Because food

Because a boat of sushi is good for the soul

After what I can safely say has been the most intense (#TheStanfordRapist, the slaughter of 49 innocent people because assault rifles are meant for target practice) weekend of blogging here in the Den, I think we're ready for a bit of a pivot. And what better way to pivot than news from TMFKATB? This week's update was a brief celebration of the good he encountered this past week. While given Sunday's vicious hate-fueled slaughter in Orlando, it may be hard to believe there's much good left in the world, there still is.

TMFKATB saw it as they were dealing with their own broken down car. Someone was willing to help them and get it going again. He saw it in the face of someone who was willing to let them in and hear what they had to say. Those are little things but I needed to hear that today. There's still some good out there.

He also, proving yet again he is so my son, celebrated the food they encountered this week. How can you go wrong when you celebrate your lone day off as a missionary with sushi for lunch? Or when you get to dive into stuff like this:

Shrimp cocktail - he called it the best he'd
had in a long time

God bless my Cuban soul! Arroz, frijoles negros,
ropa vieja y plátanos

These meals that he had were given to him by people as acts of kindness. Again, there's still good out there. And what better way to celebrate that goodness than over a good meal. Because food is awesome and a welcome relief from the Hellscape of this past weekend.

Editorial Note - Saturday's post on #TheStanfordRapist has quickly become the most read post in the Den. Mine is but one voice but I can only hope that it has sparked a conversation in your sphere of influence about turning away from the rape culture that is so pervasive in our country. Sunday's post, while raw in the wake of the slaughter in Orlando, has also garnered a lot reads and has sparked some discussion on the Facebook. Conversation time is over. Our elected officials need to stop genuflecting at the blood-soaked feet of the NRA and do something to stop this madness. Now.

Another Lesson from 'Learn From My Mistakes'

"May I suggest Lava the next time?"

This blog is many things. It is a history of me and my family, whether they like it or not. It is a showcase of my rants and raves. It is a view, albeit an unsettling one at times, into what makes me tick. It is in many ways a train wreck and not doing any one any favors. There are times, though, when it does some good. Dotted throughout the blog are posts where I have learned life's lessons the mostly hard mortifying way. On more than one occasion, I have cautioned you, the good denizens of the Den, to learn from my mistakes. Today is another of those posts wherein I will beg / caution you to do exactly that.

It all began innocently enough today because it went down at Church. We had just taken our seats in another pew, different from our regular one, which may have thrown me off just a little (thanks for snatching our pew, Logan). Services hadn't started yet when my Ted Cruz fangirl and Mistress of All Things Fox News frenemy (friend, really I promise!!) came up to talk to the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML. After resolving a critical issue about flowers, she turned to me to ask if I'd seen her post to me about an International Food Truck Festival.

If you've spent anytime here in the Den, you know I love me food something fierce. You also know that it's all the better when it comes off a food truck. So the mere mention of food trucks is going to provoke a reaction (think 'Trump fans reacting to a Muslim attending one of their rallies' reaction) in me. It did not matter that we were sitting in church, I reacted. The last time we attended a food truck rally here in the 'Stan, it was cataclysmically disappointing. So with my desire to protect the integrity of real food trucks engaged, I launched into a screed about the food truck scene here in the 'Stan.

Me: "OK the International Food Truck Festival? We've done it. Taco Bell is more international and less risky. The International Food Truck Festival! The International Food _uck Festival..."

Yes, right there in church, it happened. I dropped the bomb. The "F" bomb. As soon as I said it, I felt a heat flash through, akin to the power of a thousand suns, and I looked at my friend. There was a look of abject horror, followed by laughter as I bolted from the pew. I had to get out of there, if for nothing else to get a drink of water to cool the burning of mortification cranked up to 11.

Now, for once I was using my quiet voice, so only the two of us heard it. So there's that. But you try repeating "International Food Truck Festival" a few times fast and see what comes up. I don't think it's going end well for you either.

So what have we learned today, people?
It's not a good idea to put the words food, truck, and festival together.
It's a really bad idea to get me amped up about the sanctity of food trucks in church.
As we saw today, it's just not going to end well.

I'm off to enjoy the taste treat that is a bar of Lava now to atone.

If I've said it once, I've said it a million times...learn from my mistakes.

Laboring as a missionary

"Stop making that face or it will stay that way." So says his mother.

Today is Labor Day, a day that celebrates the contributions of workers to improve the country and themselves. Let me just say right now we are not going to plunge into a discussion of what unions have done to the American workplace, so Mittites, calm down. This is not what this is about at all.

Rather, it's about TMFKATB as he labors behind the Zion Curtain today in the mission field. It's his P-Day, or day off, so like the rest of the country, he gets to rest from his labors for at least part of the day today. His weekly letter brought not a lot in terms of news. It's transfers this week and his companion is heading home, having completed his two years of service, so we thought we'd hear of his new assignment or a new companion but nothing yet. He might send an update at the end of his P-day later today.

He's nearly at his year mark or halfway point of his two-year service. He doesn't seem to be counting. Instead, his letters, and today's was no different, reflect a focus on what he's doing and the people he's serving. He had a bunch of questions for me about my trip last week to Mexico City. He loves the people of that country. Amazing what an impact those eight months living and serving there had on him. If he has it his way, we'll be heading down there when he gets back. There are a lot worse things you could do than hang out with your son south of the border, eating tacos and taking it all in from his perspective.

I hope by then I will have regained my cast iron stomach. It was a thing of legend and has served me well, allowing me to savor the flavors of the world, literally, with nary a care for, oh I don't know, things like cleanliness or what the meat I was ingesting really was. Dog? Pigeon? It really didn't matter. Well, apparently now that I am solidly middle aged, that stomach has thrown in the towel. Suffice to say, things have not been pretty since I got back from Mexico City. I blame the removal of my gall bladder last year, which is stupid, since it's a useless organ that you don't need. So, I have just over a year to pull it together and get my stomach back to fighting condition. This is going to be fun.