The Unfunny* Jokes Stage is one of my favorites

So, when young persons get to be around four or five years old, they begin to pick up on the fact that jokes exist.** They hear someone tell a joke, then they hear someone else laugh, and they aren't sure what is going on, so they ask. Sometimes, someone is able to explain why it was funny, but sometimes explanation fails, so to the child, it comes out something like: you say a couple of things that don't make sense and then someone laughs. And then they think: that's not a bad deal! I should try that!

And then they do. And, as good language learners, when they don't get it right the first time, they try again. And then again. And again.

This stage can be very trying for parents. Do you laugh? Do you pretend to laugh? And what do you do when your five-year-old is on their hundredth unfunny joke of the day and you just want to scream? 

The thing is, the vast majority of linguistic forms that children encounter in day-to-day life are produced spontaneously, so it makes sense that they assume that jokes fall into this category, too. It's not the kid's fault that they have no idea that (funny) jokes are fiendishly difficult to make up on the fly.

But, as I mentioned in the title, I have a different perspective. I think that unfunny jokes are adorable in the way that, say, watching a four-year-old wash dishes is adorable. If your goal is to get the dishes clean, you will be in trouble. If your goal is to let the kid have fun while trying out something grownup, and to encourage them along the way, you will find much more happiness.

Here, let me give an example. My sister just visited with two of her children, the younger of whom is squarely in the unfunny jokes stage (which, yes, is what prompted this post). This is one of hers:

Niece: Knock knock.

Myself: Who's there?

Niece: Turkey.

Myself: Turkey who?

Niece: Turkey that doesn't exist! while laughing so hard at her own joke that she can hardly stand up, as is normal.

So, look. She knows the basic form: knock knock, who's there, give a name, answer with the name + who, and then-- and this shows a fair amount of sophistication, IMHO-- the very last line, the punchline, should incorporate the name with a surprise ending that upends the original expectation set up by that name in the first place.

I actually laughed at this one. I thought it was so delightful that she had gotten so close to something actually funny. I even retold it to a couple of other people, who because they don't love unfunny jokes as much as I do did not laugh. *sigh*

Anyway, hopefully this post has left you with a renewed-- or perhaps just new-- appreciation for unfunny jokes. The best defense against them-- besides learning to appreciate them-- is to take the time to teach the poor kid an actual joke.*** After that, supposing they can read, you can put a joke book in their hands --and even kids who have outgrown unfunny jokes frequently appreciate a joke or riddle book.****

Also: good luck! If you have a kid going through this stage and you know me well enough to have my phone number, you are welcome to call me up, and if I have time, I will listen to a couple of unfunny jokes and laugh at them. If you don't know me well enough to have my phone number, I would love to get (these kind of) unfunny jokes in the comments. 

*To be clear, I'm not talking about jokes that merely don't fit one particular person's sense of humor. I'm talking about jokes that nobody would think were funny unless they were thinking about them in a very particular way (which I will get to in a moment).

**It isn't that children younger than five can't be funny or make you laugh on purpose, but this verbal unit called a joke or a riddle starts appearing on their radar around this time.

***You will then hear that joke approximately 50,000 times a day, because making others laugh is powerful magic, but at least it won't be one unfunny joke after another. 

****I feel compelled to mention that if a child was not in the habit of cornering friends, relatives, acquaintances, and passing strangers and then assaulting them with multiple riddles and/or jokes, the acquisition of a joke or riddle book can prompt such behavior. Maybe give a manners book at the same time? I don't really have a solution for this one other than ongoing, kind, but firm discussions about when, where, and how it is and is not appropriate to tell jokes.

Thinking about the Heavenly Gift as mentioned in Ether 12

This morning I was listening to Ether 12-- one of my favorites-- when I heard something I had never noticed before. "...[A]nd be partakers of the gift, if ye will but have faith." This is in verse 9.

Wait, what gift? I mean, it makes sense-- faith leads to all kinds of cool things-- but what gift?

So I tapped the "go back" button and listened to this, in verse 8: "...and prepared a way that thereby others might be partakers of the heavenly gift, that they might hope for those things which they have not seen." And then the whole of verse 9: "Wherefore, ye may also have hope, and be partakers of the gift, if ye will but have faith."

Right. The heavenly gift. But this left me with a new question: what is the heavenly gift? I was so curious that I had to stop washing dishes and come over to my laptop to look up where that phrase might be used in the rest of the scriptures. It turns out that there are only two other places: 4 Nephi 1:3, and Hebrews 6:4. In 4 Nephi it talks about how in the perfect, Zion society, all were made partakers of "the heavenly gift." Hebrews 6:4 talks about the heavenly gift as being something that happens to a person along with being enlightened and being made partakers of the Holy Ghost. 

That makes three out of three references to The Heavenly Gift which seem to associate it closely with seeing Jesus Christ, but the one I started with specifically excludes supposing that it is the appearance itself: "But because of the faith of men he has shown himself unto the world, and glorified the name of the Father, and prepared a way that thereby others might be partakers of the heavenly gift..."

I wondered if the heavenly gift might refer to the plan of salvation or to the atonement of Jesus Christ, but again I thought to myself: those who lived before Christ surely partook of those even without seeing Him. Of course it has to be associated somehow, but it somehow seems to be not exactly this.

I looked at Hebrews 6 again and started reading the whole chapter. When I got to a reference to hope, I paused. My two verses that I came from in Ether both referenced hope, too. I decided I should hop over to the Topical Guide listing on hope and see what I could see by looking through those. At first the going was slow, but then it started sticking out to me that hope is in "things which are not seen, which are true." It isn't like I didn't know this before, but it just seemed to jump out at me. It seemed to fit with the idea that the heavenly gift had to be associated with seeing Jesus, and yet it wasn't... exactly... actually seeing Him.

Of course, being as how we are, depending on your point of view, either in the middle of or very close to the start of the Christmas season, it did occur to me that the Heavenly Gift could simply be Jesus Christ Himself.

And as that thought wound its way through my brain again, all of a sudden I made the connection: the Heavenly Gift is any manifestation of God in the world. It's brought about by faith; it's hoped for by (Godly) hope. I excitedly began to read the lists of miracles wrought by faith in Ether 12, and it fit. Being called of God: definitely shows you God in the world. The prison of Ammonihah being shaken to the earth: shows God in the world. The Lamanites' hearts being wrought upon and changed: most certainly these show God in the world. Receiving a promise that you wouldn't taste of death: also shows God in the world.

Over in Hebrews 11, it also fits: obtaining a witness that you are righteous shows God in the world. Being warned of God, directed by God, and receiving gifts of God all show that God is in the world.

And shouldn't that be what we hope for? To see God in the world? It seems like that is a most Godly thing to hope for. It wouldn't exclude a direct visitation, but it doesn't demand it, either. In fact, hope doesn't demand anything, but that's a different post for a different day.

I began to wonder if I might gain an insight into charity by applying this new perspective. Almost as soon as I wondered it, I saw it: if we see God in the world, we have a better chance of becoming like Him, of gaining His attributes, of loving as He does. 

And again, I wonder how much I was set up for this entire insight trail by posting on Facebook on the #givethanks hashtag, as President Nelson asked us to do. Giving thanks is a small and simple-- tiny, really-- way to see God in the world. I'm not sure how much faith it took for me to do that, but it didn't feel like much!

Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope that you, too, get to feel some manifestation of God in the world, no matter how small. In my life, these manifestations bring peace and joy.

Maple Caramel Seven-Minute Frosting, with (pan)cakes underneath

I'm not naming which celebration this was for, because I think the internet at large already knows quite enough about what I celebrate when, thank you very much.

Do you ever get a taste-thought in your brain? I think that the closest word for it in English is "craving" (and no, I don't know of a word for it in any other languages), but craving implies that you are at some level obsessed with consuming the thing, and what I'm describing is more like when you close your eyes and see a picture in your mind, or when you are walking along and your brain plays music for you, and if you like it well enough, you try to draw it or describe it or write it down or in whatever way you can realize the idea which has come to you.

Anyway. Today I was thinking about whether or not to make cake for (un)said celebration, and the thought came to me: caramel. And then I remembered how I am wealthy enough-- unlike much of the rest of my life before now-- that I have REAL maple syrup to play with, culinarily.*

So this is what I did. I looked up a recipe for maple syrup caramel, and decided to "use" this one: pinch of yum magic vegan caramel sauce. And by use, I mean that I only used two of the four ingredients she lists; I substituted one, and left one out. (But I linked to it to give credit where credit is due, and besides which, if I could have those ingredients, I would have just gone with them). In my situation, though, I used a teacup in the microwave and put in 2T of maple syrup, 2T of oil, and 1/16t of salt, and microwaved it for a minute. And at the end of that I had a delicious tasting syrup at the bottom of a bunch of oil, so next time I'll be reducing the oil by half and deciding about further modifications from there.

But boy howdy did I mention how good it is?

OK. Next, I used Paula Deen's 7-minute frosting recipe, which I modified this time just because my eggs are oddly small (and which I usually modify by putting in 1 cup of sugar instead of a cup and a half) BUT the modification that matters this time is that instead of vanilla-- which never does taste good to me in frosting-- I put in two teaspoons (as in the kind you eat with teaspoons-- sorry I didn't measure, but I think they were pretty close to a standard teaspoon?) of the maple syrup caramel stuff. Every time I've tried to flavor this frosting recipe before, the flavoring has come out too strong, but not this time! Probably because the flavoring can be eaten straight up on its own. But this part of the recipe is definitely getting made again, especially since three ingredients in the microwave for one minute is my kind of recipe.

I dished out some frosting for Mom to eat (of course snitching as much as I myself wanted). Then I took the leftover oil-and-syrup, and mixed it in with the egg yolks, and then mixed that in with some cake mix, and then folded in the frosting that I thought would not be needed for the top of the cake, and then I put the whole shebang in the oven.

I'll tell you in the morning how it went.

IN THE MORNING: After tasting my cake experiment, I decided to eat my frosting with some pancakes I had made earlier. The flavoring which was just right for the frosting was too weak for the cake, which was also just a little dense. Meh. I never make cakes, partly because I've never liked them that much, partly because my body doesn't like ingredients that allow them to taste good: butter, milk, almonds, any form of coconut. I'll survive. Next time, maybe I'll just make meringues. Or pavlova.

*If I didn't have real maple syrup, I would definitely make some simple syrup by boiling 2 c. sugar** with 1 c. water and then adding a flavoring like mapleine or almond extract or something. It doesn't taste the same as maple syrup, but it tastes good enough that it's sometimes just what I'm in the mood for, over real maple syrup. I'm never in the mood for corn syrup faintly flavored with maple, though.

**OK, fine, most days I'm only cooking for myself and I haven't made a 2 cup batch of simple syrup in at least a decade, but what I DO do is put one tablespoon of sugar and one of water in a teacup and then microwave it for 30 seconds at a time until the viscosity gets to be syrupy-looking. This makes enough for me for one meal's worth of pancakes, and then I don't have to worry about putting leftover syrup in the fridge or whatever. The water boils off much more quickly in the microwave than on a stove, which is why after a couple of tries in which I ended up with crystallized sugar instead of syrup, I changed the proportion for the tiny version of the recipe.

How taking a walk with a three-year-old helped me figure out my writing goals

One day when my oldest niece was about three years old, I stopped in at my sister's house, which at the time was close to a credit union I belonged to. At some point in our conversation that day, we decided that I would take my niece with me on my errand to the credit union. I wanted to hang out with her; I had a couple of hours free; and the credit union was a twenty minute walk away, even if we walked very slowly.

Our plan worked perfectly. She got to walk the whole time, because I wasn't worried about getting there before it closed or in time for me to go do some other errand. Once we got to the window, she announced proudly to the teller, "I'm Cinderella!"

The teller looked at me in confusion. "Is that really her name?"

"Let me give you a clue. I'm her fairy godmother."

And then I did whatever business I had come to transact-- I truly don't remember what it was any more-- and then we walked back to her house, and all was well.

Now, the moral you might take from this story is that you should leave plenty of time for walks with  three-year-olds, and if that is the conclusion you draw, I'm not going to tell you you're wrong. But I feel like there's an even more interesting lesson you could take away from it.

I realized as I was going home that I had two sets of goals for that walk. I wanted most to hang out with my niece and let her explore and have fun. But I also had an errand to run, and it was actually easier to accomplish the first goal once I had that second goal in mind.

I've come to think of these kinds of goals as end-goals and guardrail goals. For me, loving people, protecting the environment, and obeying the law are among my guardrail goals. They are all so important to me that the only way I would break one of them deliberately is if another guardrail goal were involved. But having end-goals as well makes keeping those guardrail goals more interesting, and sometimes even easier.

So, for instance, for a long time-- too long, for my taste-- one of my end goals was to get a bachelor's degree. And I finally have one! Along the way, I lived with roommates, which brought me into contact with others and gave me a chance to figure out how to love them both more and more effectively. Through my general education classes, I also learned enough science to be able to appreciate science writing and interpret it for myself. And in my philosophy classes, discussions about Kantian ethics would always start out with the caveat to his "never tell a lie" rule that we all agree to: if I have Jews hidden in my house and Nazis are at the door, I will definitely break the law.

But wait, you say. Getting an education is kind of a good in and of itself, so it's kind of not fair to be listing how it helps with all of those other things. Aren't there some end goals that aren't good?

Well, yeah. As we can see from the Nazi example mentioned above, if your end goal in and of itself violates a guardrail goal, you gotta chuck it.

But other than that, as far as I can tell, not only does the ethical human have the right to choose whatever end goals she likes; she may even be under obligation to do so, because they are so helpful in accomplishing those guardrail goals.

And that brings me to my writing goals. I want to bring delight, information, and helpfulness to others: that's an end goal. I want to be dependable (and of course honest) in my business relationships: that's a guardrail goal. And what I want for myself is a combination of end and guardrail goals: I want to write things which I enjoy writing (end goal); of course write ethically (which can get tricky when you write about real humans, but I would argue can even be an issue when you write about fantasy worlds-- so, guardrail goal); and at some point I would like to make a profit, which I am leaving as an end goal but would sure be a lot more comfortable if it were a guardrail goal. But it's best to leave guardrail goals as things have more control over, and end goals as things you have less control of, so there you have it.

I was able to distill these goals into a one sentence purpose statement, and it's held for-- let me check-- wow, since December 24th! Well, isn't that nice! (I checked the version history on the document where I listed my writing goals to figure that out.) I'm open to finding out more about what I want, but so far I'm holding to this one: I write to create joy.

I write to create joy.

Daily Feelings Sort + choosing gratitude

I do a "feelings sort" every morning, right at the top of my daily journal entry. (I write in the morning, about the day before, because I tend to be approximately twice as gloomy in the evenings as in the mornings.) It's pretty basic: I write down five words (or very occasionally phrases) that answer the question "how am I feeling?" So, a typical day might include sad, cheerful, OK, thoughtful, and thankful.

Part of the point of the feelings sort is to notice and label the sort of brain-stem, I-don't-get-a-choice-about-them feelings like sadness or anger (please anyone who knows the neuroscience of this better than I do off the top of my head be very gentle in the comments-- I'm just trying to get this written, for now). If I notice and label those feelings, I can work on them; I can take a walk, or organize part of my house, or call a friend, or something. Or, if I'm feeling joyful or triumphant or happy, I get that right down at the top of the entry, to be explored later, and remember that recording my emotions isn't always about controlling them.

I always include thankful, or some variant thereof. That's because I can choose which emotions to project, both to myself and others, and by writing these down, I am nudging myself to that choice. Occasionally I have to write "trying to be thankful" because I do want to be honest, but usually I can find at least one little thing to make it true.