Five Years

Five years ago today was the first day of my mission.  I entered three days shy of my 21st birthday, an eager girl, ready to take on the world and all its problems.

(LDS girls can choose to serve an 18 month mission when they are 21 or older.  They are assigned to an area of the world to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ and serve the less fortunate.  I was assigned to Argentina, Resistencia.)

Serving a mission was never much of a choice for me.  I had always wanted to do it, and I always knew I would.   When my 21st birthday rolled around I said goodbye to my studies, my friends, and my boyfriend (I mean, come on, someone had to clear the path for Hubs!) and shipped out to Argy.  The months and weeks leading up to my departure I was stoked out of my mind.  I told everyone I wasn't scared.  Are you kidding?  Not me.  No way.  This is is the adventure of a lifetime, stop wasting my time with that sappy stuff!

it wasn't until I had said goodbye to my family that I realized I might be in over my head.  Suddenly I was afraid.  Afraid that I had made a commitment I couldn't keep.  I sobbed uncontrollably my first three nights.  Just crawled up in that bunk bed, and when I was sure the other girls were asleep I bawled into the loving arms of my pillow.  I was sure I had made a mistake.  A year and a half was just too long to go without seeing friends and family.  Who was I kidding?  Argentina?  Spanish?  Third world?  I was just some little blonde girl who thought she had a lot of spunk but was really no more than a lot of talk.  I remember wondering those first three nights if I'd made a terrible mistake.  Could I go back home now?  What would I say?  "Um... yah... I changed my mind.  Wasn't really working out..." 

The first few months of my mission I prayed so hard that time would go by quickly so that I could go home.  The only thing that seemed to console me was that I had never met a missionary who had been stuck on his mission forever.  Everyone I had ever known who had served a mission had come home from that mission.  Surely that meant I would come home too.

And then it was eighteen months later.  

The night before I left my last area, Christmas Eve 2008, I remember lying on the roof next to my companion (100+ degrees in December), watching the crazy Argentinian fireworks and trying to take it all in.  I thought of all the people I had met, the experiences I'd had, the lessons I'd learned.  What if I hadn't come at all?  What if that first night in my bunk I had called on home and said "Hey. I changed my mind. This isn't for me. If it's okay with you, I think I'd like to just go on living my life how it was- studying, hanging out with loser boys, having a constant party with my roommates."  

I was so thankful that night for 20 year old Bonnie.  The Bonnie who had wanted to go home but didn't.  The Bonnie that was scared and homesick and nervous and had absolutely no idea how great the next year and a half would be.  If 22 year old Bonnie could say anything to that weepy, 20 year old Bonnie it would be "Thank you. Thank you for staying."  And if 20 year old Bonnie could have any of the knowledge that 22 year old Bonnie had, I don't think 20 year old Bonnie would be crying.  Not a teardrop.

It makes me think about everything that God has in store for us in our lives.  How many things there are that we want to run away from, or that we don't understand, but that will hold for us countless blessings if we see them through.  Sometimes I want so badly to see the end from the beginning, to know what the purpose is of the trials, the work, the refining...  

And it makes me wonder... 

What does 31 year old Bonnie know?

What does 55 year old Bonnie know?

What does 72 year old Bonnie know?

The day I left on my mission.  I know I have pictures of the whole family saying goodbye to me, but I can't find them ANYWHERE!

December 27, 2008.
Home.

***For more on Argy try these:  a post I wrote trying to adjust back to "first world" living, a post describing coming home after 18 months away from my family, and a post on how to be a white blonde and living in a Latin country.***

Home

A couple of disclaimers before we dive in here.

Disclaimer #1:  I am starting this post after midnight.  I promised myself all day long I would do this post and then, in typical holiday fashion, I procrastinated.  And while I may break a lot of promises to other people, I never break a promise to myself, so here I am, right before bed, hammering out this post.

Disclaimer #2:  I've been quite nostalgic for the mission.  You know... the 18 months of complete joy and torture that I endured down South.  Hence, this post will be another one about the mission.  If you think hearing about my adventures is Argy is a big yawn fest then quit reading, for crying out loud!  No one is forcing you.  I'll never even know if you stop right here.

But I hope you don't.  Stop reading that is.  Because December 27 holds a special little place in my heart.  I'm a date person.  I remember all significant dates in my life.  Baptismal date, date I started my period, first date with Greg, engagement date, date I went on a trip to California four years ago, date I bombed a calculus test, they are all stored away in my pretty little head.  And TODAY'S DATE is very important.  You see, it was exactly three years ago on this date that I was returning home from my old mishky in Argky.

Join me on a trip down memory lane.  The plane ride home was intense.  Surreal. I don't think I have ever thought about anything as much as I thought about what the day would be like that I came home from my mission.  I was kind of homesick... alot... on my mission.  I was sitting next to Elder Ward and Elder Daily and we talked about how totally crazy it was that the mission had actually ended.  Elder Ward told me his sob story of the girlfriend who had dumped him on his mission and then married his best friend.  I nodded sympathetically, happy that I still had my ever-loyal-and-faithful at home.  Lucky for me, that didn't work out.

I pictured the scene of my family waiting for me a million times.  They'd be crying certainly.  They'd tell me how long my hair had grown, how tan my skin was, how skinny my waist (not a good thing- those Argentine parasites got the best of me!).  One of these days I will figure out that I should stop imagining the perfect scenarios because it never works out the way I think it will.

The first thing that threw me for a loop was that my sister, Mindy, met me at the gate.  She had landed in Salt Lake less than an hour earlier, so she had just come to my gate to find me.  The second thing that threw me for a loop was that she was holding a baby.  Her baby.  I knew she had had a baby while I was gone, but it's just one of those things you don't fully register until you see it with your own eyes.

Mindy walked with me to baggage claim.  Her phone rang.  "Hello?  Hi mom.  Yah, I'm with her.  The plane just landed.  Seriously?  Okay...  I'll tell her.  See you in a few."  She hung up the phone.  "The fam is not here yet, mom had to make a few Christmas returns and your plane landed a few minutes early." 

Talk about anticlimactic.

So we went down the escalators, and I went to the bathroom while we waited for the rest of the family to show up.

Don't feel bad for me.  I understand.  I'm the seventh child in my family.  My family had already done the whole "Wait for your missionary at the bottom of the escalators" thing seven times.  By the time it was my turn the whole process had really lost its charm.

The whole fam damily arrived a few minutes later, carrying a darling sign my nephews had made and screaming "Welcome home, Bonnie!  We missed you!"  They told me I looked tan, they told me my hair was long, they told me my waist was small.  My mom took one look at the mission clothes I was wearing and concluded "We must go shopping for you, dear!"    They were forgiven.

I wasn't hungry, but the fam insisted we stop to get a bite to eat.  Something weird happened to my appetite in Argentina.  And by weird I mean that it completely disappeared.  We stopped at Cafe Rio and I could barely get five bites down.  We drove home to Price, and dad made pizza and I didn't even eat a whole slice.  Mostly I just remember walking around the house in a daze, not believing that I was actually home, everything seeming so foreign and so familiar at the same time.  Everyone was watching a Jazz game and talking and laughing.  I felt weird.  So I went to bed.  It was 7:30.

I was in a new land.  I felt as weird as I had felt when I first arrived in Argentina a year and a half ago.  And oh, the snow.  That year it dumped snow days before I came home.  I went from sleeping on the roof and sweating through my shirts in minutes to a foot of powder and bundling up in four sweaters to keep warm.

I felt so misplaced.  Nobody told me that it was hard to come home from the mission.  I didn't fit in anymore.  Everything was too clean.  Too nice.  Too rich.  While I was on the mission, the big 2008 recession had hit, but I didn't see no recession.  I saw cars and tile and microwaves and carpet and girls with new clothes and this ain't no recession, people.  This is prosperity.

My big break down came a day later at the Burger King.  Something about the ease of Burger King was too much for me to take in.  Everything in that fast food restaurant screamed of wealth and luxury and ease.  It was so simple to get a burger.  So effortless.  Two bucks and I had meat in my mouth, none of this slaving away over every scrap of food and living on dirt floors and washing clothes by hand.  I couldn't handle leaving a third world country.  Going from so little to so much completely did me in.  So out of nowhere, I started dripping big fat tears into my half eaten Whopper.

"What's wrong, Bonnie?  What's going on?"  My mom rushed to my aid,  "We know it's hard, you'll have to adjust, you've been in a third world country for 18 months, but you'll be okay."  My siblings added their two cents, "I remember it was hard for me too!  I missed the mission, I felt like I didn't belong at home..."  They hugged, they comforted, they wiped my tears and told me how much they loved me.

It was sometime during that Burger King hug session that I realized that no matter how much I missed Argentina and no matter how hard it would be for me to adjust back to living a normal life, I did know one thing for certain. 

It was good to be home.

The Call

Yesterday was a special day.
I know what you're thinking.  "Of course it was a special day.  It was Christmas.  Tell me something I don't know."  First off, you need to ease off on the sass, and secondly there is more to yesterday than just Christmas, so listen up, will you?

Yesterday was special for me because Christmas day means that I got to talk to my little sister, Mary, who is down South preaching the good word to the peeps of Argy. 

This year was our Christmas with Hubs' family who lives in Kaysville.  Mary would be calling my mom, who lives in Orem.  When I realized that I would be missing Mary's phone call I was devastated.  I couldn't ask Hubs to do Christmas with my family because we did that last year and it would be selfish and unfair.  But at the same time, it broke my heart to think about missing the call.

So Hubs, ever the problem solver, suggested, "Why don't you just drive down Christmas day to talk to Mary and then drive back up?"

By golly, I married some kind of genius!

So that's how I ended up cruising down I-15 at 3:00 on a beautiful Christmas Sunday.

The conversation was great.  Wait, did I say great?  I meant to say very very very short.  Mar Mar is one of those down-the-line, exactly obedient missionaries.  She believes we should always follow rules, which is the polar opposite of the rest of my family, who firmly believes we are always the exception to the rules.  The two beliefs naturally clash.  Mary insisted we only talk for 30 minutes, as that was the length that it says in the missionary rule book.  My family has about seventeen members so that allowed roughly 1.8 minutes per person.  We were all yelling to her, "Who cares Mary!  Certainly there should be an exception for us!  We have so many family members!  We need to talk to you longer!"

I was right there with them.  "Mary!  Talk longer to us!  Come on, we're an exception, don't you know?!"

But Mary refused to budge.  We could talk only 30 minutes.

We put her on speaker phone and gathered around the front room to hear her spunky little voice proudly announce that she has gained 15 pounds. 

When it was my turn I could barely even say hi.  "Hey Mary.  I mis...yo-...."  And then I choked- couldn't get another word out.  I'm just a big cry baby, but dang, I really do miss her.

The conversation ended much too quickly, and before we knew it the phone had cut us off.  We all sat there for a moment with Mary's voice still lingering in the room. Mom broke the silence, "Why did that conversation leave me a little sad?"  We sat there for a moment and then my mom continued.  "I just feel like it's so hard for her..." 

"It is."  A sibling spoke up.

"Yep, it is.  It's really hard."  The rest of us chimed in, doing nothing to comfort my mom.  We all served missions, and if there's one thing we know about missions, it's that they're hard.

I thought back to my first Christmas on the mission.  I called home on the phone in the little closet in the nearby chapel.  I rememebr so distinctly the whiteness of the tiles, the heat of the day, the incredible homesickness I felt as I heard my family's voices travelling across oceans and continents to reach me.  Everyone was gathered together enjoying the holiday without me.  The first six months of my mission absolutely rocked me, and I was ready to call it quits and just come on home.  I remember trying so hard not to cry during that conversation, to show my family how strong I was, that this tough, sassy girl was having no problems conquering Argy.  I kept it together until my dad got on the phone and said sweetly, "Hi, Bop!"  That's when I lost it- couldn't utter a word in reply and just let those tears stream on down my sunburnt face.

I don't really understand missions.  It's one of the hardest things I've ever endured, but at the same time I hold such a special place for it in my heart.  I wouldn't give up my mission experiences for anything in the world.  Something about the testing and the trials and the growth and the tears and the heartache attaches itself and all of a sudden it is a sacred part of you.  Every day I see the influence of my mission.  It influences the way I work, the way I communicate, the way I treat people, the way I live my life.  I guess that is the way with anything that is "hard".  It is difficult and we hate it and we wish it never happened to us, but when it comes down to it we wouldn't trade those experiences for anything because of how much we've grown and learned because of it.

And that's what I'm going to remember next time I'm going through something "hard"- which always seems to come sooner than I think it will.

In other news.  Here's some pictures of Christmas morning.  My camera is out of batteries so we've been using the phone camera, which isn't nearly as good.  Please accept my sincerest apologies.

Hubs' gift to me.
Yes, it looks like my head is growing out of the package.
We did it on purpose...

This is Hubs showing off his wrapping job. 
Check out the big green gift for his parents.
Hey, you can't be good at everything, people.

Welcome to Argentina!

***Warning:  This post is a little long.  And if you only like seeing pictures of me where I look very hot and sexy, this is not the post for you.  I repeat, THIS IS NOT THE POST FOR YOU!***

My lil sis is on her way to Argy as I write this.

That statement would also be true if I wrote this twenty hours ago.

It would also be true if I wrote it in twenty hours.

It's a long journey to Argentina, you see.

There's a lot I wished I knew before I ever set my dainty little foot in that country.  Stuff no one ever warned me about.  Lucky for Mary, I blazed that trail for her and you better believe I'm the kind of gal who shares her knowledge with her little sis.

To Mary: 

Advice for Conquering Argy

1.  The country smells like an outhouse all the time.  Get used to it.  It's just the smell of the land.

2.  Don't try to ask anyone if you can come by to teach between 1 and 4 in the afternoon.  That's siesta time my friend, and if you think those Argentinians don't take their siesta time seriously, you've got a thing or two to learn.

3.  Don't touch the dogs.  They're diseased.  If a dog starts following you, bend down and act like you are picking up a rock and that dog will high-tail it out of there. (**Disclaimer:  This trick does NOT work in the U.S.  It has been tried.) 

Oh, just a diseased dog roaming the streets of Arg.

4.  If you still don't know about the birds and bees, you will really get your chance in Argy.  Watch a couple of dogs for awhile and you'll undoubtedly understand how it all works.

5.  The dogs don't shut up at night.  Ever.  So if you think you're going to get a good night's sleep the first few weeks you can just fuhgeddabout it.  (And Hubs wonders why I hate dogs so much!)

6.  Don't flirt with the Elders (I had to include that one for dad.  Heavens knows mom isn't going to tell you that!)

7.  Oh, I'm sorry, you don't like washing all your clothes by hand?  Too bad, sista.

8.  They put eggs on their hamburgers.  Just go with it.

9.  Stand guard for the first time a woman breast feeds in front of you!  Argentine women have no sense of privacy, and  I reckon you'll see a few more bosoms than you bargained for.

10.  You're gonna be teaching a lot of bare chested men.  It's too hot for shirts around these parts.

11. These people don't own jack crap. Take that in to account when they turn the gospel down and won't give up their life to follow your message- they haven't had all the opportunities and blessings that you have had throughout your life.

The home of one of our investigators.

12.  Just because the men are drunk and perverted and cat-calling you from the side of the road, doesn't mean they can't listen to the good word!  Teach 'em girlie, and you've got yourself  a baptism!

13.  When it is sweltering hot at night in the apartment, take a shower in your garments and then sleep in 'em wet.  Or, if you have a porch, drag your mattresses out and sleep outside. It's the only way to get a little shut-eye in December, January, and February.

Sleeping on the roof in December- and a taste of ice cream before dozing off.

14.  During the day when doing personal and companion study, you can cool off by wrapping a wet towel over your head.

15.  When you see the fireworks on Christmas and New Years just love it.  You're never going to get Christmas fireworks again.

16.  Eat ice cream.  Every day.  It's dirt cheap and it blows U.S. ice cream out of the water. Eat ice cream on awful days when no one will let you in and on amazing days where you taught seven lessons in a row.  Eat ice cream when you love your compy and when you hate your compy.  Eat it when you commit someone to baptism and when someone bails on a baptism- after you've filled up the font.  I'll tell you this much, I never would've finished that mission if I didn't have ice cream to look forward to at the end of the day.

Before taking out the trash one P-day... each of these are 
containers for half pints of ice cream.

17.  When the relief society president is the same person as the primary president and the branch president doesn't have counselors and the elders quorum president is going to jail and the young mens president is inacitve, don't get depressed.  It's how the branches run down there!

18.  When only nine people show up for church six weeks in a row it's not your fault- no matter what the APs say.

20.  Take pictures.  Lots and lots of pictures.

21.  There's going to be some torrential downpour.  This makes the whole country reek even more because all the sewage on the streets gets wet and smells to reach the heavens.  And just know that when it rains, no one leaves their house.  But you still have to.

22.  If you need to cry, do it in the shower where your compy can't hear you.  Cry loud and hard, and then go on with the day.  But you won't need this one, because you are tough.  Tough as nails.

23.  Don't bother trying to find a grocery store- there aren't any.  Learn where the best bread shops, vegetable stands, and meat markets are.  There is a kiosko (grocery stand with a strange and unpredictable variety of food) around every corner and when you come back to the states and have to drive two miles to the grocery store, you'll think it's a crying shame.

24.  Look at the stars.  Find the Southern Cross and don't even think about The Big Dipper here at home.  He'll still be here when you get back, but you only get 18 months with Mr. Cross.

25.  You will most likely puke more in the next 18 months than you have in your entire 21 years of life combined.  If you're puking more than once a week, you most likely have parasites.  The bad news is you will be sick.  The good news is you will lose a lot of weight.

26.  Don't feel bad when people make fun of you for your American accent.  That's part of the reason why they love you so much.  And when they call you "gringa" and "gringita", embrace it.  Because once you're back in the US with a million gringas, being a gringa ain't so special anymore.

27.  Learn Argentine slang, jokes, idioms, and nuances of the language.  Argentines are so stubbornly prideful about their language that they don't even call it Spanish, it's "Castellano!"  And it's beautiful.

28.  The first six months out there, time will crawl by and you'll think it'll never end.  The last six months will be a kind of warped time on speed, and before you know what happened, you'll be on a plane home.  Enjoy it while it lasts, honey, because it ends much too soon.

29.  When you start having dreams that you're teaching the lessons in Spanish and the spirit is strong, even in your dreams, then you've made it.  Made it to the big time, sista.

30.  Carry a water bottle around with you.  Leave the apartment without it and die.

31.  Don't worry when you're sweating like a whore in church after only ten minutes outside.  That's just the way it goes.  Make it a contest with your companion- first one who has a drop of sweat roll down her back gets a free Orange Fanta from the compy.

32.  Memorize scriptures or practice Spanish as you walk.  Because believe you me, you're going to be walking.  A lot. And a lot.

Packing to go home from the mission- looks like I'll chuck the shoes.

33.  Don't think about home too much.  We'll still be here when you get back.  Besides, it's not like we even miss you around here!

34.  Love those lazy, sleeping, partying Argentines.  They're some of the best people out there.  And the members?  You won't find 'em any stronger.

35.  Cry when you come home.  Cry and cry and cry.  Even if I didn't tell you this, you'd do it anyway, because you won't be able to help but bawl your eyes out when it's all over.

Can you tell I'm just a little jealous?

Hark! Hark! Hark!

Last night my mom said to me, "Oh, you have to see this group on this TV show! They're Mormons and they go to BYU and they're darling."   And since all Mormons love to see other Mormons doing anything mildly famous, I fell right for it.  We sat down to watch, and what do you know?  Staring right into my eyes across waves and waves of television (Does television come in waves?) was a familiar face. 

But first... let me rewind a little bit.  Allow me to take you to the summer of 2007.  I spent my days studying the gospel and learning Spanish in the midst of dozens of boys who were two years younger than me.  The MTC.  Elder Welch was my Zone Leader and he taught me the ways of the missionary center.  He showed me not only how to survive in that jungle, but how to become master of the place. And I did. With his help. (But not in any way that involved anything romantic or us being alone with each other.  Or even within six feet of each other. People. This is the MTC we're talking about here.)

The truth is,  Elder Welch's and my relationship had not always been a bed of roses.  It all started when I was having a bad day and just wanted to go to lunch and not read my scriptures anymore.  (All things in moderation, I say!)  I was annoyed with the following:  Hot, stuffy classrooms. Smelly 19 year old boys in suits. A language that was not coming to me.  Too much gospel study.  Elder Welch. 

You see, for weeks Elder Welch had been singing a hymn.  Not just any hymn either... the most annoying hymn in the history of the history of all hymns.  It goes like this:

"Hark! Hark! Hark! -'tis children's music! Childrens' voices oh how sweet!  When in innocence and love, with the angels up above, they will happy hearts and cheerful faces meet." (Hymn #307 -In the Lovely Desert.  I mean, come on, with a name like that, you know the hymn is gonna be a bust.)

I think Elder Welch found out that I hated that hymn and thus started singing it incessantly.  Or else maybe he started singing it incessanly and then I began to hate it?   You never can tell when you hate something so much.  Thought becomes schewed. 

Now... you might think this hymn appears innocent enough on the surface.  But it is anything but, my friends.  Each Hark! was sung by Elder Welch in a high, barking falsetto. It sounded like a dog was singing at me.  A dog with a high voice.  I mean, can you imagine?  A dog singing at you?!  It would be complete and utter torture!

Shoot.  I'm getting off track here thinking about dogs singing falsetto.  The important thing that you know is 1) I hated the song 2) Elder Welch sang it alot.  To annoy me.  On purpose.

Finally, after a long morning, it was lunchtime.  Forty five minutes of respite and peace.  A time to do nothing but stare into that bowl of Lucky Charms and wonder what all my friends were doing at home without me.
It was silent and I was enjoying my solitude.  (And by solitude I mean my companion was sitting right next to me, but you get the point.)

"Oh hey Hermana Blackburn.  Don't mind me."  Elder Welch sat down across from me. 
I did not look up.
And then.

In a soft voice, "Hark!  Hark!  Hark!"

"Elder Welch.  I swear.  If you do not stop that, so help me--"
"Children's voices oh how sweet..."
"Seriously."
"When in innocence and love,"  He was singing higher and higher with each phrase.
"No! This is not innocent!  And this is not with love!  You are doing this on purpose to irritate me;  now cut it out!"
He stopped.
"Thank you."
Silence.
Lucky Charms crunch.

"Hark!  Hark!  Hark!"  Unbearable falsetto.  Excrutiating pain.
"Elder Welch!  If you do not stop that, I am going to pour this soda all over you!"
"The Children's voices!"

So I did it.  Just like that and without a moment's thought.  I dumped my MTC-approved-caffeine -free-diet-coke in his lap.
Silence.
But not the good kind.   

You know the silence where something was supposed to be funny but it went totally awry and people are actually legitimately upset now and nobody knows quite what to say because they've never been in this kind of a situation before and it's awkward all the way around so nobody says anything it's like the world freezes over for a split second?

That kind of silence.
Elder Welch stood up, the diet coke and ice falling from his lap to the floor, motioned to his companion, and they exited the cafeteria without a word.

In my defense, I did warn him.

The next few days were strained around Elder Welch.  Avoided eye contact, nothing to say to each other, weird vibe whenever we were in the same room, etc.  All attempts at conversation fell flat. 

After four days of tension, I couldn't take it anymore.  I decided to repent of my wrongdoing, beg his apology, and end the matter once and for all.  I wrote him a note- something like this:

Dear Elder Welch,

I am sorry I poured caffeine free diet coke in your lap.  It was supposed to be a joke, but I realize now it wasn't funny.  I took it a step too far.  You are the best zone leader ever.  And the only zone leader I've ever had.  I want to still be friends.  I hope you will forgive me.  Also, I am sorry because sisters aren't allowed to write elders in their zone and now we're breaking a rule. 

Hermana Blackburn

P.S.  Hark!  Hark!  Hark!  The children's voices!

And suddenly everything was better.  Okay.  Maybe not 100 percent better instantly.  But the awkwardness left, and we were back to being friends.  We acted as if the diet coke incident had never happened.  There was a kind of unspoken agreement that neither of us would whisper a word about it, and we were oh-so-faithful to that agreement.

Which brings me back to watching TV last night with my mom. (Well!  I bet you never thought I was going to bring this back around, did you?  Well, surprise, surprise, I did!)  Imagine my delight last night when I was watching TV with my mom and I saw Elder Welch's smiling face. (Or shall I say cheerful face and happy heart?)  ON THE TV!   Right smack in the middle of The Sing Off. 

There he is, the little stinker.  I put a giant red circle around his face for your convenience in identifying him.

Can you believe the nerve of the guy?!?  This whole time he had had a great voice, but he had been tricking me into thinking he was an awful singer by doing annoying fake falsetto.

And even worse-  he had made it to the big time and he hadn't even bothered to tell me about it.

 
But that's beside the point.  The point is...
 

He's practically famous!

Which makes me practically practically famous!

You see, where would Elder Welch be if he hadn't had me to practice his falsetto notes on?  If he hadn't had all those hours and hours of voice training singing In the Lovely Deseret with me in the MTC?  If I hadn't so patiently, lovingly, willingly listened to him?  Coached him?  Encouraged him?

He wouldn't be making the big time now, I can tell you that much. 

He really owes me one.

Water temperature

I went on sabbatical. I dont even know if I spelled that right, but I guess on an informal blog nobody in the world cares. I don't even know if anybody in the world will read this. I went to Argentina for 18 months. That is a long time. That is long enough to have 2 babies. But I didn't. I'm still baby-less. And I think I will be for several more years... mostly because my best friend came over last night and told me all about childbirth and how much her body hurts now that she gave birth four weeks ago. So I'm pretty happy with childless Bon.

The sabbatical was nice but now I dont fit into where I once belonged. And there are a lot of things I dont understand. For example, why is the water always exactly the temperature that I want? I can turn the knob exxactly to the temp that would be perfect for me. In the shower, in the sink, even when I am washing dishes. That is bizarre to me. In Argentina it just came out one temperature, and the temperature of the water depended on the temperature outside. If its hot outside, the water's hot. If it's cold outside, the water's cold. Simple enough. I wonder how they do it with the knob so that it comes out just like I want it.

Some things change and some things never do. I noticed there are still a lot of BYU prudes on BYU campus and I kind of want to stick it to them, but then I decide I dont want to because they are probably insecure and unhappy and nervous so then I just feel bad and decide to be nice. I dont knwo if I am as witty or clever as a writer as I once was. Well, as well as I thought I was, anyway. Who knows if I am really as great as I think I am. There is a tall white guy in a suit down here in this computer lab and I wonder why he's all dressed up. I also wonder why he's white. Everyone here is white. That's weird too. Where I came from I was the only white person and now I am just one of many many many in a group of endless white people.