February 4, 2011

I guess she was a beauty in her day, but her day is past and gone. She's blonde (bleached?), about my age, half my size and bent over the same direction I'm headed, but no matter; it's summer and the beach is calling, (the sun is going down on her, but it's high noon at the beach), and that neon red bikini in her hand might be just the ticket to draw all the men's eyes to her wrinkly old body. She's gonna drive 'em crazy with lustful thoughts. I know I'm a little crazy just watching her shop, as I wait for BJ to try on shoes. BJ is not nearly so decisive. Gotta admire the little old lady's pluck. Maybe the guys at the beach will admire her for that.

The Achilles tendon is still sore. Little relief from the meds, and they can't get her into therapy until Feb 8. One nice thing. We can get her prescription refilled just by asking the pharmacist. (Well, I've asked three and none of them have it in stock.) We may have to get some of our US meds refilled that way if our shipment doesn't arrive before we run out. So far we have had no health problems related to our pre-existing conditions. Hope we don't need any serious care in the next year. They talk a good game, but I'm not sure they really deliver. I'd rather not test the system. If it is like other systems here, you could die waiting.

With our new ID card we finally got the car ownership registered to us, after three trips to the Notaria. Now wait three weeks for the documents to come in the mail. The Notaria is more than just a person who verifies your signature. It is another layer of beaurocracy. It takes a whole three story building and dozens of employees and tables full of rubber stamps and everyone's thumbprints just to document a transaction. Count on a couple hours minimum. There were only 11 people in line ahead of us. Not bad.

Then at the end; Surprise! You owe $160 in taxes. Oh, no one ever told you. No, we don't take Visa or checks or US dollars, but there is a cash machine about two blocks from here. Too bad, the bank closes at two and the cash machine is broken. Look, there's a money changer man down the street. I guess that's why I've been carrying this $100 bill in my wallet these 5 months. Still I'm $40 short. Thank heavens for the nice guy selling us the car. He loans me the difference just to get the deal done and the car out of his name. Don't worry about it he says.

The silver lining? As we picked him up from the US Embassy where he works, we look across the street, and lo and behold, there is a little store that says they have outlet clothing from Marshall's and Ross. They appear to be closed and we can't find a parking place. Another adventure for another day.

A sweet adventure took us to a little country town about an hours drive from the office Thursday pm. Because we had never been there, sweet Elder Acosta, the AP who goes home in six weeks, insisted on accompanying us. He really didn't need to, but they are so protective of us. We love it.

Anyway, there are some people there in a 25 member branch who took piano lessons from the previous couple, had continued on their own at home and needed some additional lessons. They requested Sister Pack to come. She did. Two of them (and a pet goat—more later) showed up and she spent an hour and a half with them. The twelve year old girl leads the sacrament meeting music thanks to the training she got from the McCowns but is not quite ready to play in church. The older woman is an eager learner and may be the branch pianist soon.

I stayed in the foyer carrying on a long disjointed “Spanish” conversation with a 30 something, single, returned missionary, electrician who was waiting for an English class the Elders were going to teach. One of the Elders went into the chapel for a few minutes and came out exclaiming, you should see what is happening in there. It is amazing! Sister Pack is teaching them at full throttle without speaking more than a word or two of Spanish, and they understand her. I can't believe it.

Believe it. It's called the interpretation of tongues. It is a gift of the spirit. God needs those people to understand and learn and He makes it happen. Every week BJ reports to me the marvel of it. It is truly humbling. We may never master the language, but no matter, The Master opens the minds and hearts of the people. We don't know what they hear. We hear what we say. They seem to hear more. Not just with their ears. You are right Elder Smart, it is amazing.

About the goat. Just a little kid really. He came with some human kids who come to play soccor every time the church gate is opened. They had him on a rope, but let him loose, and he headed straight for the church door. When they caught up to him, he was startled and dropped something on the doorstep. Another day in the countryside. A nonmember boy in the group took a couple of piano lessons before and wants to resume. We figure the goat was there to get mom and the boy together. Mysterious ways.

We got a key to our branch building. We weren't asking for a key. Just wanted to get in to teach piano on Wed. Two weeks in a row they said someone would open it but didn't. Then we heard there was a new policy that the buildings couldn't be open before 8pm and only if the bishop or branch president was in the building. Then the stake president denied such a policy. We were confused.

So Sunday we were called out of Sunday School to meet with the branch presidency and the other missionaries for a very confidential, don't breathe a word of this, nothing leaves this room converso. After half an hour they handed us a key which we must never divulge nor reveal nor loan nor duplicate nor transport out of the country. We are welcome to teach piano; they want us to do so, etc. etc. Here's the short of it. We called the assistants, they called Pres King, he called the stake president, he called the branch president, he called us on the carpet and gave us a key. Forgive and forget.
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Today was my birthday. I got to do something I've never done before. I carved a wooden leg for Elder Dorius. Well, not for him personally. I found a stand-up fan with three legs. They have no fan. Now they have a fan with a wooden leg and I have a happy blister on my finger. I got well wishes from the office elders, and Kevin's comp Andres Toledo came by to bring me a “cake”, but we can't get internet or skype to work.

I tried to buy internet yesterday with the help of Elder Dorius and his Spanish skills. It looked like we were about to consumate the deal, when the salesgirl asked for my Chilean bank account number. I no have. You no can buy. We went to four places trying to buy minutes for my prepaid wireless stick, but just got the run around, so today I bought another stick with 30 days free ($40) service, but I can't get it to work. Poor signal tonight. Try again tomorrow.
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Poor signal today too. Not enough power to load my email or open any tabs, so I'll write stories. Tomorrow I'm going to try getting a bank account.
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no bank account; no internet, so. . . . I am at the office. Now it is Fri the 5th. Got to get this sent.

Just heard that Mom's brother Bob in Arkansas died following heart surgery following a heart attack yesterday.  We are sad.  Mom stayed home today.  He became a bornagainexMormonChristian and it was difficult to talk to him and relate to him because they thought very differently about things. We visited him a couple of times, but could not have a comfortable conversation or relationship. That has always been sad for BJ. She and Bobby were two years apart and grew up happily together. She went one way, he another.

Quick report: last night we went back to the little Bollenar Branch 75 kilometers away for piano. Seven students, 3 spouses, eight soccer players, two missionaries, (no goats this week) and a bag of peaches made for a great three hours. Two of the soccer players said they want to start learning. We weren't expecting this. WOW! We'll have to get more books and keyboards. Kevin says that word spread about the kind Gringa piano teacher who gives free music lessons. One of the new students has studied at a music conservatory and will soon be ready to play in church. Elder Jensen has been here almost 8 months, playing in church, building a choir, getting BJ and her class together. Now he can leave and leave a legacy. The whole town will be singing and playing.

Now for story time. BJ wrote this for my birthday:

When I met my sweetheart years ago,
He was a missionary in the army of the Lord.
A wonderful spirit he did carry;
Who could know that we would marry?

I did not know him;
How could that be?
But a very familiar spirit was he.

Could we have met a long time ago?
Maybe, before this life our friendship did grow.
Yes, I knew him;
That I know.

Could we have talked and planned of things to be?
Was there a sweet friendship between him and me?

I don't remember,
But my spirit says Yes.
He was my dear friend.
Of that I can attest.

I left 37 days before him;
From Christmas 'til February first.
We promised to find each other,
Somewhere in this big wide earth.

The Church will be the tie that binds,
Were the last words he said to me.
We'll both live worthily,
And someday we'll find each other;
You will see.

So I knew that the future would bring to pass,
Looking and finding each other at last.

I had to leave for my birth on the earth;
I wondered what would be:
Could we look to the future;
Could our paths cross somewhere?
I wish I could see.
I'll keep myself worthy,
To meet him someday;
This I promise;
This I pray.

So. . .When I saw him as a missionary,
The spirit spoke to me;
This is who you've been looking for,
But a missionary he must be.
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Now, for the rest of the story, from Blair:

True, I was a missionary when I met Grandma, but she wasn't Grandma then, she was Betty Jane Forsyth and I was Elder Pack, so how did we end up together on a mission here in Chile almost 50 years later?

Missionaries can't date or dance or be alone with girls or call them on the telephone. They must lock their hearts to the opposite but still attractive humans. Missionaries have to stay at least an arm's length away from girls, and surely can't get married or engaged. (However, I knew a sister missionary who had a date on her mission and before the day was over she was engaged. I'll tell that story later. Our story is not quite so dramatic. Or is it?)

I was a district leader in the Florida Mission with six months left when President Lyman sent me to Jacksonville to train a greenie and be on a bike instead of in a car. No leadership, no car and a green companion who didn't know anything. I felt like I was being punished, but it turned out to be the best six months of my mission. Elder Toone became my favorite companion, and we worked hard and had good success and great converts. Because of my connection to one Florida Forsyth family, I have reconnected with some of them years later. That's a story called “The Thirteen Year Delinquent From ?????? Street”. Later. I'm very grateful for that time and those people. Eventually Elder Toone and I got a brand new 1963 American Motors Rambler—ugly brown.

And I got a bonus missionary blessing. During that six months, in fact from day one, I noticed with interest a young woman like no other I had ever seen. I didn't know that she had noticed me with similar interest. Now let me assure you that we both keep our distance and adhered very strictly to all the mission rules. We just watched each other from a distance, without disclosing anything to each other. We never called, never dated, were very careful not be alone, and I focused very intently on my mission.

It was full disclosure to each of our mothers and to President Lyman, all of whom counseled us to wait until my mission was over to make any moves or say anything to each other. In every monthly interview President Lyman asked the missionaries if they had met any girls they liked; had they been on any dates; had they called on the phone; had they spent any time alone; had they done anything they shouldn't have with each other?? Every month I said, “yes”, “no”,“no”, “no”, “no”. He was very straightforward with me. He said I was on my honor and if I or she did any of those things I was to call him immediately and I would be in a new area of the mission by morning, and no one would be the wiser, except me. We didn't, so I didn't have to, and neither did he.

It would have been hard not to notice her. She was everywhere in the Jacksonville 3rd Ward . And she was very easy on the eyes, which, by the way they do not poke out at the MTC. You lock your heart, but you get to keep your eyes. If she had held the priesthood she would have been the bishop. When I came into Sunday School (back in the day, we had three separate meetings on Sunday: Priesthood Meeting at 8:00, Sunday School at 10:00, and Sacrament Meeting at 6:00 or 7:00) she was leading the music, teaching the practice hymns (I miss that); she taught the young adult Sunday School class; she was the Young Women's President, and chairman of the Bishop's youth missionary committee. At Sacrament Meeting there she was leading the music and/or the choir or giving a talk, and she played the piano at baptisms and other occasions. Of course she was at choir practice and Mutual. Everywhere I went she was there.

Except when we went to her house for dinner about once a month for fried chicken and strawberry cake. She was never there. I thought she had to work, but later found out that she simply left before we came to avoid being too close. That may have been her mother's idea. Sadie Belle said, if he comes in the front door you go out the back; if he comes up the front stairs (at church) you go down the back ones. So we never had sit down time together and never really talked except greeting and leaving.

She later said she thought I was nice—to all the girls. I learned that she had been to BYU for a while, came home to work and get ready for a mission, and had received her temple endowments and bishop's interview. She was going on a mission. There was one girl, Marie Welch about 15, who said she was really worried about Betty Jane because she didn't even have a boyfriend and would be an old maid when she got home from her mission. She'll never get married. Not to worry, Marie.

I worked hard, kept my mind on my business, and had the best time of my whole mission, keeping her tucked away in the back of my mind. I only mentioned her once in my journal and never talked about her with Elder Toone. We just went to work every day and the Lord blessed us.

I loved Joe Toone. He was a big red headed farm boy who left a football scholarship to go on a mission and didn't have any time to waste. He also didn't waste any money on such things as dry cleaning. He saved enough money on his mission to buy a car when he got home. Sadly, he died of a heart attack in his forties. As far as I knew Betty Jane Forsyth was going on a mission. And I was going home.

In those days your mission president released you and sent you home. I was finishing my mission about the time President Lyman finished his, early July, so I didn't get a formal release interview. He released me by phone. My parents and brothers were coming to get me and drive around the country on the way home to Utah. About two weeks before they arrived I asked Sister Forsyth if maybe she could get off work one day and her family and mine could spend the day together. Could I? Would I?? Name the day!! I'll clear my schedule. I had no idea what a welcome prospect this was for her. I was looking forward to it too. Nervous, but. . . glad.

I was released and replaced on Friday, my family came and we left for a downstate trip to Cypress Gardens. Sunday we were back in time for Sacrament Meeting. Bishop Greene didn't know that my father NEVER spoke in church and asked him to speak on short notice. He did good. Betty Jane invited me to go to a fireside with the youth. We did. Not really a date. But awkward. I'm with these people just like last week, but now I'm not a missionary. What do they think I'm up to? Exactly why missionaries are counseled to go home immediately.

Monday was the big day. My family of three brothers and her parents & one brother. We spent the day at Sea World and Saint Augustine walking around the sights and talking. In the afternoon we lounged about the motel pool, never even getting in the water because we were so absorbed in each other. She even scratched my back, a sure way to a man's heart. I mustered up enough courage to ask my dad if I could take his brand new 1963 Ford Falcon station wagon for a movie and a hamburger with Betty Jane. Our first date. Three days post-mission.

I was pretty green and awkward, but we had a good time and accidentally kissed as she reached for her root beer just as I turned to say something to her. Our lips collided, and---what could we do? I was smitten. Admiration was quickly turning into something more romantic. I took her home—another little kiss on the porch, and I said, I love you. She said, no you don't. We left it there.

The next day she went back to work and I got in the overloaded blue compact wagon with my parents and three brothers for a month on the road, seeing the sights of the east coast and the Mormon historical sites from New York to Utah. I began writing letters. Every day. She got one the day after I left and started answering them. Where could she send them to me?

We were going to stay a couple of days with my father's sister, Edith, a locally known artist, who lived near New York City. When we arrived Aunt Edith started teasing me about the perfumed mail waiting for me at her house. I didn't mind the teasing and couldn't wait to read the mail. Included was a nice 8 by 10 glossy of Betty Jane which kept me company for the rest of the trip and at college. For whatever reason I had left my photo with her, too. Good thinking.

For the next three months our letters crossed in the mail somewhere over Kansas. Actually, it was two trains passing; we didn't use airmail. It cost extra. Regular postage went up to 3cents about then. I think air mail was 8 cents. There was no such thing as email or Skype and we never called on the phone. I never even thought of it. My family didn't use long distance unless someone died. No one did. Just a letter every night after work or school. Mushy stuff. Mine perfumed with sagebrush; hers more flowery. I always wrote with green ink. We have those letters in the attic somewhere.

This was July August September. October General Conference was coming and her family was driving to Salt Lake City for conference. We arranged a rendezvous for 10/4. I was in love. I was in college. I was poor. I didn't even have a car. She was going on a mission, or was she? She hadn't mentioned it in her letters. And I didn't want to ask.

I walked to the Logan Temple several times a week after classes and really enjoyed my time there. I was praying about her and asking if I should ask her to marry me. What? You've had one date. You've known each other less than a year, most of which you were a missionary. You are virtual strangers. You come from different ends of the country, ta, da da, ta da.. I'm not listening.

It was a big decision and not easily made, but with reassurance from an experience/ warning/assurance in the temple one afternoon, I made up my mind. No doubt. On ten-four, the 4th of October, I would ask. She arrived. Our families had dinner together. Next day we went to Temple Square for the morning session, watched conference at home in the afternoon (more k-i-s-s-i-n-g; Tommy said we made him sick) and went bowling in the evening. She beat me at bowling, pool and every game we played. I was just a bit nervous. She was tranquilo as they say here. She didn't know what I was planning.

Next day we went to Temple Square and listened from the outside because we couldn't get in the tabernacle. As we sat in the sunshine between the tabernacle and the north visitor's center we raised our hands to sustain two new apostles: Thomas S. Monson, and Boyd K. Packer, in that order, so as I write Elder Monson is President Monson and Elder Packer is President of the Quorum of The Twelve.

After priesthood meeting that night I was to pick her up to go to a Florida Mission reunion. On my way to the motel where her family was staying I stopped at a pay phone to call my parents and tell them of my intentions. It would have been more thoughtful to ask their advice and blessing, but I wasn't thinking about them. They were surprised to say the least, but I didn't have time to discuss the matter. My love awaited.

In the car outside her motel room I asked if she would like to become Mrs. Pack. She said she would, but shouldn't we ask her parents first? OK. In the motel room with her father, mother and 14 year old Tommy, when I laid out the proposal Sadie Belle Forsyth, struggling to get up on her crippled flebitis legs, came face to face with me and simply asked: Are you clean?

It was the most important and amazing interview of my life. One question. Yes or no answer. Are you clean, Elder Pack?—that's how her mother knew me. I've been interviewed by General Authorities before my mission, when I was set apart for my mission, when I was hired for CES, when I was called to the stake presidency twice. I've sat before dozens of bishops and stake presidents and answered the standard questions, but none have had the impact of that simple, straightforward, single question everyone in the room clearly understood.

I am forever grateful that I did not need to hesitate or think what to say or fear the consequences of my answer. Simple question. Simple answer. Interview over. Hugs, tears, congratulations. I have always been impressed by that powerful, brave interview by a mother who had devoted her life to teaching her little girl and helping her remain chaste and pure. I'm glad my mother did the same. I'm glad we listened to our mothers. Bless 'em. I think they are proud of us.

So we had the weekend together, but I had to be back at school in Logan and her family was turning back to Florida. We fit a lot into that weekend, including a trip to the jewelry story of my boyhood ward member, Sylvan Eugene Needham, for visible proof to show to the folks back home. I proposed with my Seminary graduation pin, and hadn't thought much about a diamond ring. My first buy-now pay-later purchase. For prompt payments over the next year BJ also got a nice pearl pendant necklace and I got the girl of my dreams. Sweet deal.

Three more months of daily letters. More mush. More sagebrush and flowery spray stuff. Now, looking back, with the internet matching people up without ever meeting, I realize how easy it would have been to exaggerate ourselves or keep something hidden from the other. We didn't do that. Our letters were frank and honest and we got acquainted the best we could.

We were still strangers when we got married, but what we did know about each other was the truth. No surprises. Except that men are different from women and marriage takes a lot of work. I had three younger brothers, no sisters, and didn't know much about the gentler gender. It was a steep learning curve for me.

By mail our mothers planned a nice wedding and reception for us for December 27, our choice, not our parents'. Again, I was not very thoughtful of my parents or hers. Her family had to make another trip to Utah. My parents thought we were rushing things. We were.

We didn't want to wait until the next summer. So what that we didn't have jobs or money or a place to live? It would all work out. It did. The wedding was wonderful, but we had to wait in the temple for 50+ couples to be married that day, and by the time the reception was over we were completely worn out. It was so foggy as we left the reception that I had to open the car door (1956 Chevy, our first) to see the white lines below me.

Our weekend honeymoon to the World Motor Hotel in Salt Lake was restful and sweet. We went to a Jerry Lewis (of telethon fame) movie the next night (Mom fell asleep), then to my parents, then to Logan to our first apartment, which I had found and paid for somehow ($40 a month). It was January in Logan, Utah. Cold and snowy.

We lived up the hill from the city park which had an ice skating rink in the flooded baseball field. At night we lay in our attic bed with the windows raised, the snow blowing in, listening to the sounds of skaters and music, the light from the Logan Temple providing our night light. We loved it. It was a magical time. Two kids together forever. She changed my life forever.

Now here we are again, 47 years later, together as missionaries in the Chile Santiago West Mission. When we were first interviewed by President Stevens and his counselor, our son Kevin, it dawned on me that Betty Jane had at some time put her mission plans on the shelf back in Jacksonville, Florida, and had never gone. She had gone with me instead. She had moved to Utah. She had left her family, friends, job, ward, and all her comfort zone to go on another kind of mission.

From that moment in the stake president's office I have thought of this as HER mission. And I get to go along and be her companion. The Lord called her and let me go, too. I doubt that she would have ever chosen to come to Chile or any foreign country for that matter. It has been a big adjustment. At least as big as getting married. More difficult in some ways.

When we got married we learned that women are from Venus and men are from Mars. We speak different languages, have different cultures, expectations, ways of thinking and talking. It takes a while to learn each other's language and create a new culture together. It's a challenge, but it's definitely worth it.

We are again learning another language and culture, not our own. Not familiar. Not always comfortable. We are strangers in a strange land, but not to each other. Not anymore. Now we are more together than we have ever been. Not just 24/7, but in heart and mind and purpose. And here I am again, writing (almost) daily about her mission, our mission, the Lord's mission for us.

Ask me if I think it's worth it.

I'm glad she waited until now to go on her mission, so I could go with her.

LUV Grammy and Gramps