Murphy Brought Mayhem

Murphy came for a visit the other day, and he brought his law with him. I certainly didn't invite him, but he came and wreaked havoc in my house. Lindsay met him too, but I was the one who had to deal with his obnoxious behaviour for most of a recent afternoon.

It all started when I invited the other lady workers at the home to come down for dinner and dessert. Perhaps he took it personally that he wasn't asked to come too. I was bending over to put something in the garbage when he grabbed the back of my head and whammed my forehead into the corner of the cupboard door. Doubled-over and trying to recuperate, I wondered how he got in and fought the urge to curse loud and long. Not even five minutes later, while I was peeling back a can of tomatoe sauce, he took the lid and sliced my pinky finger over the razor edge. As blood dripped out of the clean, gaping cut, the smell of something burning reminded me that I had cakes in the oven. Forgetting about Murphy, I opened the door and saw that the cake mixture was overflowing the two loaf pans and creating a third cake on the bottom of the oven. At that point I gave up the fight, and let a few profanities fly out.

Lindsay, who was recuperating from some bazaar, swelling bite beneath her eye, entered the kitchen at about this time. I explained that we had an intruder named Murphy in the house and she graciously offered to continue with the dessert portion of the meal.

Completing the last layer of lasagna, I went on a frantic search for tin foil...a fruitless, frantic search. Since the noodles were already doing some idiotic curl upwards, I didn't want to risk drying up the dish by not covering it. There are three small convenience stores in our neighborhood, surely one of them would sell tin foil. As it turns out, convenience stores aren't so convenient in Bolivia.

After a nice stroll around a few blocks, I came back empty handed. Lindsay was throwing together her trifle and I chose to check my email. As my butt hit the chair, there was a yelp and a bang from the kitchen. Murphy was back. He had reached around Lindsay, grabbed the dessert bowl and threw it on the floor! The nerve of that guy!! Thankfully, this time there was an exception to his law and the container landed right side up.

Somehow, despite the intrusion and inconveniences, everything was good to go before 6pm, the hour our guests were to arrive. Unfortunately, Murphy must of thought it would be funny set back their watches, because they didn't show up until 7:40pm. June 27, 2006: the day Murphy brought mayhem to the house of Marcee. Dang that Murphy!!

Alison, Risky, and I

Soup of the Day

I was going to just title this blog and post the picture and it probably would have had the desired impact. However, my mouth is like a split gut and words are always spilling out everywhere. I can't resist elaborating on the meals I've had this week. Speaking of gut, have I mentioned the delightful fare of stomach stew and giblet goulash that was recently served at the home?

With regard to the posted photo, I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw this chicken head's vacant sockets staring up at me. A few minutes prior, one of our youngest girls was telling me how much she enjoyed chicken brains. I really didn't believe her, until she cracked the skull open like a walnut and consumed the mush inside! I tried to control my reactions, but they must have picked up on my revulsion as they proceeded to dangle the ripped up cranium in front of my face, inviting me to partake.

Yesterday, Lindsay and I headed to the Nacer boy's home. Near the dinner hour, one of the guys beckoned us to the kitchen to show us what he was preparing for dinner. As we approached the metal cauldron that sat over an open flame, the boy grabbed a large wooden ladle and began to swirl the boiling broth. A sick feeling washed over me as the large head of a pig was pulled out of the bubbling depths. We were told that the head needed to simmer in the soup for several hours so that all of it's flavours would seep out. I've never really been a big fan of the flavour of head, but I did manage to consume half a bowl.

No, the picture would not have been sufficient on it's own to convey the outlandish meals I've been eating as of late. I do apologize for not tacking warnings onto my last two entries. I realize that their content may revolt and disgust some of my readers. Welcome to my life. Soup anyone?

The Nightlife of a SWMF

Earlier this evening I had a good chuckle as I read the update of an old friend from Youth for Christ. Married and living in the west of Canada, the majority of her email centred on their newborn child of 6 months. She spoke of a "Baby and Me" group and the squealing noises of her son. I thought it was cute. It caused me to reflect on how life changes.

Less then a decade back, I would have been mortified if my Friday night consisted of anything less then going out with a few friends for drinks and dancing. Granted my entertainment choices have changed considerably, but nightlife certainly isn't what it used to be. Allow me to elaborate.

Most recently, Alison discovered that our dog, Risky, is infested with ticks. He has two varieties of ticks. One is smallish and red and the other is the size of large raisin, grey in colour. Our poor canine is being drained of blood and probably being given some dreadful, mind-eating disease in return. Alison, valiant and strong of stomach, has spent hours picking the suckers off of Risky's skin.

Last Friday, I overcame my strong gag reflex, and with the help of my friend Lindsay, the three of us took on Risky and plucked the putrid pests together. After drowning them in a rubbing alcohol, we gathered them into a glob on our tile patio.
At this point, the real fun began...especially for one who comes from a family of pyromaniacs. What a sweet feeling of revenge and satisfaction coursed through me as we set the little buggers on fire.

At one point, some one commented on the fact that it was Friday night and we were gathered around a small mound of charred tick corpses. Perhaps we should have wept at our pathetic plight, instead we found it quite amusing and spent the next half hour cracking jokes about how we were "livin' la vida loca"!

The nightlife got a little more "loco" last evening. Lindsay and I headed to a gala good-bye party for some friends of our Nacer homes. The food was pretty decent except for one particular item bearing a startling resemblance to something you would blow out of your nose.
However, our dinner didn't even compare to the one the dogs were devouring back at home. Coming through the gate, our dog and the neighbor's puppy were licking there chops on the porch. I looked at Lindsay and said, "Is that a diaper?"

It was.

These days the only ones consuming alcohol are nasty ticks and the only things dancing are the flames as they consume their inebriated bodies. Ahhh, the life of a single white missionary female.

Microwave Popcorn and Peanut Butter

By the sound of previous blogs, one might think that I'm totally down on the home. Admittedly, I tire of the clinging, hair pulling, stomach poking, and frequent put-downs but quite sincerely, these girls are endearing. As mom advised me just the other day, when the going gets rough, remember where these beauties have come from.

Where have they come from? The entirety of their stories remains unknown to me, but I do know of a few pasts. In one case, the mother of one of our 13 year old girls, prostituted her daughter for financial gain. Another older teen was sexually abused by every male in her family, except one...he only physically abused her. Unimaginable terrors forced upon innocents by the very people who should have defended and protected them. How can I stay gloomy for very long when my past reflects not one iota of their pain?

Despite the tremendous abuse these young girls have experienced, they maintain some sense of innocence, naivety, and wonder. My mind was blown tonight by the reaction of the girls to our microwave and more specifically microwave popcorn. Most did not know what a microwave was nor how to operate one. They fought to be the one to push the buttons. All eyes were fixed on the transparent microwave door as the inflating bag and popping kernels did more to entertain then their favourite TV show, El Cuerpo de Deseo. Their wonder continued as they secured spoons and gorged on my jar of peanut butter, finishing off what was left of the crunchy spread. Later, after our discussions, our cordless phone with it's handset locater was the object of much fascination and Alison's magazine from The Pottery Barn stirred up an ocean of "ooo's and "aaa's".

Although I am disillusioned with many aspects of my being here, one thing is clear. These girls are precious. They are gorgeous images of God. They deserve my love and an unlimited supply of grace. My burning desire is that every one will be as enthralled with Christ one day as they were with microwave popcorn and peanut butter tonight.