I'm becoming my mother?

“Why do you read those trashy novels?” Mom asked me on more than one occasion.

“They're not trashy,” was my habitual defense.

“They're just made up stories,” she'd counter. “Worthless.”

“What should I read?” As if I didn't know. She'd always point to the scriptures.

I considered this to be inexcusably provincial on her part, and I attempted to broaden her appreciation and tolerance by drawing her attention to our great body of uplifting literature. She remained unconvinced and, with time, read only the scriptures and finally only the Book of Mormon before she lost her sight to macular degeneration and descended into “sweet confusion” as described by her assisted-living caretakers.

In general, I'm happy. I have a joyful lightness of step much of the time if not most of the time. I've often wondered if I'd have achieved this decades earlier if decades earlier I'd have adopted the habit of weekly endowment sessions. I know twenty-somethings who do this and they show obvious spiritual benefit. I wish I'd have been one of those twenty-somethings. I feel like I lost decades.

In any case, the joyful lilt is enhanced by said endowment sessions, BYU devotionals, CES firesides, general conference, In Performance, Orchestra at Temple Square, Music and the Spoken Word, FARMS, J. S. Papers, the Ensign, and, of course, the scriptures. I'm proud to say that I'm addicted to all of these.

And this lilt is diminished by ER, CSI, Heroes, Numb3rs, Fringe, Cold Case, Without a Trace, Law and Order, most novels, and much of the public news media. And, I'm embarrassed to say, I'm even more addicted to these.

I fully understand the experience Cindy described. Cindy's a quiet, spiritually sensitive mother of four including twins, whom we knew in our California ward. She was a great fan of Harry Potter, and once she described how, after she finished reading Rowling's latest publication at the time, she had to go into the bathroom and pray to dissipate the dark feeling that enveloped her.

Since that's the way I often feel, how long will it be before I determine that it just isn't worth it to subject my spirit to such depressing influences when there's so much better material to choose from? I suspect it may happen. If I live as long as Mom (not likely) I can imagine that this determination may come well before then.