This was a wonderful week, commencing with the baptism of Domingo. As he put it, he became “a new Domingo.” Sweetest man ever! Unfortunately my camera cable is playing hide and seek so I will send a picture next week. (Those kids and their games!)
So, I’ve decided Connecticut owns about 90% of the world’s cat and dog population. These people are obsessed with their pets. Everyone has about twelve dogs and twenty-six cats. Okay, well, not quite that many but close. Being surrounded by it, a non-cat-and-dog-lover has to either learn to enjoy them or offend an awful lot of people. I have succumbed to the temptation and started petting kittens in spite of myself and my allergies. I pay for it every time in sneezing and puffy eyes, but I still don’t stop. (“I can stop anytime I want!”) Anyway, so I was petting someone’s cat the other day and I said, “Cute puppy!” I must have been tired. (Don’t worry, I’m not to the point where I want to go out and buy a dog or cat. They’re fun to visit with and then leave. Like Mom and Dad always say about their grandkids.)
Speaking of cats, yesterday we met the most hilarious cat. If he were a person he would have escaped from the psych ward of Charlotte Hungerford Hospital and be panhandling out by the West Side Package Store (that’s Connecticut-ese for a liquor store) in Torrington. He is a stray that the ward mission leader and his wife have kind of adopted. (They already have about a thousand cats anyway, so what’s another one?) Yesterday they introduced us to Fu (as in fu man chu- I don’t know how to spell that- because his whiskers are very long and unshaven-looking) after giving him a bath. (They said he smelled.) He has six toes on each foot. And his eyes are crossed. Sister Tillinghast decided that if he were a person, not only would he be panhandling, but he would be saying, “Mithter Tillinghatht thaid I could come in and have thomething to eat.” (“Hey Mister! Got any change? I got me a real neat watch. It’s a Rolex!” It’s a miracle that I still remember that movie from my previous life.)
Speaking of the West Side Package Store, it’s a couple blocks away from our apartment. I can’t remember if I already mentioned that a truck ran into it a few weeks ago. As in, ran off the road and into the store. I laughed really hard at first because I thought the truck driver must have been a too-recent customer of the store (it also has a bar in the back). But it turns out someone had cut him off and he was swerving to try to get out of the way. Still, that’s quite the swerve, don’t you think? All the way off the road and into the front of the store.
One of our investigators is a writer who happens to have written several other books, including a slasher novel. It’s not published yet and she’s told us a little about it before but on Saturday night we got her to tell us the entire plot. For some idiotic reason. We kept dragging more information out of her. We wanted to know how it ended SOOOOOOOOOO bad. Then we got in the car and drove home and we were FREAKED OUT, our little pure missionary minds were on scare overload. I was afraid to let Sister Thomas get out of the car to back me, because a serial killer might be hiding in those bushes. Anyway, so we made it home and we had some rotten tuna fish in our garbage that was making the apartment unbearably smelly. (Are we sure it was only tuna fish? No. Someone probably hid a dead body in our garbage.) We took out the garbage to the big bins that are behind the house. Big bins, by that old empty hot tub, there could be anything hiding in there, and it was so dark…anyway, so we had to cross the driveway to get back to the door of our apartment. I walked by the neighbor’s SUV and had a heart attack at what I thought was a face in the window. Turned out to be a “Baby on Board” sticker.
Earlier this week we ran into a man that we had tracted into a few weeks before when Sister Mortimer was here. He was a very staunch Catholic who proceeded to tell us all about how we are a cult, and as we work our way up in the cult we learn more secrets, and blah blah blah. Needless to say, I didn’t feel too warm and fuzzy about him at first. But when we saw him again we started talking and he asked if he could read to us from a book about cults. This book is written by a Texe Marrs, who claims to be quite the authority on “cults and new-age religions.” It has a section on “The Mormons” and another section on the RLDS church. The section on the RLDS church, in talking about the origins of the church, mentions how it was reorganized “after Joseph Smith died in his native Ohio.” Really? Native Ohio? Aren’t they supposed to have editors to make sure they double-check their facts before letting stuff like that actually making it into the final draft? Some drunk on the street could have given him more accurate information. Anyway, that gives you an idea of the accuracy of the rest of the stuff in the book. Most of the stuff on Mormonism was incredibly offensive, but some of it was outright hilarious. For instance, did you know that Mormons teach that Christ was married to Mary and Martha, and Mary Magdalene, and that all of his wives and children were present at his crucifixion? Did you know that Joseph Smith worshiped Jupiter? (Ummm…that’s not really true, just so you know.) Really. I can’t believe the kinds of things people publish. I think I will go home and write a book about how aliens drive minivans in Fiji. Because I have totally been to Fiji and I am an expert on aliens AND minivans, and I even drove a minivan a few times. My book will be much more factual than Mr. Marrs’. Seriously. You think I’m joking.
Where was I going with that story? Oh, I digress. The story has a happy ending. The man who read us the book actually really listened to what we had to say. When we told him he could find better information about the Church from “The National Enquirer” than from his book, he actually believed us. He seemed to gain much more respect and appreciation for the Church, and actually believe that we are Christians and normal people and all that. He turned out to be very nice.
Driving is fine, it's tolerable. I don't really mind it as much. But I am definitely not an excellent driver and I am an endless source of entertainment for Sister Thomas. I keep telling her, my brain works well with words and sounds and noises. Not things you can see. Like the road. Or judging distance. Or backing out of a driveway. Or directions. We all have our different gifts. I think my gift for driving got taken back to the store and exchanged for the "freakish pitch monkey" gift. Not complaining though! I like the freakish pitch monkey.
Guess what else? I am already picking up some horrible New England driver traits. Like stopping out in the middle of the intersection instead of actually behind the line. I really should not do that. I am not a talented enough driver to safely bend all the rules like they do.
I have never had so many mixed emotions all at the same time. I really really really do and really really reallly don't want to go home. But I am so blessed that this area is busy and keeps me from getting too trunky. Sooner or later, that going home part will come, whether I want it to or not.
I love the humor of missionary life. It’s so much fun! And Torrington is absolutely wonderful. Got another baptism coming up next week! Can’t wait! Lots of love,
Sister Monson
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