A few of my blogging friends write for “Segullah” and one has been approaching me about submitting an essay to it. Recently we had this conversation:
FRIEND: “You should see the actual “Segullah” magazine. It’s so pretty.”
LOIS: “I don’t do pretty.”
FRIEND: “No, I meant the artwork was pretty.”
LOIS: “That's not helping your case. I hate pretty art. Art should be ugly and disturbing. In my opinion, it’s not real art unless there’s a strip of bacon stapled to it.”
For those who don’t know (which I figure is EVERYONE), “Segullah” is a literary magazine and also a blog.
First of all, that name bothers me. “Segullah”? For the longest time I misread it and thought it was “Seagull.” Now that makes sense. The seagull is the state bird of Utah and they saved the pioneers when their crops were being eaten by locusts. Besides, we all know that seagulls are pretty much flying rats and what’s more fun than winged vermin?
But no, “Segullah” is a Hebrew word meaning “peculiar treasure.” I get the “peculiar” part, but “treasure”?
What's with the whole wannabe-Jewish thing that most LDS people have? Why is everything in Hebrew? Why does BYU hold a Passover Sedar? Why do we refer to non-members as gentiles?
Oh, did I mention that this magazine/blog’s core audience is Latter-day Saint Women?
Few words make me cringe in fear like “Latter-day Saint Women.” If something is geared towards Mormon women, it usually involves either:
A) Mostly plastic big-blond-haired women who wear too much make-up and complain about how their new SUV doesn’t match their stucco-clad McMansion while sitting around scrapbooking for their equally blond children
or even worse…
B) Self-loathing pseudo-intellectual feminists who pray to Heavenly Mother and gripe all day about how they think God hates them because they were born with ovaries.
Either way, I'm not interested. It’s not that I don’t like them, but rather that I don’t want to BE like them.
What happened to the strong LDS women that I looked up to when I was a girl? The frumpy, no-nonsense, slightly overweight ladies who went to DUP meetings and looked like they could’ve carried a covered wagon on their backs, let alone crossed the plains. These women were lucky if they could remember the names of their eight or nine children, let alone find the time to make scrapbooks for them; and they raised these children all in a two-bedroom house and still had enough energy to make a mean plate of lime Jello with shredded carrots in it. Where have these great women gone?
Maybe you don’t see their essays in “Segullah” because they’re too busy finding new and creative ways to store their 10-year supply of hard red wheat.
Or better yet, growing corn on the roof of their house.