November 2, 2007 - S'Mores in Mongolia

Hey Everybody! It’s me! Another great week gone by in the Mongolia. It…is…freezing here! Last Saturday marked the return of The Great Gray Coat and my moon boots. It’s so cold and yet it’s not even close to coldest yet. The other night as we were pressing our way through the bitter cold I started to pen an ode to the ring of fur around the hood on my coat. It really does make a huge difference! Even Mongolian guys wear hoods with fur. I actually didn’t get much further than titling the poem “The Ring of Fire” (not to be confused with the Meeker of Fire, Jessie), but I think it’s a good start.

Last Saturday morning, just as we began our personal study, we got a call from our 15 year-old investigator, who is currently living by himself while his mom is studying in Sweden or Singapore somewhere. He had accidentally left the faucet running all night and his apartment was flooded. Within 30 minutes the two of us and three branch missionaries were there scooping and mopping and sweeping up water and wringing out all the socks that had been in various places on the floor. I’ve seen what 15-year-old boys do to bedrooms that they have all to themselves, but a whole apartment run by one is just scary! Add an inch and a half of water to the mix and…ugh. Anyway, we got it all cleaned up with couch cushions and backpacks and socks hanging out to dry in every spot imaginable.

Last Sunday was District Conference! It was fun, as usual, to run into everyone again. My convert from Sukhbaatar Branch, Demchig, is receiving the Melchizedek priesthood. That was cool. It was a little bit awesome/hard for Sister Khorloo, though, because her home branch members were everywhere, not to mention her brother, sister, and niece. Everyone told her that she’s gotten way fat. Sister Khorloo just shrugged her shoulders and said, “Kharin tii!” (“true dat,” gesen ug).

As I settled in to hear the talks for district conference President Ibek turned the rest of the time over to a DVD! It was President Monson, newly called apostle Elder Quentin L. Cook, former Mongolian mission mother and now YW General Presidency’s second counselor Sister Cook, and some white guy who spoke Chinese. They had prerecorded talks to be played at all the Asia Area district and stake conferences and, with local translators on hand; we got to hear the whole thing in Mongolian. I don’t know who it was that was translating from Chinese to Mongolian, but it was pretty impressive. Next time, though, I want a live videoconference.

So, Happy Halloween l daa. How does one really celebrate this most blessed of holidays without costumes or candy and while living in a country that for the most part doesn’t know it even exists. I’m not going to lie, I was a little bummed. But on Tuesday I had a good long talk with Mommy Tsolmoo (the poor man’s Aunt Bea) in English class. I call her Mommy Tsolmoo because she speaks such good English that I can actually converse with her quite casually…and because she’s 7 months pregnant, which just kinda screams “mommy.” Anyway, I told her all about Halloween and how we usually celebrate. I reviewed 21 years of Halloween costumes, including the tale of PP10’s triumphal Wizard of Oz costume party of yesteryear. Wait, that was TWO years ago! Ah! I’m an old missionary! Oh well. This was my second and hopefully last Non-Halloween Halloween. Next year I’ll probably just wear my deel and do my hair all Mongolian style and spend the day yelling at people who ask if I’m supposed to be Queen Amidala from Star Wars. You know they took her costumes directly from Mongolian traditional wear? Unen shuu.

A couple weeks ago while on a tangent in English class I was trying to describe s’mores to my 10th graders. Forget salt! How do you describe a marshmallow to someone who has never tasted or even seen one? Then it hit me: if you can’t bring the Mongolians to marshmallows, bring the marshmallows to Mongolians! I sent out the request to Mommy Johnson and in a [three week] flash I got a package with two bags full of jet-puffed fluffy goodness. Improvising the graham crackers and Hershey’s with some biscuits and Alpen Gold I was able to present the entire class with their very own cold s’more (eww, that sounds like “cold sore”). The best part was that I quoted the entire scene from Sandlot to them while explaining how to make it, but it wasn’t as cool because none of them understood the perfectness of the situation. Then I said “You’re killing me, Smalls” and burst out laughing, and when they continued to not get it I gave up and had a s’more of my own. The next day, in a magnanimous act of charity, I handed the bag of left-over marshmallows to our elders and before I could say “Long live Chinggis” the whole lot was inhaled and gone, a light sugary powder lingering in the air. If you have the chance this week, go buy a bag of marshmallows, maybe hug it for a while, and then roast one for me.

I was going to tell you about dealing with a raving drunk school superintendent, but the time is done. Oh dang, I forgot pictures from the baptisms and about five hundred other stories I was going to write. Gah In my last remaining seconds I’m going to take a personal privilege and say “Hey!” to Sister Stitt. After a bit of back up in the mail-system I got four of your emails in one day and it was like reading a thriller novel! Okay, not really, but go you nonetheless.