It's 11:30pm as I start this post.
At this time tomorrow, I expect that the wheels of my plane will have just touched down in Sacramento California.
My four-and-a-half month long excursion to Jamaica will be officially over.
Wow.
It's been...amazing.
I'm guessing that by the time anyone reads this, I'll already be back in the States. So I'm not going to post any field service experiences or stories, I'm just going to give you a picture glimpse into my life the last four-and-a-half months.
https://plus.google.com/photos/117089062727226832599/albums/5781951224405560177?authkey=CMK3uPqChaLAIA
https://plus.google.com/photos/117089062727226832599/albums/5781953740420085105
https://plus.google.com/photos/117089062727226832599/albums/5781955772554169073
See you/talk with you soon.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
It's A Funny World I Live In Pt 3
A Bug Story 2 (AKA How I found Out I'm Not Allergic to Bee-stings)
I took some artistic license with the dialogue in the story for comedic effect. But the story is true.
I was at the famous Dunns River Falls a couple of weeks ago climbing the falls. We had a good time and afterwards we went to the beach and into the ocean. I am not a huge ocean guy (poor swimmer, don't like the taste of saltwater, or feeling like a prune after being in too long) but I went in anyway because...well...I didn't want to lay on the beach by myself like a pathetic loser.
So I go in and we're having fun and then suddenly I feel a very sharp pricking sensation on my right arm. It was more irritating than painful, but I was trying to have a conversation in the water, while standing on my toes to keep the water from going into my mouth (in addition to being a poor swimmer, I also don't tread water very well. Or for very long.) I try to brush it aside, thinking it's a piece of seaweed or something. Finally I look at my arm and its like a shard of glass is wedged in it.
What the...?
I pull the glass-like thing out of my arm, wondering why everyone brags about how great the ocean water is in this country. (Half-afraid of someones old rum bottle getting lodged in my larynx.) And then I see a bee floating across the water, one wing still buzzing a bit.
It was laughing at me.
The thing was literally on its dying breath, and it spent its dying breath laughing its stinger off at me trying to pick a shard of glass out of my skin, not realizing it's a bee stinger. And to think, the first time I've been stung by a bee in my whole life of course would happen in the water. How random is that?
Close friends from the States were with us, Hilary and her mom Phyllis Savage. Those two are like family to me. If I was going to be stung by a bee without a member of my family around, I'm glad they were there. (Although I would have been more glad just not being stung.) They of course insisted that I was going to be in a great deal of pain, and horrific swelling would set in.
To combat this, Hilary kept trying to give me drugs. I was perfectly fine by the time we got back to the house, and felt hardly any soreness. But no protests from me is going to stop my big sister Hilary.
She walks up to me, grabs my arm.
'Look how much its swollen!' She hands me a glass of water and two brown pills. She then uses here fingers trying to find the bump where the sting was.
'Where's the sting? Does it hurt a lot?'
'Only when you're digging your fingernail into it, like you're doing right now.'
'Oh yeah, the sting is right here. Aw, poor Phillip. It's swelling up a lot.'
'That's actually my arm muscle. I know, sounds absurd coming from a scrawny guy like me. Look, the other arm is the same size.'
('OhmyGod did you get stung on your other arm too?') 'Poor Phillip. You're going to be sore tomorrow. Take your pills.'
Somewhere, the ghost of the bee was laughing at me still from beyond the grave. (As was Cathy Chai in the background.)
Hilary, in all seriousness, if you are reading this blog, I'm glad you were there looking after me. I hope that if I ever get stung by a hornet or yellow-jacket, you'll be there to force drugs on me.
Actually I hope never to be stung by anything ever again for as long as I live. But in the event that I am...well, you get my drift.
I took some artistic license with the dialogue in the story for comedic effect. But the story is true.
 |
| The Falls |
So I go in and we're having fun and then suddenly I feel a very sharp pricking sensation on my right arm. It was more irritating than painful, but I was trying to have a conversation in the water, while standing on my toes to keep the water from going into my mouth (in addition to being a poor swimmer, I also don't tread water very well. Or for very long.) I try to brush it aside, thinking it's a piece of seaweed or something. Finally I look at my arm and its like a shard of glass is wedged in it.
What the...?
I pull the glass-like thing out of my arm, wondering why everyone brags about how great the ocean water is in this country. (Half-afraid of someones old rum bottle getting lodged in my larynx.) And then I see a bee floating across the water, one wing still buzzing a bit.
It was laughing at me.
The thing was literally on its dying breath, and it spent its dying breath laughing its stinger off at me trying to pick a shard of glass out of my skin, not realizing it's a bee stinger. And to think, the first time I've been stung by a bee in my whole life of course would happen in the water. How random is that?
To combat this, Hilary kept trying to give me drugs. I was perfectly fine by the time we got back to the house, and felt hardly any soreness. But no protests from me is going to stop my big sister Hilary.
She walks up to me, grabs my arm.
'Look how much its swollen!' She hands me a glass of water and two brown pills. She then uses here fingers trying to find the bump where the sting was.
'Where's the sting? Does it hurt a lot?'
'Only when you're digging your fingernail into it, like you're doing right now.'
'Oh yeah, the sting is right here. Aw, poor Phillip. It's swelling up a lot.'
'That's actually my arm muscle. I know, sounds absurd coming from a scrawny guy like me. Look, the other arm is the same size.'
('OhmyGod did you get stung on your other arm too?') 'Poor Phillip. You're going to be sore tomorrow. Take your pills.'
Somewhere, the ghost of the bee was laughing at me still from beyond the grave. (As was Cathy Chai in the background.)
Hilary, in all seriousness, if you are reading this blog, I'm glad you were there looking after me. I hope that if I ever get stung by a hornet or yellow-jacket, you'll be there to force drugs on me.
Actually I hope never to be stung by anything ever again for as long as I live. But in the event that I am...well, you get my drift.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
It's a Funny World I Live In Pt 2
A Bug Story 1 (AKA Why I filled the Cracks in My Doorway with Steel Wool)
As with just about any hot, humid climate, bugs are a fact of life in this country. A sister told me that I should not get to upset about seeing them; after all, they were here first. (Insert me shrugging and rolling my eyes here).
I've adjusted to them for the most part, and haven't seen anything to horrific lately, but that wasn't the case 3 months ago when I came home late one night from hanging out with some friends.
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The ants here are a source of never-ending frustration for me. No matter how clean the place is, there is constantly a few ants crawling in and around the bathroom and table where I keep some of my food. Leave anything out for more than say 20 minutes--a crumb from a cookie, splatter from cooking oil, a drop of fruit juice--and you will have an invasion that seems to appear out of nowhere. And don't even think about leaving the house with dishes left in the sink, those guys will be everywhere.
As I was coming home this particular night, I was fearful of what I might find, seeing as I had left a bowl of cream-of-wheat in the sink, the type of thing that can be an ant-magnet. As soon as I got home I ran to the sink with a can of insect spray expecting to have to fight off the invaders from my castle. Shockingly, I went to the sink and there were no ants. None. I smiled at my good fortune and walked happily to my dresser to get my PJs and go to bed.
I grabbed my shorts and am thinking about what chapter I'm in for my Bible reading...wait. What is that movement I see out of the corner of my left eye? I pull out the little stool that goes under my dresser and something large and black scurries out.
Hmm.
Put your index, middle, and ring finger together. The bug I saw was about that long and wide. It had little wings that allowed it to jump, and the little sucker was fast.
It was well after midnight, and I had to be up early the next day. The way that thing was scurrying suggested that it was more afraid of me than I was of it. (Probably). I could have went to sleep assuming it would stay away from me and just hope that during the night, it would just go back out the same way it came in.
No way. Not. In. This. House.
Imagine me carrying a broom like I'm going to break in to somebody's house with it. I have a half-hunted, half-crazed look on my face as I slowly try to get this disgusting crawling creature out into the open and strike it dead. I miss multiple times trying to get it behind my dresser. The beast flees from me and attempts to hide itself behind my TV stand. That was its fatal mistake. I strike again. It dodges right. Its in the open now. I strike again, nearly splintering the broom. I narrowly miss killing it, but got its wings so it can't jump. It still moves fast, but it's only a matter of time. I attack again, direct hit! I stomp on it with my shoe for good measure, it's not coming back now. I consider hanging the corpse outside my door with dental floss as a warning to the insect kingdom. (In the end, I decide to simply throw it in the garbage.) I went to bed pleased that I successfully defended my turf, but still feeling crawly.
The next day when I saw Carole and Jaime I asked them if they'd heard any banging coming from my apartment.
"Yes, what were you doing?"
"Nothing much."
As with just about any hot, humid climate, bugs are a fact of life in this country. A sister told me that I should not get to upset about seeing them; after all, they were here first. (Insert me shrugging and rolling my eyes here).
I've adjusted to them for the most part, and haven't seen anything to horrific lately, but that wasn't the case 3 months ago when I came home late one night from hanging out with some friends.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The ants here are a source of never-ending frustration for me. No matter how clean the place is, there is constantly a few ants crawling in and around the bathroom and table where I keep some of my food. Leave anything out for more than say 20 minutes--a crumb from a cookie, splatter from cooking oil, a drop of fruit juice--and you will have an invasion that seems to appear out of nowhere. And don't even think about leaving the house with dishes left in the sink, those guys will be everywhere.
As I was coming home this particular night, I was fearful of what I might find, seeing as I had left a bowl of cream-of-wheat in the sink, the type of thing that can be an ant-magnet. As soon as I got home I ran to the sink with a can of insect spray expecting to have to fight off the invaders from my castle. Shockingly, I went to the sink and there were no ants. None. I smiled at my good fortune and walked happily to my dresser to get my PJs and go to bed.
I grabbed my shorts and am thinking about what chapter I'm in for my Bible reading...wait. What is that movement I see out of the corner of my left eye? I pull out the little stool that goes under my dresser and something large and black scurries out.
Hmm.
Put your index, middle, and ring finger together. The bug I saw was about that long and wide. It had little wings that allowed it to jump, and the little sucker was fast.
It was well after midnight, and I had to be up early the next day. The way that thing was scurrying suggested that it was more afraid of me than I was of it. (Probably). I could have went to sleep assuming it would stay away from me and just hope that during the night, it would just go back out the same way it came in.
No way. Not. In. This. House.
Imagine me carrying a broom like I'm going to break in to somebody's house with it. I have a half-hunted, half-crazed look on my face as I slowly try to get this disgusting crawling creature out into the open and strike it dead. I miss multiple times trying to get it behind my dresser. The beast flees from me and attempts to hide itself behind my TV stand. That was its fatal mistake. I strike again. It dodges right. Its in the open now. I strike again, nearly splintering the broom. I narrowly miss killing it, but got its wings so it can't jump. It still moves fast, but it's only a matter of time. I attack again, direct hit! I stomp on it with my shoe for good measure, it's not coming back now. I consider hanging the corpse outside my door with dental floss as a warning to the insect kingdom. (In the end, I decide to simply throw it in the garbage.) I went to bed pleased that I successfully defended my turf, but still feeling crawly.
The next day when I saw Carole and Jaime I asked them if they'd heard any banging coming from my apartment.
"Yes, what were you doing?"
"Nothing much."
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Working At the Missionary Home
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| Painting in the rain |
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| Repairing a security grille |
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| Working on the circuit breaker |
The work was finished this past weekend and we helped the Marshalls move into their (finally) completed apartment. It's such an awesome privilege to say I got to help with this, even though it was only a little bit. The only thing I regret is not taking more pictures. In fact, wish I had a picture of poor Bro Marshall jackhammering away in the bathroom to start the process of replacing the tile in there. He slaved away at it for hours with a bad drill and was melting in the heat. Least. Fun. Job. Ever. At least now whenever he has to go to the bathroom, he can look around and enjoy the fruitage of his hard work.
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