It's All About the Math

The aromatic adventures of composting

This traffic sign warns people that we are in the area

Our mission car at the grocery store

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And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

Before we get to our main thesis today, I would like to insert a backup, auxiliary dissertation.

Last week, Sister Blickenstaff mentioned in her blog that we visited a place called the Giant’s Ring. We actually found a path that meandered around Middle Earth until it ended up on the riverbank of the River Lagan. We were delighted to find this path, although we did not see any actual giants or elves. On the way back up from the river, to the Giant’s Ring, we walked past a farmer who was getting ready to fertilise a field. Gulls were hanging around waiting for him to do something so we decided to wait and see what happened.

This turned out to be a serious mistake. His tractor was pulling a large tank. As we watched, he turned on a power dispenser contraption that spewed out some kind of brown liquid. As he drove along, spraying, the gulls descended on what he had just sprayed and were having quite a feast. After about 60 seconds of watching this, the prevailing wind brought the stench of his product and both of us instantly considering puking our guts out right there on the trail.

He was obviously spraying homemade liquid compost and it smelled like the wrong end of a 10-bum diarrhoea party. I am not making this up. We turned and quickly walked away. But it was not quick enough. This smell had already been burned into our brains, where it seared our respective olfactory bulbs so badly they both quit their jobs and moved out to another location on a different continent. My sense of smell was so overwhelmed I could not stand myself for the rest of the day. I swore I could smell that stuff on my clothes, in my hair, on my breath and in our flat. It was brilliant!

Now, stay with me as I smoothly segue right to the dinner table. As much of our daily routine involves the preparation, consumption and clean up of mass quantities of food, I feel inspired to give you more details than you desire.

We (by which, we mean, Sister Blickenstaff, also known as my Senior Companion, or formerly known as SWMBO - She Who Must Be Obeyed) frequently feed someone besides ourselves. This involves math. Attention those of you who said, “Math? When am I ever going to need math after I graduate from high school?” The answer is, “When you serve a mission with your spouse.”

If you are one of the sixty-two people who were lucky enough to graduate from San Juan High School, stay with me because it’s all about the math.

There are two types of recipes here in Northern Ireland.

1. American type recipes, which have to be converted from something called the Dewey Decimal System into what is called the Metric System.
2. Northern Irish recipes, which have to be converted from something called the Metric System into what is called the Dewey Decimal System.

One must be careful not to mix up the Dewey Decimal System with the duodecimal system, which is a base-12 numbering system that simplifies the computing of fractions. While you are at it, don’t get any of this confused with the duodenum, because, as any doctor can tell you, it can be very painful to get things mixed up there. Also, Frank Zappa wrote a song called Duodenum, which was definitely painful.

But I digress. To digress is an intransitive verb meaning to move off the central topic. In grammar, an intransitive verb is a verb that has no object. This differs from a transitive verb, which takes one or more objects. Both classes of verb are related to the concept of the transitivity of a verb. Examples of intransitive verbs include to die and to sleep (both of which you experience quite a bit on your mission). Transitive verbs include to see and to give. The valency of a verb is a related concept. Where the transitivity of a verb only considers the objects, the valency of a verb considers all the arguments the verb takes, including both the subject of the verb and all of the objects (of which there are none for an intransitive verb). I could go on, but really – should I?

Anyway, this is about the math. Remember the math? This post is about the math. Regardless of which type of recipe we use, we have to use the math to convert the amount of each ingredient into something that we know how much that is. For example, we made pulled barbecue beef sandwiches for the 28 missionaries serving in the Belfast Zone. Our recipe called for 2.5 to 3 pounds of brisket to serve 6 − 8 people. We decided conservatively, that we needed about 12 pounds to serve the group. We did this calculation in our heads, because I am a human calculator, so to speak.

When we got to the butcher shop, I said we needed 4 roasts, each 3 kilograms in weight. The butcher, hearing our authentic non-Northern Irish accents, asked, “Do you mean pounds?”

“No,” I was most emphatic, “I mean kilos.”

He, being the good businessman who knows the customer is always right, sold us 12 kilograms of meat. As we were cooking it, it appeared to be quite a lot (or as my mother used to say, “It was quite a several”). In fact, it appeared to be so much meat, that I used an actual calculator to determine how much meat I purchased. It turns out that 12 kilograms amounts to about 26.5 pounds. So we had an awful lot of beef to shred, which after all the eating, turned out to be enough to send some home with half the mission.

The take home message here is that you can’t get your kilos mixed up with your pounds. It’s all about the math.

It is interesting that one of our most used iPad apps is a conversion utility that converts a bunch of stuff that we don’t understand into a bunch of other stuff that we used to understand but can no longer remember how. We not only have to convert teaspoons into millilitres and grams into ounces, but we also have to convert Fahrenheit into Celsius and Kelvin into Rankine. This is somewhat offset by the fact that we are not required to convert miles per hour into kilometres per hour because the speed of light is the same constant in both Northern Ireland and Heber City. Don’t get me started on knots. What a granny has to do with velocity is beyond me; you will need to ask a pilot, or a Boy Scout.

Anyway, about the math, my companion has twice calculated the precise maximum amount of liquid soup that she can hold in a giant pot on her lap while at the same time telling me how to avoid potholes and drive twice as slow as everyone else so we can transport the potage safely to the place of consumption. It’s all about the math.

I am so proud of my companion. I hope I am not divulging a family secret here, but she does not like to cook. And here she is, just whipping out Ratatouille (the soup, not the movie) like she is Julia Child and I’m Paul, only I’m sober. She has made all kinds of things, both savoury and sweet, that she has never made before. Whatever she makes gets eaten. She is a marvel and the YSA love her.

Last night, while we were in the kitchen at the Centre, cleaning up after she made real American soft tacos, one of our YSA came up behind us, put one arm around each of us and said, “Thanks to both of you for being as awesome as both of you are.”

It made our day, but really, it was all her. I’m just along for the food, and to do the math.

Elder Blickenstaff

February 19, 2012

Try balancing THIS on your lap in the car!

Celtic Cross

Love these old cemeteries!

Countryside in Belfast

"Giants Ring"

The Murals - Shankill Road, Belfast

Belfast Centre for Young Single Adults

Some of my children away from children

Loved the opportunity to sit with an investigator for a 3 hour Sunday meeting block. This was her second time to church. We thought we would go to the ward where she will go if she chooses to be baptized and sit with her throughout the meetings. We were not wanting her to be alone and nervous. She got a very warm reception and lots of attention and so now we aren't concerned about her not feeling welcome and comfortable. She facebooked me a wee message later that night that said, "I'm so happy to have found my LDS home and family." That made me so happy that she's feeling that way. She's a real sweetheart and we hope she continues to feel good about the things she's learning, continues to feel the spirit and will take the step to be baptized.

We're in the planning phase of our November 2012 YSA Convention. We are limiting the attendance to 300 (only). :-/ It's a 4 day event and is a bit of a daunting undertaking! Working out the logistics for accommodations, transportation, food and activities for that many is pretty challenging. Belfast's YSA Conventions have a reputation for being pretty fabulous in comparison to others that are held in Europe, so the pressure is on to plan, once again, a very successful, well attended convention.

We've discovered that having these younger missionaries transferred for us little old senior couples is a bit painful and kind of like losing your own children. Our Elder Beal has left us to go finish out his mission in Glasgow, Scotland. We've lost the best district leader EVER! (Actually the only district leader we've had so far.) But doggone it, he's been a really good one! He promised us that he would be back in May with his parents when they tour the mission with him as he exits the mission field.

We got a little culture by going to a BBC Concert that was aired on the radio in the St. Patrick's Cathedral - Church of Ireland in Armagh, about an hour's drive from Belfast, with our wonderful Institute teachers, the Nobles. We enjoyed some amazing young talent of organ, piano, baritone singers and a piano trio (violin, cello and piano). We got a kick out of the piano playing Chinese boy that has been here in Northern Ireland since he was four years old. He had a brilliant Irish accent that somehow just didn't fit him, being Chinese and all.

We were asked to be guest speakers at a Single Adult Fireside. Except for one, all in attendance were at least 60 years of age or older. One sweet lady was 82. I can see why it's a little hard for Darren, our just "graduated" from YSA 31 year old, to make the switch from YSA to SA. The one that was there that was around 35 is deaf. She had her 19 year old niece there to sign for her. That was the first time we've ever had someone sign one of our talks. And of course it wasn't ASL (American Sign Language) it was BSL (British Sign Language) that was being signed. Jana, did you know there was BSL? Don't know what the differences between the two are.

We had a fabulous zone meeting where we decided to feed the 28 missionaries and our stake president barbecued beef sandwiches. We got a little confused between pounds and kilos which means we had plenty of meat to go around. It was a BIG hit. They all seemed to enjoy a little "Taste of Texas." It saves them money and gives them more time to recreate instead of taking the time to find a restaurant and eat out. They went off to play some football and us older types (Elder & Sister Chamberlain and us) went over to Shaw's Bridge and took a nice long walk.

We had a very scary moment (actually, it lasted quite a bit longer than a moment!) of terror when we almost had a head-on collision. We were driving on a very narrow one-way country road enjoying the beautiful rolling fields and fences. It opened back up with enough space for two cars widths. We weren't thinking and we just sort of ended up on the right side of the road. Still on this country road we came to a hedged blind corner and around the corner came barreling a pretty good sized taxi. I turned and bowed my head toward my companion expecting to hit at any second. I hate it when we have those "American driving moments." They come on at the least opportune times! Luckily, since we were determined to stay on the right side of the road that the other driver made the split second decision to veer to his right to avoid hitting us. If he hadn't done that we would most assuredly have collided. No doubt he was wondering "what the heck!?!? Why in the world is this guy coming at me out of nowhere on the wrong side of the road!?" We hyper-ventilated for a wee while and then we were okay.

We walked down Shankill Road and looked at a few of the Murals here in Belfast. They have become symbols in this country depicting the region's past and present political and religious divisions. Northern Ireland contains arguably the most famous political murals of anywhere. Almost 2,000 of them have been documented in Northern Ireland since the 1970s. The murals tend to represent one side's political point of view, or commemorate an event or person(s) involved in the history of Northern Ireland, particularly during The Troubles. Almost all Northern Ireland murals promote either republican or loyalist political beliefs, often glorifying paramilitary groups, while others commemorate people who have lost their lives in paramilitary or military attacks. Some of the images from Irish Murals representing peace and tolerance are becoming increasingly popular with school groups who have children either design or actually paint murals in areas around their schools.

We visited the Giant's Ring. It is a henge monument at Ballynahatty, near Shaw's Bridge, Belfast. The big earthwork circle, roughly 200m (more than 2 football fields) across, is an example of a 'henge' monument. It was built in about 2700 BC. Now that's OLD! In the middle is a tomb made up of five upright stones and a large capstone, the bare frame of what was originally a chambered grave, covered with a cairn (memorial or marker) of stones and earth.

I have a thing for cool old cemeteries. I wandered around one for quite some time taking photos the other day. I saw many a Celtic Cross and was intrigued with what the history and symbolism is behind them. What I found out is that no one really knows where or when exactly this unique cross had it's beginnings. An Irish Catholic priest will have no hesitation telling you that the circle of the Celtic Cross is a symbol of eternity that emphasizes the endlessness of God’s love as shown through Christ’s sacrifice on the cross. That is unless he says the circle is a halo. He may go on to explain that the crucifixion is important not just as an event at a certain point in time but, as the circle symbolizes, as the unending mystery of how through the crucifixion and resurrection Christ continues to offer the hope of salvation to the faithful throughout all time.

A full cauldron of soup (with no lid) is a challenging thing to transport by car over to the Centre. It's extra thrilling when the car has touchy brakes. Needless to say, we made it there without spilling one single drop, so we did.

Sending much love your way till next I gaze upon your countenance, :o)

xoxox

The Sister

Hiya - Hi/Hello

Cracker - good "He is a cracker lad, so he is."

"I'm away" - I'm leaving now. "You away?" - Are you leaving now?

*** Hey Blog Readers! This is Jana (Blickenstaff) Fuller, the beloved daughter of Elder and Sister Blickenstaff. If you hadn't noticed already, there is a new feature on this blog! If you would like to be notified each time a new post is written, submit your e-mail address in the box above and you will be, so you will! Happy reading!

If You Get A Chance To Eat Shortcrust, Don't

An old photo of Napoleon's Nose, circa 1890

View from the cave on Cavehill

McArt's Fort overlooking Belfast

Elder Blickenstaff enjoying the weather

Here are some randomly selected memories from our ventures this past week.

I read the following in the Belfast Telegraph:

“More than 900 people were attacked by dogs last year across Northern Ireland, shocking new figures have revealed.”

I was not one of them (referring to the people, not the dogs), but I was not here all year either.

I finished my latest read through the Book of Mormon this week. As I read the book this time, I tried to focus on every instance where it mentions the Saviour by name. It is such a good book and I have started over to read it from the beginning.

One morning I received a call requiring my presence at the Centre to unlock some doors. I climbed in the car, drove through the morning rush hour traffic and unlocked said doors. Two electricians were there and needed full access to fix several lights that had stopped working sometime during the past 30 years. I stood in the car park chatting with the electricians for a few minutes, then said goodbye. They turned to get materials out of their truck and I hopped in my car to drive off.

I pulled my door closed and started to insert the ignition key. To my shock, there was no longer a steering wheel in the car! I had a brief moment of puzzlement before I noticed someone had moved the wheel to the passenger side of the car. This was embarrassing, as I had jumped in the left side of the car, only to discover it’s pretty hard to operate the controls way over there on the right.

I looked up to see the electricians still had their backs to me so I hurriedly jumped out and nonchalantly walked around to the other side of the car. This time I found the steering wheel in the expected location and drove off. It has been a long time since I totally spaced the drive-on-the-wrong-side thing.

I came home and shared my mishap with my companion. When I was finished, she said, “Well, now that you have shared that with me, I have a little adventure of my own to share with you.”

“Yesterday while you were in the shower I decided to take the rubbish out to the bin. I locked the flat so you would be safe alone. I walked out, emptied the rubbish and came back into the building. I walked up the stairs and inserted my key, but I couldn’t get the lock to turn. I stood there fiddling with it for five minutes. I got really frustrated because this had never happened to me before. I pulled the key out and reinserted it several times. I twisted the doorknob and shook the door. Nothing worked. I even moaned rather loudly, ‘Oh, come on!’

“Finally I looked up and saw the number on the flat door. It was number 12, not number 6. I had walked into the wrong building. I hurried back outside and looked up. The curtains were open and a light was on inside of number 12. I felt bad but hurried off to number 6 and let myself in without further incident. You were still safely ensconced in the shower, none the wiser.”

One night this week we cooked a Sainsbury’s Chicken Pie with Shortcrust. I don’t know what shortcrust is but I only want longcrust from now on. It was not edible and we proved that by not being able to eat it.

Later, I determined from a little research that shortcrust is a type of pastry often used for the base of a tart, quiche or pie. It does not puff up during baking because it usually contains no leavening agent. Fat (lard, shortening, or butter) is rubbed into plain flour to create a loose mixture that is then bound using a small amount of ice water, rolled out, then shaped and placed to create the top or bottom of a flan or pie. Ideally, equal amounts of butter and lard are used to make the pastry, ensuring that the ratio of the two fat products is half that of the flour. The butter is employed to give the pastry a rich flavour, whilst the lard ensures optimum texture. Shortcrust pastry is made with the addition of sugar, which sweetens the mix and impedes the gluten strands, creating a pastry that breaks up easily in the mouth. Unfortunately for me, when the pastry broke up, it actually caused me to have a little throw-up in my mouth so I am not a big fan of lard and sugar wrapped around chicken. I will stick with Joel, who likes a little meat wrapped around his meat and now I know why. The primary issue I had with this dinner was the fact that it was 95% shortcrust and 5% chicken. You can call me crazy but I’m one of those people who think that a chicken pie ought to have a little chicken in it. Am I right? Is this asking too much for the general public, that we be allowed to have a piece of chicken in our chicken pie?

One day, at the crack of noon, we initiated an ascent on Cavehill. Cavehill is a basaltic knoll overlooking Belfast from the north side. It rises to the majestic height of 370 metres above sea level (an altitude of 1,214 feet). Its most prominent feature (other than the cave) is an outcrop of rock on the top that resembles the profile of Napoleon. The locals know this as Napoleon’s Nose. For readers under the age of 40, it does not refer in any way to Napoleon Dynamite. The Northern Irish will tell you that after Jonathan Swift marvelled at the Nose, he was inspired to write Gulliver’s Travels in 1726. (Jonathan Swift (1667-1745) was an Irish satirist, first for the Whigs, then for the Tories – not to be confused with the Richard Torries, who are half Redd – who was an ordained cleric and the Dean of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin – Jonathan, not Richard – Richard is my LDS cousin.)

We picked up the sister missionaries and drove to the car park at the Belfast Castle, on the lower slope of the hill. It was a cold, windy, overcast, blustery, rotten kind of a day but none of this quelled our anxious enthusiasm to summit Cavehill. A member of our ward accompanied us and served as our guide.

The trail wound over the river and through the woods (to Grandmother’s house we go) until we walked out of the tree line overlooking Belfast Lough (a lough is a harbour in British English). Here the wind speed appeared to have doubled. We were cold but still enthusiastic as we would our way upward. We eventually came to a cave, which was accessible only by scaling a rock face for about 10 feet. Everyone managed this except me. I can’t scale since my surgery-induced neuropathy eliminated the feeling in the end of my right foot. I can’t feel where toeholds are. I stayed below and prayed for those who went up to peer in the cave. Apparently my prayers were effective as the same number of people who ascended descended. There are also two other caves on Cavehill.

I thought this cave was the extent of the adventure but I was wrong. We continued skyward up a very steep track. Faced with the option of either breathing or hiking, I stopped a few times and breathed, which I found quite helpful to staying alive.

Eventually we walked right the way to the top! We walked out onto the summit, which is called McArt’s Fort. It is an example of an old ràth or ring fort. It is protected on one side by a precipice and on the others by a single ditch, 10 feet in depth and 25 feet in width; a vallum of large dimensions. (Vallum is a term applied either to the whole or a portion of the fortifications of a Roman camp. Isn’t it astounding what you, dear reader can learn if you stick with me?) The enclosed area is nearly level. The flat top of the fort is 150 feet from north to south, and 180 feet from east to west. It is believed that the fort's inhabitants used the caves to store white foods (by which we mean potatoes) for the winter and may have served as a refuge during times of attack.

On a clear day, which this was not, you can see both Scotland and the Isle of Man from McArt’s Fort. Today, we could barely see Belfast but we could not see Carrickfergus Castle at all. It was extremely windy and cold and I could not stay on the summit longer than five minutes. As we made our way back off of McArt’s Fort, we found a BM from 1918 marking the boundary of Belfast. Alert readers will assume this is a bowel movement, but in this case, they would be wrong. It is a benchmark or permanent survey marker. However, it is fair to say that several hundred dog BMs are scattered on Cavehill so one does have to be careful where one steps as this type of BM has nothing to do with metal.

We made our way down Cavehill on the eastern slope and ended up at the back side of the Belfast Zoo. Then we hiked around through the woods to come back to our original starting point. We enjoyed a great deal of good conversation along the way and found it to be a brilliant experience.

Oh, that reminds me. On our way to the central bus station one day, we passed a business on the Ormeau Road with an exterior sign that read:

Massage

Tuna

Chiropractor

I have no idea what kind of business is going on in there, but I would really like to find out and report back. The only problem is that I am a wee bit scared to go in it.

Northern Ireland is known for its poets and storytellers. Here is one of me own wee contributions:

When e’er life weighs me down

and tempts me to be sad,

I just remember I’m not Warren Jeffs

and then I don’t feel so bad.

Bear with me, faithful reader; you are almost done, but I can’t help myself. I know I should quit, but this next vignette is just too good; I can’t make this stuff up.

We had an appointment to have our car serviced. When we got there, they told us we made the wrong kind of appointment. The conversation went something like this:

Me: We have an appointment to have our car serviced.

Them: Do you want it serviced now?

Me: Yes, that is why we are here.

Them: You made the wrong kind of appointment.

Me: What?

Them: You made an appointment to have your car serviced.

Me: Yes, that is what I just told you.

Them: You should have made an appointment to have your car serviced while you were here.

Me: What?

Them: Usually people make an appointment to have their car serviced while they wait here, but you made an appointment to have your car serviced later.

Me: What?

Them: If you want your car serviced while you are here, you will have to make that appointment for another time. We are too busy to do your service now while you are here.

Me: What?

Them: Don’t worry; I will help you make that appointment now, while you are here. Then you can come back to have your car serviced while you are here. When can you come back to have your car serviced while you are here? (At this point I actually thought I was taking part in a Dr. Seuss book.)

Me: What?

Them: Can you come back tomorrow to have your car serviced while you are here?

Me: No. I cannot come back until Tuesday. (This wasn’t true, but I felt pressured into saying something besides, “What?”)

Them: If you can come back Tuesday at 10:30 we can service your car while you are here.

Me: Well, Bob’s your uncle on Tuesday.

Them: What?

Elder Blickenstaff

February 5, 2012

Stormont

The Bangor District

Elders Blick, Beal, Smithers

Sisters Blick, Chichoni, Peterson

Baaaaaa?

The gorgeous building pictured above, the Stormont Parliament Building, was built in 1921 at a cost of nearly £1.7 million, it was designed to house the newly formed Government of Northern Ireland. The Senate chamber was used by the Royal Air Force as an operations room during World War II. Between 1973 and 1998 it served as the headquarters of the Northern Ireland civil service. Between 1982 and 1986 it served as the seat of the rolling-devolution assembly. It is now the home of the Northern Ireland Assembly. There's your wee history lesson for the day. It's quite a beautiful building; we pass by it quite regularly in our comings and goings.

For the past six weeks I've been busy taking individual photos of all our Young Single Adults and now have their pictures all arranged on a bulletin board in the hallway at the Centre. It has been such a big hit. I had no idea when I started doing this that they would get this much of a kick out of it! They love it. They gather around it and have a great time pairing their peers (not themselves, mind you) with each other and giggling all the while. Yeah, you guessed it, it's the girls that do this. Since we've been here we have had two of our YSAs receive their mission calls and one couple has gotten engaged. They are planning a June wedding in the Preston Temple. It's truly wonderful to see them make good choices and do good things with their lives.

Elder Blickenstaff has had his dream realized for the past four weeks with the startup of an additional institute class he gets to teach. It is offered for those, because of work or other commitments, that cannot come to the main class on Wednesdays. He loves this opportunity and is quite a gifted teacher (if I do say so my own self). We have had anywhere between zero and seven show on any given Saturday morning. Elder Blickenstaff fills their spirits and I fill their bellies with some sort of sweet bread or muffin afterwards. We make a good team this way.

We enjoyed a Preparation Day with six of our younger colleagues going to Mandarin, a Chinese Buffet in Bangor for lunch and then coming back to the Bangor church building cultural hall to an afternoon of tossing a football around and playing many rounds of UNO and Phase 10. These missionaries work so hard. It's fun to be around them when they can let down and really have fun and enjoy one another. And they do! Transfers are coming up this next week. Who will stay and who will go? At least we know where we will be. :o)

We won't be recognizable by the end of our mission I'm sure. This is carb country to the MAX ! ! ! Cooking and gaining weight are what we seem to be doing, unfortunately (haven't been on a scale, but . . .). Haven't seen a salad to order on any menu in this country. End result? We'll probably be needing to be rolled off the airplane in 14 months. The food here is wonderful! Potatoes any way you can possibly imagine. Speaking of potatoes, If you are rather bored with the potato crisp (chip) flavors to choose from in the states you need to come over here and experience: Beef, Canadian Ham, Sausage, Pork, Chicken, Cream Cheese & Chive, Pickled Onion, Prawn Cocktail, Smokey Bacon, Tomato Ketchup, Worcester Sauce, and more! More amazing fish and chips you will never find anywhere, ever. Wonderful steak/mince pies. Chocolate that is TO DIE FOR! (None of that waxy American stuff!) I could go on and on.

Earlier this week I was laying in bed mid-morning feeling quite blah. Have been coming down with something that settled into a major chest cough. Feeling a wee bit discouraged. What's with this? I'm rarely ever sick and since we've been here, it's been one thing after another with one or the other or both of us ! ! ! Anyway, as I laid there in my bed our door buzzer buzzed. It was the Royal Post with a package from our daughter. In this package was a box of both DayQuil AND NyQuil ! ! ! What a tender mercy! Here she is over 4,500 miles away and thought she should send these to us a couple of weeks ago. Who says the Lord isn't in the small things in our lives? Thank you so much, Jana! The locally-available decongestants and most over the counter medications that we have tried or have heard about from others don't really do much of anything.

Today we are missing the baby blessing of our newest little grand daughter Abigail Joanne in Houston Texas! :o( We so hate to miss out on any of these milestones in our children or grandchildren's lives. We know it was a momentous occasion. Much love to Joel and April and their family!

Merrily we roll along experiencing longer days as we approach spring. We had thought that we would serve several senior missions. We've gotten really spoiled by this one. How do you top going to an incredibly beautiful lush green country, being required to attend incredibly fun, creative activities, hob knob with brilliant eighteen to thirty one year olds and be able to speak English while doing all that? There's no topping this one.

granda - grandfather
return top - yo yo
plasters - Band Aids

"The Irish gave the bagpipes to the Scots as a joke, but the Scots haven't seen the joke yet."

Cheerio for now! Love you all oooodles!
Sister Blick