Pasamos Agosto

Chile has all these sayings that I am just beginning to hear but I just love them, and love being "in" on their humor about life. As I was shivering at the church after our teaching session last night, some sisters told me about Pasamos Agosto. It's when old people (60+) sigh in relief that they've lived through August when fragile people sometimes die from the cold. Not that it's very cold, but inside drafty unheated buildings it is often colder than it is outside where the sun usually warms things up. So as I left, I said, "Just two more days," and they smiled and gave me a warmer than usual hug,
denying that I could be old enough to celebrate the day.

And speaking of drafty, I suggested to our missionaries and to Jay that the tragedy of two Elders dying in their sleep of carbon monoxide poisoning in Taiwan couldn't happen in Chile, but he is insisting on getting CO detectors for their house anyway. No worries about ours; our water heater is outside.

Another weather-related saying is "Be careful, it might just be veranito de San Juan." Verano is summer and veranito is a little summer in the middle of winter--a tease that tricks you into going out unprepared for the cold that will inevitably return. I've seen no one willing to brave the outdoors here  in the shorts that are common in Utah junior high schools as the snow is coming down. Quite the contrary: everyone is dressed as if they are headed to the south pole--face wraps, hats, layers of clothing including tights and overcoats.

So tomorrow I'm preparing to celebrate old people's El Primero de Septiembre Fiesta--assuming that we successfully pasamos agosto! Stay tuned..........

Charcoal

Burning wood to make fuel to burn for heat and cooking strikes me just a bit like curing radiation-caused cancer with radiation, but I can't argue with the result of either.

We stumbled upon this charcoal operation on one of our recent farm visits and were fascinated by the process. We had seen clusters of these large hornos elsewhere, but couldn't imagine what they were. This time, a number of them were puffing away and we had a chance to observe these large earthen ovens at various stages up close.

There were probably 10 or 15 of them--shoulder high from the top but taller than me from the lower door-like entrance in a small clearing in a remote area at the edge of orchards and farm land. A gentleman was overseeing the operation and had bagged up the cooled charcoal from some of the ovens. Others had stacks of espino (a thorny, protected tree in Chile branches. If you remove an espino tree you are required to replant another, though not necessarily an espino) branches and other raw wood ready to go into the ovens, and some looked to be filled with trash--perhaps the wood goes on top of household papers and burnable garbage. This one was actively cooking, with smoke coming from any number of porous openings, but primarily from ground-level. From the looks of things, the interior cavern is larger than the dome structure in the center. I asked what keeps the wood from burning up entirely and was told that they keep the fire very small.

From the picture below, it appears that they limit the amount of oxygen in the chamber by means of a metal door propped shut.

Being a bit of a pyromaniac and in love with the smell of wood burning, this was right up my alley and I lingered until I was so warm that I had to take off my newly knit sweater--now fragrant with smoke-- to finish the walk.

You see charcoal vendors all over, selling from the backs of pick-up trucks and in small stands. I have no idea what the yield of "carbon" ends up being for a ton of wood. That would be interesting to know. It would also be interesting to know what the impact these operations have on air pollution world-wide. But in a country where the stars are visible every single non-rainy night, and homes have maybe two light bulbs against the darkness, I will not blame rural Chileans for any holes in the ozone layer.

Simple Gifts

Audrey Hepburn said you can tell what kind of woman a man thinks you are by the kind of earrings he gives you. Only one man has ever given me earrings and I married him. (They required that I get my ears pierced so I guess he thought I was fancier than I am, but that's a story for another day.)

The gifts we've received recently have been so perfect you just have to believe that people know who we really are.

A morning at the farm where I got to dig my fingers into a kinky lamb's 

wool coat as he stood on his little wobbly two-day old legs.

Balls of hand-spun wool yarn, wooden knitting needles and a crochet hook with a hand-made clay cooking pot from one of our most diligent students that we teach and fix dinner for once a week.

An invitation to a typical almorzar (lunch, but really dinner) after a teaching appointment
in a home in the country. Yes, she cooks like this every day at noon.

We receive much more than we give on this mission!

The Miracle of the Berliners

....not to be confused with The Miracles of the Loaves and Fishes. This was DESSERT!

Last week we decided to ask new-member-George (Hor-hay) to make some of his specialty filled doughnuts for us to share at the Fundo. Why yes,  Chile is a perfect place to find German pastry of this variety, surprisingly.

We debated how many to request since so many workers have been laid off for the winter. When we took cookies a week ago there were about 25 trabajadores. I suggested to be safe we should have him make 40 or 50. In true Jay fashion, "Elder Bagley" (aka: "Bagley" or, at times, "Val," the previous missionary) ordered SIXTY Berliners and arranged to pick them up at noon today from his humble home.

The aroma was tantalizing as we sped to the first of two comedores where the workers eat lunch, but we restrained ourselves from trying one in the interest of getting to both places on time. We were amazed at the number of men and women that were working today. Tables and vans full of people just finishing their break who were so happy to see us bearing dulces! Many thanked us in English and we were on our way to stop number two.

The huge tub of pastries had diminished considerably. I counted only 13 remaining, and fearing it wouldn't be enough, made Jay go count the number of men. He came back to the car in 3 seconds saying, "It 'll be close, but we can figure out what to do if there are more people than that."

Nervously we began passing them out. Seven in the first area. Smiles all around. Six left. A bunch of guys are playing ping-pong and watching the game. I'm afraid it's more than six--I can't tell if anyone is in the corner of the room. Well, here goes. One. Two. Three. Four. The ping-pong players. Now the watchers. One, two......we scan the room, check out the corners, the porch....it's enough. Just barely.

We don't care a bit that our portion was the joy of having "suficiente." Oh, and that heavenly smell.

The Church in Chile: thoughts at the 6 month mark

Those who think that Mormon women don't wear pants to church have lived on the Wasatch Front too long. Here, it's maybe even more common than wearing skirts, or dresses. This winter, I've taken to both--well, really just yummy black long-johns under a skirt with fur-lined boots on my feet; but many or even most women are in pants. Nobody cares.

I love how every person greets every other person at church with a "como esta?" and a kiss on the cheek for women and children, even teenagers, and quite often men. As we have come to know people better, the kiss on the cheek comes with a tight and extended hug around the back, too. I. love. it. I did, however, buy the wrong kind of glasses before we left. These frameless ones invariably end up lopsided and smeared. Again; nobody cares.

Chile has a very low church activity rate--something like 16 percent. We see a good solid base of people at church, but there is also
 a percentage--maybe 30 percent--who seem new to us every week. With four sets of missionaries it's probable that some are investigators, but I just have to conclude that lots of members only come occasionally. This has got to be a focus as we move toward becoming a stake again. (Yes, Chile has a lot of branches and districts that used to be wards and stakes. We are working toward mature discipleship--my words-- and measured growth this time around.) Our great neighbor (in K-town) Jill Mills talked about the wards of the Church relying on STP (a fuel additive for cars), but in this case the Same Ten People; so in a way, it's a problem everywhere. We have a clot of folks who do everything, and others participate if they feel like it. BYU had a slogan, "fully committed," which is a good goal for individuals, families, wards and branches. There would be no having to rely on the STP if everyone were fully committed and carrying their little bit of the load. Wouldn't that be heavenly!? Fully committed, Not STP.

So I'm thinking about conversion. It's not really "carrying the load" that matters. It's enjoying the fruits of the Gospel. What does real conversion do to a person? It makes them different. Two of our students that have been members less than a year have told us at one time or another that they are "better" men. It is noticeable to others. These people radiate love and testimony and goodness. "By their fruits ye shall know them."

The young LDS managers on the farm--returned missionaries, often English-speaking college-graduates--are impressive to their peers. One man, not a member of the Church, tried to explain to us the quality of men he works with, "They are.... (he struggled in Spanish to find just the right word) ....noble." And they are. After a full day's work on the Fundo, they go out with the missionaries, or they lead in Branch Presidency Meetings, or they participate with their families in English classes, or they watch over a Young Men's activity, or fulfill the goal to attend the temple every week--returning home just before midnight. They are anxiously engaged. Unselfish. Impressive. Yes, noble.

The olive trees provide many metaphors, but for this topic, the care and attention to the newly planted trees is apropos. The new directions from the Missionary Committee are critical--watching over our converts for at least a year--preferably years--as they are assimilated into the ward or branch with friends, callings and being nurtured by the Good Word of Christ. Every member needs the care we give to an orchard we love and have hopes for. The hugs and kisses we receive on Sunday are but a start, and if a person isn't attending regularly, they miss even that (not to mention renewing covenants with the Sacrament and the spiritual nourishment available only in that sacred setting). The trees can't tell us when they need water, or fertilizer until it's way past time to apply it. Similarly, our members don't give off obvious signals that they are in need. This is our challenge throughout the Church and in our families. If we have tasted of the fruit, and know that it is good, how can we share it?

Juntos

Juntos means "together" in Spanish and it is our motto for our mission. We have found assorted pieces of wire on our walks through the Fundo, just lying on the ground. We would pick up these scraps when we encountered them and eventually began searching for just the right O or S. Once we learned this word, we were on a hunt to complete it, with its initial heavy-gauge letter "J." We also have the word "love" spelled out with a perfect curly L from barbed wire, which was probably the letter that got us started on this treasure hunt. Both words are the sum of our wall decorations in our little home in Chile.

At one of our favorite family's houses, we were introduced to the word juntos as the couple described for us building their house together, with smiles of pride as they looked into each-others' eyes. It truly is a home--the words el hogar, which breathe hearth, fireside, warmth and welcome-- from the gate entrance posts that support an ancient wooden oxen yoke, to the newly enlarged kitchen with its wood-burning stove and plenty of room at the table for any and all who show up. This family and their home radiate togetherness.

I think we're getting better at this juntos thing, too. After nearly 50 years of marriage, and now being together almost constantly, I think we're getting closer to understanding it. Kahlil Gibran's words on marriage used to trouble me-- I wanted no "spaces in (our) togetherness," I wanted to "drink . . . from one cup." Now I think I understand the lines, "And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow."

It means that we don't need to be embarrassed by each other's silliness, or mistakes, or foibles. "People get to be who they are." This includes those we married or gave birth to. How freeing! I'm not responsible, I'm not the judge; I get to be a spectator, giving them the space and the benefit of the doubt as I would a stranger--more even, because I know them intimately.

My leftover vegetables for breakfast (beets with salt today) and Jay's need for traditional breakfast fare can coexist happily. Jay's fluent Spanish and my teaching experience aren't competing and complement each other perfectly on this mission divinely inspired just for us. His willingness to be the driver works with my "knitting madly to keep my eyes off the road" coping strategy; and he has learned not to take it personally when I ask him (yes, scream) to slow down! We can read scriptures from both English and Spanish: the same verses at the same time, trading roles; sometimes me in Spanish, sometimes him, and get more out of it than we ever did alone.

My goal in being a principal was to learn what I needed to learn. My goal on my mission is to become what I can become. With God's help, and with Jay's--juntos--I am trying.

Al-righty then!

After trying to post many times and finally resorting to FaceBook, I'm back to see if time and being ignored has worked its magic on this blog site. If yes, I'll be back. If no, not many minutes wasted.

Well, well, well. I think this is going to work. I love Day One as a journal, not so much for a blog. I don't want my business being THAT public, and know only die-hard friends will ever check this blog.

Lots to catch up on if this were that sort of a blog, which it isn't. What it is, I'm not quite sure, but today I want to think about my progress in the Spanish language.

At times I think I'm getting better; and then someone tries to tell me something and I smile and nod (no-nos when you really have no idea) and you hear one say to the other, "She didn't understand a thing." Well, I understood THAT, thank you very much.

I am putting phrases together. Something like, "How many days ....to visit....your father....in Santiago..to finish?" Or, "At what time is the .....World.....toy....today?" Then, it's time for the Chileano to say, "I don't understand." I try again, "At what hour is the....football...." "Oh! Partido! A las quatro---at four o'clock." They say the last part in English.

Well, I am here to teach English. Should I be pleased or discouraged?

 Yep, completo-style hamburgers: a thick layer of mayonnaise, another of mashed avocado and a layer of tomatoes: Whopper Italiano. It was a mistake, can I just say? Next time I spring for American, I'm going American. Maybe next July Fourth.

The Fourth of July was spent yarn shopping with these two beautiful women: Hada and Sarah. I thought it was Ada until I saw her ID card. H is silent in Spanish. It reminds me of the British fellow in our tour group in Peru, who said his name was "Buuuh." Spelled B-e-r-t. I guess if you say your name is Buuh, your name is Buuh, and if you say your name is Ada spelled Hada, that's the way it is. Alrighty then.