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

Well, it´s true. We all have our moments, and right now, my life is one. Long. Moment. I guess it happens to the best of us. But my companion said it best while walking stiffly with pus oozing from her hideous leg: "this is my life right now." They always say the things that are true are funniest. Add to that the fact that she actually said it in English and you have wet-your-pants hilarea. But my life right now is an extension of last week, when I didn´t get a change to write. Why didn´t I? Well, at the risk of repeating myself, "THIS IS MY LIFE RIGHT NOW!" We came into the Internet center, sat down, got down to business, and five minutes later... bye bye sweet electricity of mine. So we played that game where you keep sitting at your computer, hoping the power will come back. It doesn´t but you keep a-sitting and a-hoping. And then you´ve found you´ve sat for so much time that it seems silly to leave because we all know as soon as we do, who will come back? Why, t...

I would like to know if there is an easy way to inform someone of a potentially embarrassing situation. We all know that if we say, "hey, your fly is down," or "there´s an enormous bogey in your left nostril," that these casual observations can quickly convert into feeling of shame and sadness on the part of the offending party, especially if said observations are reported after a manner of announcing them in a rather public way. But what do you do if shouting is your only option, and even when you do it, know one can here you? So as usual, I have no idea if I mentioned previously how house contacting, street contacting, or communication in general works out here in the D.R. To talk on the phone, you have to buy cards from the colmados or phone stores with a set amount of minutes on them. Actually, I have no idea how many minutes are on them, because it only tells you how many pesos you paid for the card. So I know I have a hundred pesos worth of minutes, and I stil...

And how! Remember this, never forget this: A mission is never JUST a mission. It is also a grand opportunity to figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life. And after listening to many an investigator "confess" their life story to us, I realized that quite frankly, I could never be a psychologist. It´s just too much of a drain on my energy resources. As I´ve mentioned before, I don´t know what it is about being a missionary, but everyone seems to think we´re walking confession booths. It´s like George (who I refer to as our gangster investigator) pleaded with us to consider: "I hope you guys don´t judge me now cuz of some bad choices I´ve made. Not all deportees are the same." I suppose they´re not. No one is quite like anyone else, but after listening to enough stories of defeat, disillusion, drugs, delinquency, doubt, and doom, I feel like the common thread is that it all started with small decisions. No one grows up dreaming to be a drug dealer, or ...

O sea, WE were the ones rocked by a rather beastly Hurricane named Issac. I learned (or relearned, I don´t remember), that Hurricanes are named after the people that discover them. I can´t tell if hoping to find and name a future Hurricane "Hurricane Sweeney" is in bad taste or not. But considering we didn´t really have too many negative side effects, I really have no beef with hurricanes. Just that Issac made it so I couldn´t leave me house for two days in a row. And considering we don´t have radio, Internet, T.V., those two days COUNT! So what do trapped missionaries with a mild case of cabin fever do? 1). Make no bake cookies by candlelight (you´re probably not going to have constant light during a hurricane). 2) Attempt to nap. My body won´t let me nap on the mission, but I think during Issac´s visit, I finally managed to succeed. 3). You fight with your companion over whether or not Issac´s howls sound more like her name or yours. I´m still convinced Issac was coming fo...

Tee hee. One of the few phrases my companion, Hermana Rodriguez, loves to say in English is "I hate you." And we use this phrase a lot because, for some reason, in ridiculous, unexpected moments (someone drank the last of the boxed milk, for example), it´s just funny and amusing. However, if the sentiment borders on accuracy, then there is little to no mirth involved. As someone representing the Big Boss, I really shouldn´t harbor feelings of strong dislike, let alone, hate. But some people just really put themselves in a separate category marked "special exceptions." And that´s when I have to do the whole "deep breathes, count to ten, eat something chocolaty," dance. Once such person we will call Justin because he looks suspiciously like Justin Timberlake . Well, a skinnier version of J.T. And more or less around my age. But anyway, my companion and I were out contacting in a neighborhood a good distance from where we live, and when we met Justin, we d...

The Olympics apparently have come to an end. Well, for some that is. I still have my own personal jungle gym of athleticism called the Great Quisqueyan Olympics. I remember back when I was in training mode and my child Hermana Bryant had the curiosity of how much walking we do on the mission. She promptly asked her parents to send her and odometer for her birthday package. I wasn´t there with her when said package arrived, but when she started to use it, apparently she learned that, more or less, in a six-hour period the sister missionaries of the Dominican Republic West Mission can walk up to 13 miles daily. 13 miles! O sea, in a year-and-a-half, we walk close to 6,000 miles (I did the math and no longer remember the real number, and 6,000 sounds pretty impressive). I feel confident saying 6,000 because with the way we are walking in Quisqueya, we are definitely using our feet more then we did in Azua (my current comp. Hna. Rodriguez also served in Azua, and in fact, served with Hna....

Audible sigh. I just love a good song. And the title of this week´s blog comes straight from the mouth of a future star... o sea, my very own companion Hermana Rodriguez. She just loves to sing. And one day, while we were walking home at night, she busts out with most of the English she knows to form the above lyrics. She would like to title it "My Freakin´ Mind." At least, I believe that´s what she wants to say. Her other hit that is in the works is "My Freakin´ Love." Needless to say, when she randomly busts out with these insta-classics, I almost wet myself. But at this moment in time, I can relate very much to her songs. Because every time I go to open my mouth as of late, or even when I am in the middle of a sentence, people seem to decide "I can´t wait another second to butt in with a completely unrelated topic. I must act now!" And whatever I WAS saying becomes lost in a sea of static cling and forgotten phrases. It´s super annoying. I actually did ...