Ma, last night I had a dream I was home again, and I was in the airport and in the house and talking to everyone and I was like. . . ‘Are you sure I’m home? I think this is a dream.’ And I was closely inspecting everything, and reading things to make sure all the details were real. Finally, I decided, ‘Yep. I must be home now. Everything’s too realistic to be a dream.’
But then I woke up and I was like, ‘Duh. You could read everything, but it was all written in Spanish. Of course you weren’t home.’
This week was the first week where we ran into someone who was like, ‘Polygamy! Jose Smith!’ And my companion was like, ‘No, that’s a lie. He only had one wife.’ And I sat there quite conflicted, because they were both telling lies mixed with bits of truth. Which was interesting. I had and still have no idea how to respond to this question/accusation.
Oh, yeah. There were changes (Changes? Cambios? What’s the word in English?)last Monday, and my companion, Hna. Rojas, and I are together another month and a half in the same ward, Las Castañas. Which is a huge relief. Granted, I want to strangle her sometimes, but I also love her a lot. So.
I feel utterly trunky—a term used by missionaries to say we’re homesick—after reading your letter of packing up your room. A lot of good things happened in that house. I feel it’s the place we finally hit the silver lining to the black cloud of Dad. But I’m also okay with moving.
I also miss Sam now. I think it’s time they get their hair cut again.
I love you all,
(Pardon for my terrible letter. The internet is wretchedly slow, and it took an hour to load your letter, and now I don’t have time to actually write anything.)
PPS, please make Sam write me, ugly handwriting or no.
Thanks for sending my blessing. I’m going to print it off and read it again at home. And, no. My card hasn’t come yet. Not as far as I know of, always. Also, as a side-note, I love the ‘boring’ letters. I love hearing about the basic things that happen at home. And I`m literally quite
fine without using the money in my bank account–I’ve survived perfectly fine without a debit card–so if you haven’t already taken out what I owe for wisdom teeth, you can now.
I had a day this week where all my disabilities and faults all curled up in my lap and I was like ‘I don’t speak this language!’ and ‘I never got trained all the way!’ and ‘How am I supposed to change people’s lives!’ but then I ate half a watermelon, read some scriptures, and was okay. That’s basically always my recuperation plan these days. Eat some watermelon, read some scriptures, good to go. Also, I’d like to point out that the next day of this mini-breakdown, I had two or three people point out that my castillano is very good, as a matter of fact. So, there’s that.
I miss The Littles so much. So, so much. There’s this little boy in the ward, Jacob, and he’s got, like, almost two years, and he’s a doll. He always runs up and straps himself to my legs and he has curls and eyes JUST like Sam did. He’s adorable.
There’s also this kid named Dan in the ward, ten years old, snarky, sarcastic, adores me. Totally my replacement for Sam. Though he does make note to screech, ‘Hernama Gringa!’ when he spots me walking up to his house. This is deplorable, and I’m working to get people to
pronounce Compton. It’s utterly difficult for people to pronounce my name.
Remember when you sent me a package full of salt and peanut butter, Ma? Well, word finally got around the zone the other week that for Christmas my parents sent me salt. I’m officially the joke of the zone. I’m now referred to as Lot’s wife. The saddest part is that my feet are basically fine now, and I don’t even need the salt. They stop laughing when I can say that I have a plethora of peanut butter though.
And that’s really cool that Alden’s looking to make his own business and all, but I think after I come home, I’m going to stay within a ten minute radius of you for a good long time.
I love you all lots! I think Spring’s around the corner, no? Enjoy the chilly weather for me for a little bit longer, okay?
Love, Hermana Compton
P.S. Say hi to Grandpa and Sharon for me. I’ve been thinking about them a lot this week, and every time I put on my shoes, I’m eternally grateful for the money they contributed.