Tamales. He's learning to make tamales.

Working the masa

By his own admission, this week's letter from The Missionary formerly known as The Boy (TMFKATB) was full of ups and downs. He's been 'in country' two weeks and the reality of his new world is setting in. He misses his family, but not overwhelmingly so. He's doing his best to focus on the work that there is to do and that is certainly helping him. He's feeling better about the language too. Although he does not see it yet, I can see the impact on his immersion in Spanish in his letters. Some of his phrasing in English is taking on Spanish grammatical structure. He mentioned that in talking to his companion, they determined they like the same music. Remember his companion speaks not a word of English so TMFKATB would have had to drive that conversation in Spanish. I think he's learning more than he realizes. His sense of humor is intact too. As is his growing love for the people he is serving.

As I read his letter today and had a few minutes of real-time exchanges with him, I so wished I could be at his side. I'd love to be coaching him with the language and helping him as he endeavors to teach and serve. But that's not my role right now. He gets to learn and grow without his parents at his side now. And that's good. Just taking some getting used to in these first few weeks.

He did, however, shoot a loving arrow across the bow today with his proclamation that he had learned to make tamales, authentic from the hand of a sweet Mexican lady tamales. He even provided photographic evidence. This sent both his mother, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML, and I into spasms of joy. Because tamales. Because homemade tamales! Our urgent need for tamales, particularly at Christmas, will now be sated upon his return. That he will be bring home such an awesome talent is for me, a tamal addict, dare I say it, glorious.

This is beyond joyous news, people, you just have no idea.

Lottery

One of the few educational highlights of my high school waste of time experience was my junior year English class taught by Mr. Miller. I'd always been a reader but he took literature to a whole new level, opening my world and it led me to my decision to be an English major in college. This unfortunate choice, like nearly all other English majors led me to a career that has absolutely nothing, and I mean nothing, to do with my major. But my love of the written word remains firmly intact.

One of the stories we read all those many years ago was Shirley Jackson's 'The Lottery.' If you haven't read it, you should. Now. Although there are a host of interpretations of this powerful short story, I'm in the author's camp on its commentary on "pointless violence and general inhumanity" in society. Note that this story was first published in 1948. Its commentary is as timely today as it was nearly 70 years ago in an era that seems so far removed from ours.

I've been giving "The Lottery" some thought this week as I've watched a stream of invective spew through my Facebook and Twitter feeds and on what little television I've stomached. It was Election Day earlier this week in the United States and the political rhetoric got ramped up to 11 again. The polarization in our nation has become untenable and it manifested itself in the aforementioned feeds. So I had to get bulimic on those feeds and purge away. Ironically, there was an article earlier in the week claiming that liberals are more likely to 'defriend' someone who disagrees with their political bent than those on the right. I can honestly say it was not the beliefs that caused me to purge. It was the level of vitriol and negativity that did it. So if that makes me a bleeding heart liberal (and in my faith, given that I'm fairly centrist as opposed to right-wing that pretty much makes me a raging leftist), so be it. The bottom line is that I'm done with the vitriol.

I realize that I've been guilty of those same behaviors. And for that I am sorry. I guess I'm tired of our inhumanity to one another. What has it gotten us? A whole lot of hate. And that is good for what? Any one?
Is this thing on?

I don't want to be the one holding the stone, ready to cast it. And I don't want to be the one taking a rock in my skull. No good can come from that. So I'm going to control what I can. When I find myself picking up that symbolic stone, I'm going to ask myself what good is going to come from launching that little fusillade? I'm going to continue to embrace the diversity that I have in my life. I love that I have friends from all parts of the world with all sorts of different points of view. I do not agree with all of those points of view. Nor would I want to as that makes life boring. And I don't want a boring life.

It's time to put down the stones.

Now Monday is our new favorite day of the week

We can now say that Monday is our new favorite day of the week. With the first email from The Missionary formerly known as The Boy that arrived just before 1:00PM Eastern today, it was 'game on.' We'd now know where he was living and what the first week "in the field" has been like. So here's what we know:

Where he is: Tuxtla Chico, Chiapas (a town of about 7,200 people just outside Tapacula, Chiapas.) It's basically on the Guatemalan border and the Pacific Ocean (thanks, Google Maps!).
Does he have a Mexican companion: Indeed, Elder Diaz from Mexico City. Speaks not a word of ingles.

We had a chance to do a little back and forth real-time emailing. The quote of the day from him was "Mom, you would vomit if you saw my living conditions but it doesn't bother me." His personality is still intact! And we knew it would be.

His attitude is great. He's already loving the people. He's adjusting to his new world. In another real-time note to me he said, "There is always music in the street. It's just a party here. So poor though. Tin houses and everything. And the rain is crazy."

Honestly, this has been such a great day. Knowing where is and that he's happy is all we needed. Yes, he's drinking the water, much to his mother's dismay. He'll get used to it. He's my son and there's very little my cast-iron stomach hasn't liked through the years.

Here's a couple of pictures:

One of the streets in his new area

"The food is so freakin delicious"

The tamale shot was sent specifically to make me jealous. It worked.

My Sister

No, not that kind of Sister

Ah, sisters. No, I'm not referring to the good Sisters of the Catholic faith. On them, I think the media has given them a bit of a bad rap, from the singing and flying (The Sound of Music, Sister Act, The Flying Nun) to the coldly oppressive (Doubt), it's safe to say that these women and the good work they do have been woefully misrepresented. That said, I could write for days about the fearsome Sister Mary Stigmata from the brilliant Blues Brothers movie. Her ninja-like use of a ruler is one for the ages.

No, I'm referring to the one sister I was blessed to have. It's her birthday today and her day deserves some 'virtual' ink her in the Den. I'm proud of my sister. She's done some pretty amazing things with her life. She's fiercely independent. She's a medical professional. Her advice to me, "Take the Valium," prior to an agonizingly unpleasant procedure reserved just for men was some of the sagest counsel I've ever gotten. She's smart. She's a good mom. She's remarkably forgiving.

We didn't always get along all that well. Because teenagers. Because one of us was pretty imperious and one of us was pretty impetuous. I'll let you guess who was who in that little teenage match of wills. Fortunately, we managed to recover from that. The passage of time allows you to look back and learn some things from life. My sister has taught me that no matter what may get thrown at you and even if you get knocked down, you pick yourself off, patch up the scratches and keep going. That's a good lesson to remember.

I'm glad she's my sister. Happy birthday, friend.