Monday, December 8, 2014

Week 6 in the Field, December 8, 2014

Today is a day of plus sides and down sides. On the plus side, I've figured out how to type a real quotation mark on this keyboard. On the downside, when people speak to me in Spanish, it's like they're speaking in a foreign language. Ladies and gentlemen, it's week 6 of the field.
Let's do this.
So I think while we're on the subject of foreign language, it's time for.... the LANGUAGE GAFFE OF THE WEEK!!!!! *applause* Yes, yes, six weeks in and I still speak a disgusting cocktail of botched grammar and broken dreams. Anyhow, I was talking to a lady we met on the street. She asked me how I liked it here. Before I tell you what I said, I must share a small note about Spanish. The word for winter is "invierno" and the word for Hell is "infierno". They're very close, and really, you should just pronounce the v in invierno like a b. I did not. So what I responded was more or less, "I do like it here. But it's a little bit crazy, and sometimes being here makes me miss Hell. Some days after we've been walking around all day, Hell sounds nice. But there are lots of good people here!" Ha. Ha. Ha. Yeah. Moving on.
Speaking of moving on, I don't know if it's my shoes or what, but I am through with having blisters. Merciful heavens, if this goes any further, I'm just gonna tape my toes together, spray paint my feet brown, and walk around barefoot just to see if anyone can tell the difference. My great lozzy. I love walking. I do.
So we went to a baptism this last week. No, it wasn't one of ours. It was the baptism of one of the investigators of Elder Pawn and Elder Peatross, but we knew the investigator and he asked us to come. When we got to the church, we saw Peatross and Pawn scrambling around with mops, frantically bailing water out of the front door. They'd left the font to fill and forgotten about it for three hours. When they got back, the entire church was flooded. It was five forty-five and the baptism was scheduled to start at six. Everything worked out, though, because by a happy mistake, they'd failed to account for the Dominican time difference and showed up on time. The service started at 7:30 and all was well. Except for one of the other two's dignity after he skidded headfirst into the chapel and ripped his pants right up the back.
We went to a concert in Gazcue last Friday. Although I strongly suspect that the Dallin of six weeks ago wouldn't have cared for the music there, I also suspect that the Dallin of six weeks ago had not just been forced to endure a transfer-long battery of colmados and Dominican singing. I'll be honest. Would they hire this group to open the Super Bowl? No. Would they be just the thing to show at a free concert for a bunch of oatmeal-brained missionaries and their investigators? Ha. Gyahaha heck yes. It was awesome!! And best of all! I got to see my man Elder Blount and share a Clif Bar with him. Also, after two long months of tireless hunting, the search for Michael Foote was over. Stay tuned 'til next week for a more stylized version of that last sentence. By way of photographic explanation, this one is of me and Michael Foote.

The other is me being a filthy rule-breaker and holding a questionably beautiful woman in my arms. Hey, what can I say? When you've gotta be a tigre, you've gotta be a tigre.

Beach balls and beached whales,
Dallin Johnson
*Note- Michael Foote was the Medic up at BSA Camp Aspen Ridge when I was the Kitchen services director two summers ago. We've been friends for about six years, and it was astonishingly wonderful to learn Dallin was going to the same mission where Michael was serving.

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