Wearing black

I've been in mourning all week. Not because of my son...the newspapers tell me there have been no deaths reported from the hurricane, so I'm assuming that includes him. And not even because of Aunt Bertha. It's because last week I was called into my bishop's office and released from my calling with the young women. Just like that. It came as quite a shock. Almost four years of a job that requires almost daily attention, and poof, I'm done.

That's how it works in our church, by the way. They don't pass around sign-up sheets for jobs. The higher-ups make decisions, with inspiration, about who should do what, and then they ask you to do it. You do have the option of saying no, and I'm frankly surprised at how many use that option. But there is no option for declining a release. Once you're done, you're done. Believe me, I considered it. "No Bishop, I'm gonna stay. I love those girls too much." Thought about it. But that would be unprecedented. And I'm not an unprecedented kind of person. Wouldn't have worked anyway. I'd be the uninvited guest at the picnic.

So I cried the rest of the day, and have moped around this week. Sure, I still have the musical keeping me busy, and I've got a wedding reception in my backyard the week after it ends (family friend, not one of mine, thank goodness), but I still feel like I have too much time on my hands. I'm sure within a few months or even days my schedule will be packed again, but in the meantime, I'll be the one wearing black.

Everybody stay calm! There's no need for panic...

I need to make it clear that I am not the type of person that worries needlessly. I am not at all like those silly women that sit around worrying when their husband is late getting home from a trip to the point that by the time said husband arrives she is in hysterics--not only has she planned his entire funeral but has moved on to figuring out how to provide for the family without him. I would never do that.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

So, with that in mind, let me say that if I were that type of woman, I would be a wreck right now. But I'm not. Because I'm sure everything's fine. Just because that son with the birthday, the one in Mexico, in the Yucatan Peninsula, is in the eye of a category 5 hurricane. But like I say, I'm sure he's fine. I actually wasn't worried much at all yesterday. It was his p-day (preparation day) and we got a letter telling us that he was evacuating the area as soon as he was done with the letter. He didn't sound like he was in any rush - wrote a nice detailed letter about all his experiences of the week. "How nice," I thought, "the church takes such good care of their boys." And they do, they really do. I'm told that statistically 19-to-20 year-old boys are much safer on a mission than at home riding their motorcycles and jumping off cliffs and all those other things they're inclined to do.

But then last night I started reading details about the storm, and didn't like what I read. So here's the deal: he was in Escarcega, which is on the southwest part of the Yucatan peninsula, and was evacuating to Merida, which is on the Northwest part of the peninsula. The eye of the storm hit on the eastern part of the peninsula, right in between those two points, and traveled northeast, directly THROUGH the area he was traveling yesterday! So in other words, when he went merrily on his way yesterday, he was heading INTO the eye of the storm. My husband keeps pointing out that Merida didn't get hit much, and that's where he is now. I have to clarify that that is where he was heading. There's a difference.

And boy is it a good thing I'm not a worrier. Because if I were I'd probably be huddled up with a box of chocolates, watching the news like a maniac. And that would be silly...just ask my husband.

Happy Birthday Son!

I just found out my son in Mexico gets to read this blog, and that he actually spent time reading it today - but by now it's too late to wish him a happy birthday here - I actually thought about it yesterday, but decided against it, since I didn't think he was allowed to use the Internet beyond emails.

And if he ever gets to come back, it'll be after his birthday has passed. Which wouldn't be so bad, except that the package I so carefully put together several months ago never made it to him.

Which wouldn't be so bad except that he just found out he's going to stay in the same difficult area he's been in for months - they usually stay in an area for six weeks and he'll be there now for six months.

Which wouldn't be so bad except the companion he's had for those six months did get transferred, so he'll be spending his birthday with a new companion he will have only known for one day.

So you see why I'm sad that I didn't say Happy Birthday here, for him to read on the day before his birthday. A birthday that will be spent with no present or family or even friends. But in his words "it's all good." It's mostly just hard for the Mama, who is used to picking out video games and I-pods for birthdays; and instead had to settle for a package of neckties and twinkies and a CD of his family singing Happy Birthday. A package that didn't even arrive.

Oh well. It's all good. Happy Birthday son!

Aunt Bertha's Dead

Ah, life is good, even if she is dead. And since I don't actually know Aunt Bertha, or doubt if the one in question ever actually existed, I suppose that doesn't even count. For those of you who have been following my exciting new stage career, the latest news is that I have yet another line! That's three! I'm almost the star! And the new line is..."Your Aunt Bertha's dead!"

It's a rather good line actually, because I move to the front of the stage with another woman during one of the songs, and the other woman complains that she spent time in the hospital and no one came to see her - she then ticks off a list of people who didn't come to see her, and when she gets to Aunt Bertha, I say...yes, you guessed it..."You're Aunt Bertha's dead", to which she replies, "Well, she wouldn't have come anyway."

Which reminds me of a quote from a lady who really did die this past week, a friend of mine from water aerobics. She was 79, but you'd never guess it. She was known for her belly dancing, tarzan yells, and cliff diving. And for her great attitude. She used to tell her nine kids, who she raised as a single mom: "No one's responsible for your happiness but yourself."

Even if Aunt Bertha wouldn't have come.