a Texan.

Being Texan is more of a state of mind than a label. Here are several events/memories from my childhood that I hope will accurately illustrate this.

• Street parties with the neighborhoods... pretty much every day. 
• Barefoot soccer in a muddy field right after a rainstorm
• Sneaking out onto the roof of my house to watch the sunset.
• Climbing "Isaac's Tree" every summer on the property of the Episcopal church down the street from my house
• Catching frogs during recess
• Catching tadpoles in the neighborhood pond
• Building mini rafts out of sticks and floating them down Wisdom Creek behind our neighborhood
• Popsicles. Lots of sticky, sweet, messy, dripping popsicles in the summer.
• Having one day of snow a year, and tieing my sled to the back of my moms car and driving down the street.
• Line dancing/ square dancing as a part of our P.E. curriculum.
• Summers at the community pool. Never cold, always cloudy water.
• Barefoot, helmet-less bike rides, almost every day, through my neighborhood, and always down "Sandra Lynn Drive" which was the biggest hill in town (or so I believed)
• Fields of vibrant bluebonnets
• "Happy Birthday Jesus" signs on my neighbors lawns for Christmas
• Making movies with all of the neighborhood kids, a beat up video camera, and a mile-long bright orange extension cord
• Catching tadpoles in the neighborhood pond... and accidentally dropping them all in the grass
• Making a giant city made of chalk for our scooters
• Getting treated to free sonic ice cream cones for a friend's birthday
• Roller skating, tie-dye, and kick ball in the church parking lot
• Digging up clay from our yard and making sculptures and pottery from it.
• Planting a packet of wildflower seeds in our backyard, only to have them pulled up as "weeds" by my dad two weeks later...
• "Yes sir" and "Yes ma'am." Fixin', y'all, gonna, Babe's chicken fried steak, Blue goose cantina, the flower mound, stories of Governor Hogg and the Pecan trees
• "I pledge allegiance, to thee, Texas, one and indivisble" right after the American pledge

Social:

This one was the harder one to think of. I chose the "Cousin Book" because it probably best illustrates how I view my relationships with others. The Cousin Book is something I started doing when I was 12 and stopped when I was 20. My cousin, Curtis, died in March of that year, and I was having a hard time with it, I think because I had never quite experienced a death of someone I really knew well before. I didn't know my cousin Curtis incredibly well; his family lived in California, like all my other cousins, and we were the odd family who moved around a lot. I do remember saying something snarky to him the last time I saw him, which I regretted. We decided to stop doing cousin christmas presents that year, for various reasons, but I think his death was part of it. I decided I wanted to be closer to that part of my family, so I decided to start making this book with written entries from all my family members. Every year around September, I'd send a theme to all of my cousins on my mom's side of the family. It was something simple and sentimental; sometimes related to Christmas, funny memories, favorite vacations, etc. I'd ask everyone to write something, send it to me by Thanksgiving, and then I'd compile them and send everyone a copy for Christmas. Anyway, the reason this is something that represents me socially is because my "philosophy" or what not is all about bringing people together. I love planning things. I love facilitating the creation of new friendships, including my own. I am also a very sentimental person. The best presents one can give me are the ones that have meaning and sentimentality rather than gift cards or fancy presents. I would take a poem or a letter any day over a shiny new toy. 

This is an excerpt from a poem I wrote in the very last Cousin book that I did. It's called "Where I'm from":

I am from the swinging fencepost, opening up a passage way to a magical summer apple orchard. I am from power rangers and tinker toy inventions. I’m from pack-it-all-up and move-it-on-out. I’m from a wet pillow case and a floor littered with Kleenex. A weeping willow and a rock fence; alphabet blocks on the TV and a pink bathroom. I am from tall dry grass and crickets singing under pink and orange sky. I’m from Michael’s and McDonald’s, Kirkpatrick, and capiche, Brahm’s and barges. I’m from 5 minute monsoons and mirages on the driveway. I’m from a wooden castle, barefoot soccer games, and piles and piles of trash from wisdom creek. I’m from mud between the toes, and q-tips up the nose. From scores of notebooks with stories and funnies. From joy and laughter, fireworks and a rusty trampoline. I’m from phase 10, ding-dong-ditches, chain stories by the fire place, and gravy with cornstarch.