A Little Something Sweeney: Family. Friends. Fiction. Food.

Ok, so I finally have a full-on, non-English blog title. Oh yeah, I went there. But it´s not what it seems, because the first half of it is in Latin. MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! In a nutshell, En Media Res means “in the middle of things.” It´s the essential rule to any good script or story. Most of the time we as an audience will be joining the life story of someone else while their already in the middle of living their life, and either something dark haunts their past that we have yet to discover or we´re about to embark with them on some great journey. But we could never really start at the beginning with anyone´s story because that would mean we´d have to have been following them since their infancy. And I think most people already know how I feel about babies… Anyway, this concept I´ve been describing has become the axis around which turns my life. I arrived in La Yuca with the work already in progress, and I just came and took someone else´s place to help move it along. And n...

Hola, adoring public. Ok, sorry, I’m letting my fame go to my head. Well, that’s what my companion (soon-to-be previous companion, that is), compared it to. Everyone staring all the time and people sometimes giving you preferential treatment because of your race. It’s definitely awkward sometimes, but it’s only problematic when you have an investigator who is only interested in the church because they hope it will somehow fulfill their dream of being an American. We have recently discovered this problem in our 60 something investigator named Manuel. He’s a security guard and usually we just bring a member with us and teach him outside in the open air because he doesn’t live in our area, but yet, he’s never home and he’s been going to church in our area. He just called us over one day as we were walking down the street and inquired into what exactly it means to be Mormon. So we invited him to come and see for himself (that is our job). But the one time we taught him w...

Whew, another week, another chance to freak… as in out, about how the time passes. I am well into my fifth month of the mission. To all my friends who thought the time would drag, I say ha ha! Here it is, and there it goes, quick as a flash. I’m gonna be back harassing the crap out of everyone again before they know it. But for now I’m enjoying the new insanity that is my life. And even when I’m not, I’m enjoying the fact that I’m having a bad day. Because when I die, will I even get to have a bad day again? If “it’s all good” like we believe, then I better remember what if feels like to have a bad day. Or two. But as it turns out, my days have not been bad. One reason (big reason) is that we finally set a baptism date with Mudo. That is not his real name; his real name is Jose Alberto, but calling people by their deficiencies or physical characteristics is part of the culture here. So Mudo is Mudo, which means mute. He has no teeth and can only grunt to talk. It used to severely frea...

Yes, I did shamelessly use the word naked in my blog title to pique interest. I am both sneaky and horrible. And still ok with it. But yes, I don´t know how I´ve managed to get this far into my mission blogging without bringing up this tasty tidbit. Which must mean I´m getting used to it, and that´s almost worse than seeing the nudity itself. Ok, so essentially, people are sin verguenza here (without shame). I have seen more male child parts and even some teenagers than there is trash in the street or rats in my house. And if you´ve been reading this blog at all, you know that´s really saying, well, something. But I feel a bit like Mulan when she said “I never want to see another naked man again.” But don´t think the women are exempt in the slightest. I think my personal favorite is when I´m in the middle of teaching one of the discussions and one of our nursing investigators just whips one of her breasts right out of the shirt and starts doing her thing. I just want to be like, “uh, ...

Ok, I just have to go on record and say this has been one of those hell-inspired weeks that everyone spends their free moments dreading. I doubt I have the time to explain it to do it justice. But i shall give it a go. Ok, so for some reason, this week was when the heavens decided to weep uncontrollably. For what reason, I´m still trying to decipher. But when it rains, it pours, and when it pours, members don´t want to salir with us to go on citas with investigators. The reason we are supposed to have said members with us is so that the investigators see that yes, there are normal Mormons, and no, not every member wears a skirt and a nametag everyday, nor do they have to refrain from hugs (you wouldn´t believe the awkward amount of male hugs I have to dodge here. It´s becoming an art form for me.) It´s also to familarize potential future members with people who already are members. Sometimes, it´s nice to have a friend, so i´m told. Well, not only were people not really able or willi...

I can't even take it. Halloween was but a week ago (which isn't really celebrated here) and now, there are Christmas lights and trees and all sort of decorations exploding out of people's homes. As if every house here wasn't already an homage to Jesus, now it's just even more ridiculous. I am not ready for this. I need my turkey and gravy to be on its way to digestion before I see any crazy blinking lights or listen to "Silent Night" a thousand times.  And as one of my companions from the MTC in the D.R. said, I should just make a Christmas card to send out that says "Merry Christmas, it's blazing hot down here!" But in my regards to my earlier comment about Jesus and his apparent visitation to every house here in the D.R., I'm really not exaggerating. Everything is so God right now. Even the taxi cabs go around proclaiming "Cristo ya viene," or "Si Dios esta conmigo, ?Quien contra mi? And yes, I know, that the first ques...

Ok, So yeah, being me, last P day, I broke my arm. Or thought I did. Hermana Brown and I decided to wrestle. I beat her at leg wrestling (of course) but she got her revenge. About 5 seconds into our real wrestling, I felt a grotesque pain in my left arm. Why would I automatically assume it´s broken, you might wonder? Because apparently my bones are made of marshmallows and when I do something REALLY strenuous, like taking a step or opening the fridge, I just snap. So the thought of being broken in a foreign country seemed very possible, and very unappealing. Turns out, it is, or, that is, would be. We went to the doctor on Wednesday (we didn´t go right away, in case the pain went away. It didn´t). Well, they didn´t accept my insurance, but they accepted my 2,000 pesos pretty readily. Ai! But I swear, the doctor twisted my arm a bit, and I didn´t really feel anything, so he assured me he was 95 percent sure it was ok. Whew, thanks for that, but I would still like some x rays, if that´s ...

 Another week, another day of tryin´ to speak.  That´s the thing about Spanish, there just aren´t as many ways to be creative or witty . Or I just haven´t learned the magical formula yet. Like how I want to say "I was wondering," or "I challange you to read so and so chapter of the Book of Mormon." There isn´t really a word for wish or for challange, at least, not a challange as in, a duel. How has the Latin community survived without these words for centuries? That is the real reason I´m here now, to figure out the answer to that question. So no one has to suffer in suspense of what the title of this blog means, the rough translation is that there are thugs in the street. I know this because every time I say goodbye to someone, they say "cuídese," which means, be careful. And I have to be careful because of the thugs in the street, or the ones that everyone is convinced are out there. I feel like I haven´t seen a whole lot of tigers, but I´ve seen a who...

Whew, what a life! It´s almost been a month in the field. I can barely believe it, except that my dirty, and over-worked shoes testify that time has indeed passed. Also, the fact that I can now understand sometimes what the people here are saying is another key indicator. Most of the time, I just nod my head and say “oh…” It seems to work most of the time cuz people here just like to talk (like people everywhere) so I have officially turned into the world´s best listener. So to answer some of the burning questions I´ve received, here are your answers: 1). Yes, I shower out of a bucket and no, it is not with warm water. You just get used to it after awhile. 2). I realized after the last entry that I was not clear about a couple of things: a facial handeshake refers to the fact that you greet someone by clasping hands and kissing checks. I usually just feel bad for whoever has to greet me since as I´ve mentioned, I have a bad case of faucet face and they probably wonder what is wrong wit...

So, I´ve come to a decision: At the end of the mission, I´m going to walk up to the first male Dominican I find and ask them if I can be their ticket out of here. I mean, they ask me and my companion often enough; I feel like it would be rude not to return the favor. But in reality, it´s not that bad. We haven´t been harrassed; for the most part people just like to say "ooooh, Americanas!" I don´t know what the correct response to that is. "Ohhhhh, Dominican!?" I don´t know. But it makes me want to laugh and roll my eyes at the same time. Which I usually do. So, in other news, we have a mice/lizard infestation in our house. The lizards have a real fondness for my shoes and my companion´s pillow . And everytime I try to catch it, it makes these impossible, Kristi Yamaguchi-like leaps into the air and evades me. It likes to be in our company though. I guess we have a pet, for the time being. As for the mouseketeer, we were doing our nightly planning session and I he...

Ok boys and girls. This is taking longer to write than normal because I am in some sort of internet café and the keyboard is in Spanish. Welcome to my whole new world. Seriously, though. It´s new, compleley different, and a little crazy. Let me elaborate with the few minutes I have to spare. So, when I left the MTC, I was driven via truck to some church building where I met my new companion and trainer, Hermana Brown. She is as white as me, but actually knows Spanish. The people in the ward love her and give her all sorts of crazy gifts. She wore one to General Conference this past Sunday (yesterday). It looked like a giant pink butterfly but I wasn´t fooled. It was really a crazy hair clip from the 80s. During the Saturday session of Conference, one of the good sister of the ward, Hermana Rosa (one of about a billion Rosas here) also gave my dear comp some silver hoop earrings. She apologized for not having any for me. I told her not to even worry about it. Seriously, I don´t think...

Well, I have reached the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, and this is officially my last week in prison, er, I mean, the CCM (MTC), D.R. edition. I just realized my last entry was ridiculously lengthy, and I actually don't have much to say, so this one will be much briefer.        Other than being overly sassy and questioning to my teachers and chasing a large lizard around the temple, nothing too exciting has happened. Ok, that's not entirely true. I did get to go out into the real world for a few hours this past friday with an experienced, Spanish-speaking missionary. Us Elders and Hermanas in the CCM went on splits with the Elders and Hermanas out in the West Mission (my future territory!) and it was definitely an experience. I literally almost killed my ankle twisting it in some crazy pothole; the streets out here would be a lawyer's dream in America. If you don't constantly watch your step you could fall into some hole and into oblivion. Bu...

Ai, mi madre! Time flies... when you're not thinking about it. And all I do is think about it. My life is ruled by hours and minutes, and I am accountable for all of them. That sounds sorta poetic. But mostly depressing. Which it's not. Just different.     So what's the big news in my vida you might ask? Well, last Wednesday, my companion, Hermana Schillemat, and I were getting ready to close out our day after our evening family prayer (when all the missinonaries pray together in our big meeting room and we get a normal American goodie), when Sister Glazier, the Mission President's wife, summons all the Hermanas over to her. We then find out our perfect companionships are about to be torn apart. You would think I didn't realize this is what is going to be happening to me for the next year and a half, but still...  Well, she told Hermana Schillemat and I that we would stay together, so we were pretty excited. Then she moved some other Hermanas around, and then we f...

Well, here I am, ready to give the people what they want (which is always, well, me).    So, this has been quite a week, and what a week it’s been.  Apparently, there was some sort of “storm” or what not, Miss Hurricane Irene.  I don’t have time to talk about it, but how they name these storms is beyond me. I hope that is my job someday. That’s why they’ll pay me the big bucks. So the most exciting thing by far was that we got to leave the compound and go the the local university and to the store (on separate days). It was last Friday that we went to the University, which is not a very far walk, but believe me, it was enough that my entire head started leaking liquid. I am the perfect living proof that humans really are made up of about 90 percent water. But besides that, my experience was fantastic. We were supposed to go “practice” our Spanish with unsuspecting college natives.  And if we happened to slip them a church pamphlet or a Book of Mormon, well, wh...

Ok, I confess: I am not the brightest bulb in the box right now. There I said it. And it was hard! But harder still is typing with this broken finger. Yes, it's the same exact finger that I broke exactly a year and a half ago, right before leaving for D.C. for my internship. You know what they say... break me once, shame on you. Break me twice, well, hence the light being not-so-bright. I was playing volleyball, which I am quite fond of and it was my turn to serve, which I am fonder of still. But all fond feelings found their end when one of the elders from District B (the rivals of my then-district, District H), threw me the ball, and when I caught it, the ball slammed into my pinky finger at an awkward angle. I said a few choice words in my head, made a few faces, and kept on playing. When the doctor initially reviewed the x-rays before the specialist, he said, "your finger looks terribly... normal." I felt relief. But the next day, 12 hours spent on three...