Bits & Bobs

I am giving you fair warning. This post contains more of the same nonsense that you have come to expect from me. You can tell from the title. Bits and Bobs is an idiom. Idioms are sometimes, but not always, used by idiots, but not exclusively. Bits and Bobs is a British expression. For those of you born west of Ireland, it means odds and ends. This idiom generally refers to small things of a different type. Different than what is not exactly clear.

Anyway, what this post lacks in thought-provoking usefulness, it makes up for in brevity. My companion tells me that she loses interest in reading my contributions to this blog because I go on way too long. So Sister Blickenstaff, this is a (relatively) short one, just for you.

My first big bit (or, if you prefer, bob) is that I got a flu jab. In American, that means I went to my gynaecologist and received an influenza vaccination. Why I have a gynaecologist is a story for another day, but it involves what Americans call socialised medicine. So far, it is working! (The flu jab, not the socialised medicine.) I have not come down with the flu one time since I got jabbed.

However, I must share the amazing advice I received after the jab. The nurse said, and I am not making this up, “Take two paracetamol if you experience a fever and put a bag of peas on your arm if it swells up.”

Really? A bag of peas? Why not a bag of carrots? Why not a bag of ice? Why not a bag of bags, a bag of cauliflower or a bag of potatoes? What is so healing about a bag of peas?

This prompted me to Google™ the phrase, “healing nature of peas”. And I found that peas are almost magical in their healing properties. One expert, Beth Lapin, who has two masters degrees (top that if you dare), one in social work and the other in biology, is quoted as saying, “We are expecting thunderstorms, so I go out to gather peas.”

And a reader/client named “BF” (best friend?) commented on Beth’s website, “I know I wouldn't be as calm if it weren't for you.”

I know this is hard to believe, but I am not making it up. And may I add that Beth has just published her first book, which “uses fiction to show how relationships are designed as lessons to help us heal.”

What? Really? If this is true why does she have to use fiction? Also, what does this have to do with peas? I do not have these and many other answers about Beth. You could check out her website, but that was a complete waste of my time so I don’t recommend that you do it too. However, I would like to report that I have also discovered that peas are high in folic acid and that Dr. Nandita Shah teaches a course on some Sundays at the Quiet Healing Centre in Auroville, India, entitled, “Peas vs. Pills,” which empowers you to reclaim your health. She has had a “huge success” with her Reversing Diabetes residential program (apparently it is not for non-residential use) as evidenced by the fact that, “Everyone was able to cut down their medications…”

Finally, I bring to your attention that “Pea soup is eaten in many parts of the world” and “Nature packages green peas in several different forms.”

This life saving and health promoting information comes courtesy of the Google. This concludes my research and special report on peas. For more information please contact the USA Dry Pea and Lentil Council.

My next bob (or, if you prefer, bit) involves the wonderful American gourmet cuisine available at Pizza Hut®. The younger missionaries voted to go to the local Pizza Hut all-you-can-eat buffet. This did not sound like where I should be eating lunch and I told my companion so. She told me they would have a salad or something. So we went and they did and that is what I had. In a moment of full companionship unity, and in accordance with tradition (my wife almost always orders what I order, or vice versa – I can never remember which) Sister Blickenstaff had the same.

However, before I could eat my special hand-crafted salad at Pizza Hut, I had to remove the red onions from it. My companion did the same. We piled our superfluous onions on a dinner plate. The pile kept getting bigger. Pretty soon, we had collected what were originally two (and quite possibly half a dozen) huge red onions. Or in other words, we had enough red onion to last a normal person approximately two decades. Once the red onion extraction program was completed, there was nothing left of the salad. What was advertised as a “Honey Mustard Chicken Salad” turned out to be large red onions, sliced up in a bowl.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I did eat three forkfuls of salad before I determined that I would live longer if I commenced an immediate and complete removal of all red onion slices in the bowl. This was sufficient to give me onion breath for the remainder of the week.

In other words, days later, as I write this entry, I am breathing out huge quantities of red onion tainted carbon dioxide. However, dear reader (I only have one reader and you are very dear to me!) as you are smart and very clever, you will already have figured out that while red onions can be toxic for your dog, they are the most magically stupendous thing that you could ever hope to cram down your own pie hole.

I am not making this up.

The active ingredient in onions (in any form) is allyl propyl disulphide, which damages red blood cells in your dog. Note that I write that onions damage blood cells in your dog. Onions will never affect my dog because I don’t have a dog. I served a mission when I was nineteen and a dog bit me on the leg, breaking my skin, not to mention piercing a hole in the leg of my trousers. This experience cured me of the need to have a dog. So please do NOT take your dog to Pizza Hut for a salad as it could kill him/her.

The nutrients in onions — including quercetin, allicin and chromium, can protect against cancer, fight fungi and bacteria, promote cardiovascular health, reduce high blood pressure and insulin resistance, and aid in weight loss. Furthermore, red onions can be helpful to people who suffer with dandruff. I am not making this up! To the contrary, I have learned these things, and more, from nothing less than the Heal With Food organisation on the Worldwide Web.

According to these knowledgeable red onion experts, one study shows that eating half an onion per day could reduce the risk of stomach cancer by 50 percent. I assume this means that also eating the other half could reduce the risk of stomach cancer by 100 percent. Continuing along this line of reasoning, eating one and a half onions per day could reduce the risk of stomach cancer up to 150%, which I assume means it totally reduces your risk by 100% and then the after affects of your breath could reduce some randomly selected third person’s risk by the remaining 50%. I am sure you understand; after all, it’s not rocket science.

So apparently my companion and I both missed the golden opportunity of a lifetime. We could have just eaten the red onion salad and been transformed into Red Onion Transformers. Instead, we made a large fort out of the onions, in which the neighbourhood children played for hours.

That is one Bit and one Bob more than you paid for, but it’s Christmas and I love you.

 Elder Blickenstaff 

A Paralympian, our last wedding, a sunny day or two, a farewell...

One of our YSAs, Jason Smyth, is a four-time Paralympic gold medalist.  He is almost blind and sees only shapes.

Our last wedding while we’re here, Eve McCrudden and John O’Connor.

Why don’t we have wedding cars like this in the United States?

 I’m kept in stitches all the time... weddings, babies, crossword names of families we’ve come to love...

Beautiful Belfast on a rare sunny day!

Stormont and the Stormont Castle

"Farewell Sister Olsen” (centre) who served in Belfast for nine whole months!!!  We miss her so much already!!!

Sister Olsen and Joanne (a sweet convert of eight months)

 Sister Hansen and Sister Blick at Inch Abbey.  Sightseeing while awaiting a new companion (for Sister Hansen, not for Sister Blick)

Down Cathedral - where St. Patrick is buried 

St. Patrick’s burial stone in the cemetery at Down Cathedral

Down Cathedral, Downpatrick, Northern Ireland

A Christmas Bazar in Holywood, Norn Iron

We have reached our 14 month mark!  Four months left. Where is the time going?  The days are getting much shorter.  In two and a half weeks the days will start getting longer again. Yeah!!!  We are always amazed that the noon sun looks like 5-6:00 in the summer.  Makes for really long nights when it is dark at 4:00 p.m. and light at 9:00 a.m.  

Never really realized how much of a missionary tool Facebook can really be.  I’ve become quite close to a sweet young woman in her early 30’s who is in one of our wards that we visit. She penned this poem to me in about ten minutes, she said.  I’ve never had a poem written for me before, but it has touched my heart and I wanted to share it with you, not to brag, but to show how much missionaries can mean in the lives of the people they come to know and love. 

“I met these awesome missionaries,

Only knew their names.

Didn’t talk till recently,

cos my social skills are lame.

Then began to have wee chats,

often late at night.

And I began to realise,

I don’t feel I’ve to hide.

She has become an amazing friend, 

So much fun and full of beans.

I find I don’t need to pretend,

I’m accepted just as ‘me.’

I often laugh at the wee quirky words,

and all the funny sayings.

means so much too,

the loving words,

and to know someone is praying.

So anyway, just want to say,

thanks for being there,

It really helps me face some days,

The wee chats with my Mumsie Bear.

:) <3 xoxo”

Have we told you lately how much we love being here? We love the people, we love their accents, we love the country (no place is as green!), we love the food. . . 

Love, hugs and kisses,

Sister B.

Here’s some Northern Irish Slang:

That’s me away/That’s me gone - I’m leaving now

Awkhhh!  - exclamation for Wow! “Oh, really?”

gutted - disappointed 

Watch for me on the news tonight

I have discovered some rather disturbing news. I am likely to be a psychopath. I am not making this up. Here is a recent headline from the Daily Mail, a respected British newspaper: “Is not joining Facebook a sign you’re a psychopath? Some employers and psychologists say staying away from social media is ‘suspicious.’” Among other gems in this article, I learned that:

• Human resources departments across the country are becoming more wary of young job candidates who don't use Facebook.
• Young people shouldn't date anyone who isn't on Facebook.
• Not having a Facebook account could be the first sign that you are a mass murderer.

Admittedly, I might be stretching it a bit to claim that the first two bullet points apply to me as I might not fit the standard definition of a “young” person but clearly, I am the very man targeted by bullet point three. I am going to have to retreat and ponder how this might affect my life, now that I am a suspected psychopath.

I have a cousin who ate a lizard when we were teenagers. You would think that this type of behaviour would generally qualify you to be considered a potential psychopath. However, he has two things going for him that render him safe from suspicion:

1. He has a Facebook account.
2. He is active on Twitter.

I’m not sure about this, but he may even have a Pinterest account, even though he is a manly man.

Apparently, the more active one is on social media sites, the less suspicious one becomes of being a psychopath.

When I was in junior high, a kid one year older than me, and slightly smaller, bullied me. He was a psychopath then and as I am unable to find him using my wife’s Facebook account, he has apparently not grown out of it.

This is all very confusing to me. I would think that becoming addicted to a social media site that encourages people to tell all their friends when they are constipated, tired, grumpy, or how many cubic litres of material their child vomited up during the night, or to broadcast a warning that they are going to the grocery store would provide a constant stream of psychopathic behaviour from the general population. But no, apparently all of this newsworthy activity shields one from the temptation to give in to the dark side and heed the voices in one’s head. 

Now I do understand that it is a pretty good boost to your self esteem when you post a photograph of yourself once a week so that all of your friends can write, “You are a gorgeous hot person-of-the-opposite-sex magnet!” I can see how this would protect you from destructive behaviour such as narcissism, etc.

What I have trouble with is figuring out why I am suspected of being a psychopath just because I don’t see the point in telling all of my friends (both of them) that I like a goat more than the President of the United States.

You will next hear about me on the ten o’clock news.

In the meantime, enjoy some photos we took of autumn in Northern Ireland.

Elder Blickenstaff

A magic castle on top of an enchanted hill.

My favourite missionary companion of all time.

This a railroad bridge was built in 1849. The centre span is 126 feet above the river.

This looks like Lemony Snicket built it.

This dress is made from real Northern Irish linen and contains 9 yards of linen in every yard of pleat. I know this doesn’t sound impressive compared to the 50 yards of fabric in what the Nazgul wore in LOTR but there are no ringwraiths in Northern Ireland so we just make dresses here.

My companion took this from the car at 60 mph which is quite impressive. I didn’t think the car would go that fast.

This rare sunset photo looks fake but it’s not. It usually rains at sunset but this one time it didn’t.

These fine looking missionaries comprise the Lisburn District. They come from Ohio, Australia, Idaho, West Virginia, Orem, Springville and Timber Lakes.

This is one good way to graduate from YSA. John O’Connor married Eve McCrudden.

 It is tough duty to go to all these weddings but someone has to do it.

My sister Cathie used to date a guy who drove one of these magnificent 3-wheelers. She didn’t like the guy too much but she loved the car.

How to Have an Incredibly Successful Multistake YSA Convention

First, you need a theme. Ours was  Psalms 133:1  "Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren (and sisters) to dwell together in unity!"                                    

Right down to the wire, you finally get 98 YSA to register for the Belfast Northern Ireland Multistake Activity. As we were reminded, most YSAs are procrastinators.  But they came! They came from Venezuela, Tallin - Estonia,  California, Virginia, Arizona, Dundee - Scotland, all over England, Dublin, Limerick, Wales, quite a few girls from America, Botswana - Africa and Brazil.

Have a Halloween Dance

Even "costumes" provided by one of our YSA!

The Devil & Sister Bee

Watch a demonstration of police dogs sniffing out drugs, blood, people hiding in bushes and attacking fleeing criminal suspects...

Hold workshops on family relationships.

Organize a service project to build bird boxes...

Have lots of good food, good laughs, good visiting and bonding. This is called good craic in Northern Ireland.

Arrange Salsa Dancing instruction by two professional instructors, who very gently persuaded everyone to get out on the dance floor and learn, trading partners very frequently.

Have powerful devotionals.

Hold an Addiction Recovery Seminar.

Attend a spirit-filled Sunday meeting block.

Prepare a slideshow of our Multistake Activity and Mormon Messages.

Invite an Area Seventy to attend. Elder Sonny Donaldson flew in from Madrid, Spain to do a fireside for us.  He talked about the parables in Luke chapter 5.

The initials are of those that we all know that need to be invited to return back to the fold.

Look like this if you are  left at the tail end of the activity. (This is about a third of those that came.)

A MAJOR Success!!! It came together without a hitch and a good time was had by all!  

It seems we're in such a whirlwind. We have less than 5 months to be with these amazing people.  

It has been nothing but a pure blessing and pleasure to be here and to work with everyone.  It's just not possible to be in a better place with a better people!

I just have one word for what is going on back home... "Obummer!!!"

Be good, and know that we love and miss you something fierce!

XOXOX  Sister Bee

Irish Slang:

freshers - freshman                                

homeworks - homework

housemates - roommates 

You can buy a license to drive

I am convinced that you will become a better person if you know a little bit more than you do about obtaining a license to drive in Northern Ireland. As I have recently gone through this process myself, I am considered to be somewhat of an expert (by such notable people as my wife).

Americans (even if they are from San Juan County) are allowed to drive for one year here on their US-issued driver’s license. After one year, you are required to obtain a proper Northern Ireland driving license. (Note that here, it is called a driving license, rather than a driver’s license.)

Our mission president told us on arrival that if we did not obtain a UK driving license, we would have to be transferred to the Republic of Ireland after our first year. I have to admit that for the first week we were here, we thought that we would probably like to transfer halfway through. However, after a few more days we fell so thoroughly in love with our YSA and with Northern Ireland that we definitely did not want to transfer anywhere.

The only thing you have to do to obtain a driving license is go to the Post Office and get an application. This is harder than it appears. Those of you who are regular readers will remember that the Post Office is always closed, but only if you need to mail a letter. You just have to make sure they know you are not mailing a letter and they are open. Because I made it clear I wasn’t mailing a letter, the Post Office was open and I completed the application. On the application form I was asked to state whether or not I needed to wear glasses for corrective vision and if I was currently driving without a license.

I completed the form to the best of my ability. It instructed me to enclose a photograph of my face without smiling. It warned me that if I was smiling in the photograph, the application would be rejected and I could try again after I learned to follow instructions. I suppose this is a subtle warning to wipe that smile off your face mister if you expect to drive a car in Northern Ireland.

I dropped the form, my unsmiling photo, £50 (approximately $82.50) and my passport at a government office in downtown Belfast. They told me that they would send my file to another city on the other side of the country where the Driving Vehicle Authority was headquartered.

Within a week I received a driving license, but I went a month without my passport. When I called to ask where it might be, I was told to wait a week and call them back. I did. When I called back they said my passport was sitting in someone’s office in another building.

I asked if they could pop over to someone’e office in the other building and retrieve it. This was not possible, as they are not allowed to just up and nip over there. I then asked if they could call on the telephone and ask the someone in the other building to send it back to me. They could but they didn’t recommend it, as they didn’t trust the Post Office with my passport. I could not fault their logic and thanked them for being honest. I asked them if I could drive to their office and pick it up in person. They were not able to accommodate that request because they are not set up to deal with the public. You, of course, as an alert reader, will recognise this is an ideal setup for a government agency established to help people obtain a driving license.

They made the helpful suggestion that if I was to send them a prepaid delivery envelope that required a signature on my end I might be able to become reacquainted with my passport. I did this, for the paltry sum of £17 (about $28) and within 10 business days was reconnected with my passport.

Now you might think that I was done. But if you thought this, you would be wrong, dear reader.

This procedure only put me in possession of a driving license. You cannot drive just because you bought a license. You have to have a license in order to drive, but having a license does not entitle you to drive. It just enables you to take two driving tests: a theory and a practical.

I purchased the Official Theory for Car Drivers book for £14.99 (a wee bit less than $25). This 492-page book outlined everything I needed to know to pass the theory test. I read it three times, crying real tears between (and sometimes during) reads. Some of the rules here are the exact opposite of the rules I have been following since I was fifteen years old. (I started driving when I was twelve, but I only followed one rule for the first three years: Never let your Dad find out you are driving his Jeep when he is not home.)

For example, in Northern Ireland, if you want to change lanes, you must first look in your mirrors and check your blind spot. Only then do you signal your intent. Then you complete the manoeuvre. This is reversed from driving in America. There, you signal your intent but before you make your move, you check your mirrors and blind spot. In fact, in Wasatch County, you are apparently encouraged to signal a left hand turn everywhere you drive. My own unscientific poll reveals that one-half of the Heber City drivers have their pickups hard wired for a permanent left-hand turn signal. Approximately half of the time, this setup correctly indicates their intent at one of the next ten intersections.

Another example of different rules required me to learn a new verb. To “dazzle” means to blind a driver of another vehicle, either oncoming or overtaking you from behind. This in turn, required me to learn another verb. To “overtake” means to pass.

Dazzling someone else is not a good thing. You go to great lengths not to dazzle. Don’t use your full beam headlights and keep your foot off the brake pedal. It’s a long story.

The point is, once you start the car, everything else is slightly different than what you have been doing for the past forty-plus years. I had to unlearn all the driving stuff in me wee head and learn some new stuff.

There are so many things that are different here than in the States. Among them:

• You must engage your parking brake if you anticipate being stopped for long time at a traffic light.

• You must be able to backup around a left-hand corner, through an intersection.

• You do not use your turn signals if no one else is around because that might confuse someone. (Really? Who? Who is around to be confused if no one else is around?)

• You can fail your driving test for not driving fast enough.

• You cannot exceed 45 miles per hour during your driving test.

• You must know what the speed limit is where you are driving even when it is not posted.

If you mount a kerb (remember that my posts are spelled correctly in Northern Ireland) during your test, your name is toast. (Or, in my case, Elder Toast.) You don’t always signal going into a roundabout but you always signal going out. It is against the law to honk your horn unless you are in imminent danger of being hit by another vehicle, unless this danger occurs between 11:00 pm and 7:00 am, when it is absolutely against the law to honk your horn no matter what. Not a single taxi driver in Belfast is aware of this law and none to whom I have explained it on the street in front of our flat appeared to be interested in the law. You should never use your emergency flashers so I am not sure why they are included at the factory. In actual practice, every driver in Northern Ireland uses them to signal their intent to park illegally in the middle of the road while they run into the Post Office (which is closed, but only if they are trying to mail a letter). In fact, I believe that throughout Europe, the hazard lights are universally used to indicate that you intend to do whatever you darn well want to. The length of a white dashed line indicates how close you are to a road hazard. (Does this mean that there is a crew rushing around the country repainting the white lines for accidents, floods, breakdowns and other road hazards?)

One of the other hurdles for Americans is to convert distances from feet into metres. We are used to a metre being something that you read to indicate how much electricity you have used.

To make a long story shorter (by at least two paragraphs) I eventually paid the £31 (about $51) fee to take the test. I got 100% on the multiple-choice questions and a passing grade on the video hazard perception portion. Prayer accomplished this. I am not making this up.

This allowed me to legally drive a car when I am accompanied in the front seat by a UK- licensed driver who has held a UK license for at least three years and required me to put large magnetic signs of the letter “L” on the front and rear of our mission car. I did not do either. First, I am always accompanied by a qualified driver who has been telling me how to drive for almost 40 years now and the fact that she is not licensed to drive in Northern Ireland has not prevented her from explaining to me in detail how I should do it.

Second, the “L” in the car window indicates that the driver is a “Looney”, not qualified to drive, who will make sudden illogical stops in the middle of the road and is quite possibly in the finals of the Twit of the Year contest.

On the other hand, holding an L license allows one to take the practical test with a driving examiner. I did do this.

But before I did, I took one driving lesson from an instructor and asked him to teach me how to pass the driving test. We went out for one hour and he taught everything he was able to cram into an hour. He told me I would do fine if I could just remember everything that he had told me and everything that he had not told me but should have. I am not making this up. The lesson cost £15 (about $25), which was a bargain. Most lessons run much more.

I came home and did the following during the next few days:

1.     Practiced parallel parking (on what was for me the wrong side of the street from the wrong side of the car). I never actually did this once without driving up on the kerb, which amounts to a test failure.

2.     Practiced backing into a parking bay without running across the lines, which I also could not do.

3.     Practiced backing though an intersection around a left-hand corner, which is perfectly legal here. This, I could do perfectly every time.

4.     Practiced never making hand-over hand turns, which will cause you to fail the test. You must never take your hands off the wheel. Instead, you “feed” the wheel, pulling it one hand and pushing it with the opposite hand. Go out and try this yourself. It is impossible.

5.     Prayed a lot. Try this and you will find it much easier than driving.

6.     Received a priesthood blessing.

I paid my £45.50 (about $75) fee and scheduled the test. Then I spent £7.99 (about $13) on a second rear view mirror with a cute wee suction cup, which is required for the examiner.

After the exam, I held in my formerly slim hands, a “Certificate of passing a test of competence to drive”! I attribute this to:

1. The priesthood blessing I received from the elders.
2. The tender mercy of the Lord.
3. A brilliant instructor who taught me everything I needed to know to pass the test in one easy lesson

I knew the Lord was in charge of the test the minute I saw my examiner. He was a kindly looking grandfatherly type with a twinkle in his eyes. As we pulled out of the car park, he directed me down towards a roundabout through which I had driven many times, on my way to Pharaohs to get a kebab!

It just got better after that. He had me drive over to the road that runs right past our flat. I spent the entire test in the neighbourhood in which we live! He had me perform all three required procedures within the first 15 minutes of the test. And they were the three simplest of the ones from which he could choose. I had to:

1. Back up around a left corner.
2. Do an emergency stop.
3. Follow a set of driving instructions with no intervention from him.

Backing around a corner is twenty times simpler than parallel parking. The emergency stop was a no brainer. I have been making these for forty-five years. The driving instructions with no intervention involved going straight through a junction and taking the first left at the first roundabout. I have driven that route every week since we arrived and managed to do so for the examiner.

At the end of the examination, He told me he gave me three minor faults. You can receive up to 16 minors before you fail. (You also fail if you get one serious or one dangerous fault.) My minors were:

1. I signalled a turn before I checked my mirrors.
2. I signalled another turn before I checked my mirrors.
3. I stopped for a pedestrian.

I am not making this up. A teenage girl on her way home from school stepped into the road and I stopped for her. Apparently this is very poor driving etiquette. The driving instructor told me I should not have done that. I should have slowed down but kept driving. Seriously? Yes, she would have seen that I was not going to stop and she would have turned around. I am not making this up. Here in Northern Ireland we believe in not stopping for pedestrians if we have the right of way. By stopping, I invited her to cross and we don’t want to do that. Inviting is bad. Stopping is bad. Frightening them back up onto the footpath in fear of their lives is good. Is this a great country or what?

Well, thankfully this story has come to its end. As near as I can tell, it cost me £181.48 and several nights’ sleep. This is approximately $299, excluding the value of several nights’ sleep.

The good news is that unless I upset our stake president here (which, as you who know me, know, is not a given), we will be able to finish our mission right here in Belfast, Northern Ireland without having to transfer down South (to Ireland).

It’s not as cool as James Bond’s license to kill, but I am now licensed to drive.

Elder Blickenstaff

Waiting around to take my driving test.

Looking impressive as I actually drive a car.

Celebrating passing my driving test (and my birthday) with Sisters Hansen, Olsen and McConnell.

My companion attempting to restrict the swelling of my pride after I became a licensed driver.

Animals, Agriculture and Architecture

Rape Seed

Wheat field guarded by a Fairy Tree

A quaint home somewhere over here

A Belfast bar

Down Cathedral, where St. Patrick is buried

Queen's University, Belfast

Slane Castle, County Meath, Ireland

Stormont, Parliament Building Northern Ireland

Mount Stewart House near Newtownards

Belfast City Hall

The Village Cong, County Mayo, Ireland

Ashford Castle, County Mayo, Ireland

Church in Belfast

Quaint Home in Belfast, Northern Ireland