February 16, 2011

Begun Feb. 10, 2011:
It doesn't rain here in the summer at all, not a drop, and they do not have thunderstorms. In the winter and in the south it rains a lot, and in the mountains they have thunderstorms occasionally. So how do you explain the flashing sky, the booming explosions and the downpour of rain yesterday in the middle of summer in Maipu and much of Santiago?

Normally confident three year old Matilda was scared out of her wits and ran crying for Papa Papa. All the teenagers and most of the adults came running out from piano and YM, etc. to see this wonder. Sister Cantreras said this was the first time she had ever seen such a thing in all her thirty-something years. Next day it was front page, full page news. How can it be winter in Chile in the summer it said.

BJ and I receive it as a tender mercy from Father Above just for us misplaced Mississippians. Is that super-ego or what? Would He alter the weather so drastically just for us, when we didn't even ask for it? I don't know, but I loved every drop and boom and flash. I accept the gift, thank You.

BJ couldn't come out right away, but it lasted and returned again later last night and again most of today, without the donder and blitzen. We and the parched earth rejoiced even if the locals were mystified. I have a list of things we miss. I need to add afternoon summer thunderstorms. Who knew?

Imagine the cacophony I'm exposed to with 7 keyboards going all at once. Some are kids who just want to make sounds. Some are recognizable LDS tunes. Tonight we are in Bollanar again with a Sunday sized crowd, members, neighbors, townsfolk. Elder Jensen is working with one group; BJ with another. We had extra students, but not keyboards and blew a transformer on one, so people are standing and watching. If they are lucky, they'll get a turn later. A mother is helping her teen age son. She plays a little.

Bj gave them a Heath bar and when she reached to pick up the wrapper and throw it in the trash the sister jumped up, said no and something about remembering, smoothed it out and put it in her music book. A keepsake. I'm having a ball watching from the sacrament table; BJ is wearing herself out and loving it. Tomorrow we can sleep late. And order more teclados (keyboards) from the generous Harmon Foundation. Actually, we order from church distribution and the Foundation pays for them.

Mornings have been a trial for me lately. I wake up but can't get up until I get a jolt of Advil and a heat treatment (a microwaved sock full of rice) for my sciatic nerve. I literally can't walk for about an hour; then it gets tolerably better and the day goes OK if I don't sit too long at a time. [PS: it's much better, now, thank you.]

BJ's doctor doesn't treat backs but recommended a good spine surgeon who speaks some English. Did he say Surgeon? After the appointment she said, in no uncertain terms, that if anyone comes towards either one of us with a scalpel we'll be on the next plane North. We'll tell you which airport.

Our car has been making cute little tire-squeeling noises when we go over speed bumps (there are hundreds of them instead of traffic cops, tickets, speed limit signs, etc.) and white traffic lines. Then they got louder, more often, then continuous and annoying, then horrible and no longer cute. This over a couple of weeks. It sounded dangerous. Yup he said. The man at Goodyear said the whole front suspension needed to be replaced. With genuine original Mazda factory parts imported from Germany it would be near $6000US, more than we paid for the car.

White Knights to the rescue. Elder Cummings and Elder Barlow went on-line and on the phone and before the day was done they had negotiated a $600 deal for the most critical repairs using parts from a non-German factory somewhere on the planet, probably not far from here. It drives much smoother and perfectly quiet now, and comes with a 90 day warranty, including towing 5 times. Why that? Membership has its privileges; ownership has its costs. I'll pay, and ride. And in the bargain I have a new friend at Goodyear: Carlos. I like him; he likes my money. I don't even miss the cute little squeels. I also got new limpiaparabrises (windshield wipers), before winter really starts.

One of my fun jobs is making redneck freezer doors. The missionary fridges (read: cheep) have flimsy plastic freezer doors which invariably break off. A pizza box serves for a while. The pres said buy a truckload and replace them. I said let me try something first. With a roll of duct tape and a panel of 3cm foam insulation I can produce 6 functional doors for a few pesos. I tested them for several weeks. They last at least that long.

A fringe benefit is that they only fit if the freezer is defrosted every month or so. That will be a mission revolution. So far no complaints. Now the whole fridge doesn't freeze over. We saved thousands of Brother Huntsman's tithing for another purpose.

When the expense or the savings is big I say it comes from Brother Huntsman's tithing. When the expense or savings is small I say it is from the widow's tithing. They are equally important and blessed. This week's story is about Tithing and the Typewriter. Later.
…....A little later:

The Typewriter and The Tithing

I learned to type on a Royal School Model typewriter with blank keys. Eleventh grade, Logan High, 1958. No letters or numbers; just black keys and a chart on the wall showing where the letters were. We were to look at the chart and tell our fingers where to reach. Don't look at your fingers. I still don't, Mr. Sorensen. Most of the time. But I can't remember what is above the numbers, so I cheat and sneak a peek. ~ ! @ # $ % ^ & * ( ) _ +

I talked too much to the row of flirty girls behind us, didn't get very good grades, made a ton of mistakes, but it might just be the most useful class I ever took. You wouldn't be reading this story but for that class. And I wouldn't be here on a mission with a lifetime of church service behind me without a valuable lesson related to that Royal typewriter.

1966. I was in graduate school at USU, finishing a Master's Degree in English. I thought I was becoming an English Professor. I'm glad I didn't. I had a much better career with the Church Educational System. We had been married three years or more and money was tight. With two little kids BJ couldn't work and my income was slim as a graduate teaching assistant. We had to get student loans and pinch the pennies until Mr. Lincoln cried out in pain. I was saving a little money to buy a typewriter to do my thesis. I couldn't afford to hire it done. Besides, I like doing my own.

Actually, I wasn't so much saving money as stealing it. From the Lord. When dear Bishop Jenkins (Logan 11th Ward, later patriarch of River Heights Stake) called us into his office after Sunday School, he didn't accuse me of such. Instead, with tears in his eyes he noted that we hadn't been paying our tithing lately. He said he knew we needed all the blessings we could get and that the Lord was unable to open the windows and let them pour out. He wanted us to have all the blessings we needed.

I don't even remember him asking us to repent. But I could not have not. His love was so sincere and motivating I reached for my wallet, took out the bills I was going to spend on the typewriter. We paid our tithing. We'd start saving again. We wanted those heavenly windows to swing wide.

It didn't take even a week. We were listening to the Swap Shop on radio KVNU and heard an ad for a used typewriter, cheap. We called, went to look, and lo and behold. There was my old friend Royal, with beautiful blank black keys. The lady said no one wanted it because they couldn't type without seeing the letters. Therefore she had lowered the price to only a few dollars to get rid of it. A match made in heaven.

The windows unlatched and swung and out poured a blessing that has never ceased. Neither have we. By the way, you don't pay tithing with money; you pay it with faith. Just do it. Prove me, says He.

Friday
The new girl at the post office hasn't learned that she is not supposed to smile and be helpful. True. If you do better than your peers you'll never get ahead, but getting ahead is not in the program here. Social/economic levels are pretty well set in stone. She recognizes us as we come from the street and starts hauling packages from the back room. The other six workers watch without admiration.

They are nice people and will talk to us. Sometimes the security guard is helpful if we have a lot of stuff to carry out. One of them finally admitted to being a member of the church. Chileans are closely guarded and cautious. Not just at the post office.

Andres Toledo once told us that the difference between his country and ours was a matter of trust. In the US we assume people will do what they say or are obligated or paid to do. We are free to move about physically, socially and economically. We assume that while we are gone our house and family will be safe and still there when we come back. We generally assume people are and will tell the truth, no thumbprints required. Politicians excepted. We are not afraid to disclose information about ourselves, such as our religion, political party, personal preferences, family details, work history, on and on and on. We unconsciously feel a level of trust to allow all of that. We expect it. We count on it, and most of the time it works. Thank God.

When a crafty document forger who was a “good” member of the church blew his cover and “accidentally” blew up a bishop and was found to have scammed and embarrassed the church and some General Authorities by making and selling important “documents” about the early history of the church, many people were shattered. Their trust was violated. Their faith was compromised.

After the dust settled and the ugly truth came to light, President Hinckley admitted that we had been sadly fooled, but that the church would always choose to operate in a climate of trust, albeit with more caution. I like to operate in that climate. This one makes me very uncomfortable. Carlos gave me a price for fixing my car. No written estimate. No certainty what he would really fix or how much it would finally cost. So far my trust has been validated. I count him a true friend. So far.

But there is a valid reason for this discomfort. Within memory of people your age Chile endured two totalitarian dictatorships, violent revolutions, brutal military rule, collapsed economies, quaking fear every moment. Things we never have experienced nor can we imagine. I can't tell the whole history; you can look that up. Chileans are still suspicious and don't trust anything or anyone because for many years they couldn't.

People by the thousands disappeared. “Disappeared” became an official explanation. Your father could disappear and no one knew why or where or if he would ever come back or who would be next or why or when or whatever. You couldn't trust the cops. You couldn't trust the military. You couldn't trust the government. You couldn't trust the money. You couldn't trust your neighbor. You couldn't trust anyone or anything.

It takes a long time to heal from shattered trust. Ask the parents of teenagers or the victims of marital infidelity. It seems it may take generations for this whole country to heal. In the process lips are sealed, walls and fences are built, multiple locks installed, big dogs posted, security guards stand in every doorway of every business and government office. It's better, but not healed. I think it more a matter of national paranoia than of crime rates. But it is real and palpable to us visitors.

The economy seems stable, even healthy. New houses by the thousands are being built in safe and colorful crowded subdivisions. If you've never had a house a 900 square foot box sharing a wall with the next door neighbor and a postage stamp yard looks like paradise. Add a job, a new subway system, modern grocery stores stocked with at least two of everything, paid vacations to the beach, free health care and a social security system and you have a 21st century rebuilt/rebuilding democracy where almost everyone votes and election day is a national holiday when nobody has to work. Trust and hope are being restored one peso at a time.

$1,000 pesos, or one mil peso, is about $2 US, but the exchange rate has gone down about 20 pesos per dollar and gas has gone up at least that much per liter, so our expenses are rising. Then add the car. Still our expenses are less than when we lived at home. We have low rent, no phone bill-land or cell, no cable or satellite, lower insurance, no income taxes, one car we don't drive nearly as far, plentiful cheap fresh fruit, no trips to Hudson's or Dirt Cheap(that accounts for most of the savings), no movies, not much restaurant eating (McDee does not count as a restaurant), no stuff to buy or maintain, no travel trailer or vacationing (the few motels here are called houses for love making), no Hudson's or Dirt Cheap, and only two mouths. Did I mention no Hudson's or Dirt Cheap?

It's a mixed blessing. We're loving it and at the same time longing to feed 20 or 30 of our loved ones every/other Sunday. I think the other couples we work with feel the same, so this week we are preparing lunch on two days for about 20 zone and district leaders each day. Everyone eagerly volunteered to cook or buy food. A member feeds the missionaries lunch every day in every ward, but the RS or SS (Sociedad Socorro) don't cater the zone meetings. We're bringing a dozen watermelons, peaches, nectarines, grapes. Our twice a week trips to the campo (countryside) yield bounteous harvests.

We've found a man who sells raw milk. He delivers it around Bollaner where we go for piano on Thurs. He delivers early in the morning; we go late in the afternoon and will have to go to his farm, with our own containers, cooler and ice, and when we get home boil and refrigerate it. Next morning—cold fresh milk. I'm thinking it will be worth it. They say to use it within three days; then it starts to sour. That's about two liters a day. We can handle that. Mom says I might have to handle it alone.
-------------------------

Sunday afternoon
Tomorrow is Valentine's Day and not a conversation heart to be found. Lots of chocolate boxes and some chocolate hearts and plastic roses. Street vendors making and hawking huge crepe paper flowers and balloon hearts. I did find a small display of cards the other day. I need to get it translated before it goes public. I don't want to embarrass myself, and BJ. Hope the fresh flower vendors are out again tomorrow.

Today at church she took candy bars taped to red-heart-lace doilies (is that really a word?). The response was puzzlement. Each time, she had to explain why she was doing this. You know, tomorrow is the Day of Love. This little “happy” is because I love you. Ooooh ya! (borrowed from the Germans?) Brightly beams an appreciative/bemused smile. The sisters took off the candy and tape and smoothed out the doilies to save. Rosa, one of Mom's students, somewhat over 39, reached into her purse and gave BJ a crocheted bookmark with a heart in the middle. Sweetness.

Back a few chapters I said new teeth, wedding, baptism. It's happening this week. The wedding is Friday night, Marisol (similar in age to Rosa) and her lifetime beloved companion; the baptism Saturday afternoon. The whole branch will be there (eventually) to hear me give my first talk in Spanish. I've got to find a good one and memorize it. Today I was prepared to teach the Aaronic Priesthood lesson, but it wasn't my week. Skip that one and prepare another. I get an extra week because next week is stake conference, by satellite with a dozen other stakes, maybe all of Chile. I don't know. I also don't know about the teeth.

Families are again out on the playground after a cool wet week. I think the kids had cabin fever. No school til March. They are especially active today. A young family of five walks by licking pink heart-shaped ice cream on a stick. They've got the spirit. One maturish woman seems to console another and the husband of the consoler brings a drink of juice for the consolee. Somewhere they are singing Happy Birthday. Good neighbors.

Remember we found a Marshall's/Ross outlet? We went there the other day, borrowed a parking place from the high-rise Holiday Inn Express, and found it shuttered and almost empty. A few bolts of cloth someone is storing there. Salvage here means picking up stuff from the side of the road or after the feria. Bitterness.

BJ is also a little bummed/frustrated/bitter that with all the fine stores she can't find anything she likes in her size. Believe me, she's looked at every piece in every store. I was there. Skirts, blouses, shirts, suits. She's still looking for the right pair of medium lift shoes. Espadrilles just won't do; this one is too tight on the toes; this one is too sandalish; this one doesn't come in black; this one is too spindly; this one too frumpy. Have a little sympathy. For both of us.

We got a bundle of love notes/Feliz Cumplea~nos cards from the grands, thanks to Jenny. Thanks to everyone. We loved them and the other reading material which we are now devouring for the second time. Kids say the darnedest things in the cutest ways.

Jonathan wanted to know if we had had any missionary oprataties. Every day everywhere we go, JJ.

Jack says sorry the pictures in this card are not real. Me too. So send me a real one buddy.

Self designated Favorite Grandson Sam says 50, right? Oh well, you look 50 to me. Close enough.

Caroline and Linds can't believe I'm 29. I can't either, but thanks.

Maddie still proclaims us the best grandparents in the whole wide world. We won't argue the point.

Matthew is proud of us for setting a good example for the little kids. Including you big boy/little man.

Emma generously regifted the birthday card we sent her, redecorated with the entire box of crayons. Creative, Colorful and beautiful, just like you girl.

Sophie filled the margins with XXXXs and OOOOOs and hearts. Same to you, sweetheart.

Ava drew a picture--me with a perfectly round, perfectly bald Charlie Brown head, and Gramma young and beautiful. You got it right Ava (with mom's help). We love you too.

Ella loves to see us on Skype. We love to see you, too bouncy girl. Can't get it to work today.

The bottom line, by Maddie. It's hard to think your getting older, because you look so young.

Reo Grover promised me that this mission would add ten years to my life. I just turned 69. I already feel 79. Thanks a lot Reo!
….......................................

Poem of the week: composed January 2011, by BJP

He came to earth to show us the way;
He suffered all pain our sins to pay;

He healed the sick, made the blind to see;
Can't we but serve Him faithfully?

Can we treat our brothers with love divine?
Can we search for the lonely, the sad and find

Those in need of a helping hand?
We promise to serve all those we can;

Following on the path He trod;
Bearing witness of the Son of God.

Always He helps us to find our way;
When we've not listened and've gone astray.

Well He knows us and deeply He cares;
Ever our burden He gladly bears.

He is our Savior just the same;
Forever we praise His Holy name.

Please know of my love Lord;
I give you my word:

I will try harder to truly serve you;
Eternally grateful for all that you do.

OK, I'm puttin' this in a Coke bottle and throwing it into the blue Pacific. Hope it gets to you soon. Grapes are 35 cent pound today. Hope they come down a little soon. They'll be hitting the US in a few weeks, but they won't be 35 cent. Ha.

LOVE, from GRAMMY AND GRAMPS