Olive really likes brownies, so I've discovered. She'll subtly hint when she wants me to make more, and she'll eat most of them, but while she does she'll constantly say things like, "I shouldn't eat this." "Don't put these in front of me." "No more of this now," as she grabs another piece. I've told her you only live once, so enjoy and really at her age, and considering her health, she should just live it up while she can. No one wants to get to the Pearly Gates and think, "Should've eaten those brownies."
So yesterday afternoon I went to lunch with Olive and her good friend Morse. Morse is an absolutely adorable old man, short, very quiet, drives a giant black Cadi. We went to one of those ubiquitous "family restaurants" that never seem to have families as patrons, mostly the elderly or creepy, overweight, middle-aged men talking to each other loudly in a corner booth. Discussing crimes no doubt. Our poor waitress was having one of those days, where you try your best to be on top of things, but it seems the world is conspiring against you and everything goes wrong. She took forever to get to our table. Olive ordered the fried chicken and I said, "I'll have the same." For some reason the waitress thought that meant I'll just share with Olive, rather than I'll order the same thing. So she brought out Morse's spagetti and Olive's chicken, but nothing for me. So she went back to order another chicken for me and I asked if I could get my roll to eat while I was waiting. The roll looked good, and was very hot, but as we all know looks can be decieving. It tasted like it'd been sitting out for a while and they heated it up to make it seem fresh. Consequently, it was like chewing on a piece of leather. The butter they give you in such places is very bitter, so it was like chewing on very bitter leather. Though Olive kept going on about how horrible it was that they didn't get the order right, I couldn't have cared less. I was perfectly content to wait. Besides, getting upset causes more problems than anything. When the chicken did come it was delicious! Well worth the wait. The entire rest of the meal sucked, but in places like that you expect it to. On the way out, I looked down at a table where an older man was sitting with an older woman I took to be his wife. He was reading something and upon closer inspection, I realized it was a script. The only thing I could read as I walked by was that he had crossed out something and written "Hello" instead. Hmmm. Profound editing.
Spent the rest of the day sleeping, much to my delight, and a little before eight I was taking my mess up to my room to get ready for bed. Olive had already changed into her PJs and was listening to her book on tape when there was a knock at the door. This is quite rare and since it was dark outside, more than a little creepy. So before I unlock the door, I turned on the porch light and blinded the missionaries. So I opened the door and accused them of being vampires for shrinking away from the light. They wanted to "stop by and see how things were going". Olive didn't want to come out because she wasn't dressed and because "they want to lecture" her. Or so she said. So it was just me and them. They're so fun to watch, like watching a married couple tease each other or brothers who are trying to be well behaved but can't help occasionally slugging the other one. Elder Hessing said he's been teaching Elder Ardilles(?) some English words you won't learn in the MTC, like "freaking awesome" and "pissed" and so forth. I told them about the time we taught a Russian friend "Number One" and "Number Two". Heaven forbid we teach foreigners anything useful. After chatting for a bit, Elder Hessing said that Elder Santiago (which is what I call him because I can't pronounce his name) found a scripture that he thought would help me. D&C 98:1-3. So of course, as he was reading it, I started to cry. Those poor boys have probably never seen anyone cry so much. So embarassing. But they of course knew what I needed to hear and even when the elder didn't know the English word and had to throw in some Spanish, it was a huge help. As usual their visit seemed to break down whatever fence I'd been leaning on, figuratively speaking, and once again I spent a great deal of time sobbing as I tried to pray. I swear I'm losing my grip on my sanity. And all these unbidden thoughts about Bozeman are like salt in the wound.
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