Our Life as a Dream

Our Life as a Dream                                                                           27 May 2013

The time passed away with us, and also our ^blives passed away like as it were unto us a ^cdream, 

(El tiempo se nos ha pasado, y nuestras ^bvidas también han pasado como si fuera un sueño,) ---Jacob 7:26

At least one of us has begun to dream in Spanish.  And it is just past Tegucigalpa week one!  I wonder which language we will be dreaming in next, as our lives progress! 

My first mistake, last week was to write a cheerful letter home before going to church 

to find out that the Spanish I thought I knew was really only Espanol de colegio (high school Spanish) and it was truly a joke to suppose that it would translate directly to what would greet me on the street or in a meetinghouse.  

My understanding of most of the two hour Stake Conference could be summed up with “Amen” and the few words preceding.  Val tells me he understands 80%, but rarely will he follow me around,

Google-translate-style to ease my “stranger (to Honduran Espanol) anxiety.”  So, I am renewing prayers for additional dones de lenguas (gifts of tongues.) 

Little by little, and my new friend Sister Beverly reminds me that it comes with doing—practicando—focus and review.  And it does come.  The hard part is the little by little.  Our taxi cab driver of Monday, when we were practicing our conversational vocabulary, prompted us to modify our “poco a poco” to “pocito a pocito” (not just little by little, but teeny part by teeny part.)  So the “ito” is where it is at.  Hello to Skippy John Jones (that favorite bedtime story of our nietos or grandchildren that has its share of “ito”s lodged therein!)

see Skippyjon Jones in action

Speaking of jokes (and focus we must, on these, to help us through bewilderment and battlefield of words flying hither and thither in rapid fire often with little hope of much rebound,) my first came when our sweet young temple recorder brought us home to our new apartment.  I had an impish urge to ask him where the coffee maker was (and likely I would have, except I did not know the word for coffee maker.)  Friday, I got courage, and brought it up when he sat at the recommend desk, greeting us for the day.  He did not laugh like his parents did last night, as we completed a final shift of the week.  I told them I loved their son because he gave us food, then I remembered aloud my good “chiste” from the Thursday before.  Our new friends are ever surprised to hear something funny coming out of our (my) broken Espanol.  But it is truly worth struggling at vocabulary to solicit a grin. 

I tell sisters with Amber’s cute cotton embroidery dress 

that they remind me of mi hija, or when one of them has the same “Amber-” labeled dress as I do 

that “we are gemelas” (twins!) This kind of vocabulary shocks those who are hearing and expecting “NO HABLO ESPANOL.”  The latter is still true, but it is good to have an occasional gem or “gemela” up one’s sleeve just for a smile.  A few of these came in our weeks outings--one to replace a pill minder forgotten in our whirlwind departure and an alfombra (not exactly a rug, but a thicker than 1/8 inch exercise mat, so Val can have a partner in his morning exercises.)  Neither were terribly successful (the exercise mat that we found that we could live with was $100—we did not buy it; the pill minder needed directions…it is the Cadillac of all pill minders, with latches and nobs, costing $12 plus tax plus 10% bank card transaction fee.   

This new red and white GMC invention has 14 compartments rather than the 28 of my own $4 WalMart conventional, left in the pantry or packed away at home.

 For all that, our Gemela Grandma Starkey suggests simply saving an egg carton--like an astronaut choice to use a pencil rather than fuss over million dollar research for a pen to write in space!)  I need Grandma here! 

After setting off an ATM alarm (it takes time for many things to translate here, including Lempiras and dolares) outside a closed bank, with armed guard looking on, we found a taxista or cab driver impressed when he ascended the hill approaching a beautiful “castle” he believed he was driving us to.  It was somewhat of a letdown to tell him that our living quarters stood behind.  We are just regular folk.  However, our apartment (minus a couple of water challenges--water water everywhere but sometimes not a drop from the sink to drink!)

 is very nice and, in good moments, we feel like King and Queen of Apartment 102.

Our second cab ride, with President and Sister Cazier to and from PriceSmart (a close twin to Costco, that even had samples) 

was uneventful in the end, but I appreciated remembering a joke heard the day before by a visiting speaker, telling of a minister in a disappointed meeting with St. Peter to learn his resting place was a cottage, while the taxista had a mansion.  When inquiring as to the reason, he was told that while the minister did his work, people slept, but when the taxista did his work, the people prayed mightily.  A veritable truth, as seatbelts in Tegucigalpa taxis are pretty much nonexistent and near accidents happen every block or three, although the drivers take things in stride with not so many honks or much fist shaking—even after working 14 hours from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m. to feed a family. 

During our last cab ride home Val decided to help the taxista become bilingual: 

“Do you know any English?”

“No.”

Sure, you do.  Say “yes.”

“Yes.”

“Say, ‘no’.”

“No.”

“Now you know two English words.”

“Say ‘banana.’”

“Banana.”

“Now you know three.”

By the time our taxista had said “father” and “mother,” Val convinced him he was on his way with five palabras de Ingles--he could go home and impress his children!

With 26 chapters left in the Book of Mormon, suspense is mounting in my stair climbing, 

as Helaman’s stripling warriors enter the scene and a nation is warned to watch for intrigue and contention in times of danger.  My best part of Sunday was hearing notes from “We have been born, as Nephi of old” as choir voices reminded me that music can trump in translating.

So to end as we began: may we hope for the following hymn to apply primarily  in nighttime episodes as we continue to recover from  unjustifiable jet lag that plagues us in our [my] search of lessons for remedial missionaries.  I am encouraged by Beverly, who knew zero Spanish prior to her arrival a month ago.  Ignoring my sleepy nods, she looks for new words in every session.  Quizás, español puede ser más fácil de lo que cabría suponer.  Perhaps, Spanish can be easier than one would suppose.  We no longer ask for coffee makers.  Val’s Saturday jaunt brought alcohol de la pharmacia (don’t tell our directors!)  Pues no necestamos tampoco—so we don’t need either!  And to be honest about the pill minder, we have one.  And it would be Val (as I am the pill.)  And no need for Benedryl or Ambien here (sleep comes even when not asked for!) 

I wanted to share Hymn #217 (pero "no está disponible en su idioma"—some things are limited in their language flavor !)

But because we have Google translate (even if it translates “God” as dEEos instead of deeOs):

Estar aqui (a new translation of "Star key:")  Here it is--

“Nuestra vida como un sueño, nuestro tiempo como un flujo
Se deslizan velozmente,  Y en el momento fugitivo se niega a quedarse:”

"Our life as a dream, our time as a stream

Glide swiftly away,   And the fugitive moment refuses to stay!"

When I figured out last night that our mission is one 36^th over, mi novio era triste, my sweetheart was sad, sad to watch our time fly by.    And the fugitive moment refuses to stay.  Pocito by pocito, we are sampling Espanol, working to become more than a temporary appendage—to thrust in our sickles, and like Skippy John Jones “ito” ourselves into the hearts of dedicated new friends here as they work their way into ours.  To our dear family and neighbors (gemelos de iglesia y caminos de casa—twins from Church and ways of home…)  Ustedes amamos…We love you!!!  Mas de “ito”  (more than a little!) Bendiciones a ti…blessings to you…

Elder Val and Laurene Starkey

P.S.  For a review of a history of missionary work in Honduras, see Honduran mission history

Circling around the Tegucigalpa temple

 Circling around the Tegucigalpa temple

 (Circundando Aldredor el Templo de Tegucigalpa)

19 May 2013

This whirlwind month is containing circles of every kind.  Thirty eight years ago, as a high school sophomore faced with a decision of which language to choose on the ominous line up of electives, I asked my Wyoming grandparents. 

Even with their small town perspective, having lived over forty years in a metropolis community registering a population of 7,487 in 2010, they steered me toward a language of our neighbors to the South.  “There will be a day when Spanish will be the language to know,” said Weatherman Grandpa Gee.   Grandma concurred, as they set their sights to serve a temple mission in Washington D.C., a relatively new temple which included a significant group of Spanish speaking members.  Grandma Pearl put her shoulder to the wheel and began to learn. 

While my sister’s Latin was uttered exoticly (“Vini vidi vici”=I came, I saw, I conquered!)  

 

and my brother’s German expressed gutturally (“Du bist crank en dem copf”= you are not completely well in the head,”)

I planted myself on a wooden Bismarck High School seat

at the feet of my olive-skinned instructor, who taught confidently with jokes (“eso si que es”= SOCKS!) and always a zzhhh for a j or “doble ll,” definitely a Spanish south-of-the-border twang, with no feminine Madrid lisping allowed!

Unbeknownst to me, a few years earlier, 1971 found a tall blonde and handsome young man named Val K. Starkey preparing himself to embark on a Spanish adventure to Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Panama, and Honduras, a selection of four countries grouped together to comprise the Mission de Central America for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  

  

Mechanical engineer by design, language study was a mystery the first several days and weeks.  Somehow as Espanol and his neighbors speaking it, climbed under his skin and into his heart, he agreed to enroll the last two of our children in a Spanish Immersion, and he worked to make friends with every Spanish speaking neighbor he encountered.

Somehow, one of us (me), could picture a faint writing on the wall, of Val’s love for his Central American brothers and sisters.  Panic-struck (how in the world to live in a place where the bread and butter of life—communicating—happens in a foreign tongue—one I have looked at only lightly for over thirty years!) I ordered the church publication “The Ensign” with a South of the Border slant, namely the Spanish Liahona.  And serendipitously, in the May and November issues, all the articles matched.  Lucky for me!  And the words translate from modern day to modern day. 

 

As work and sitting for hours at a time has become more and more challenging at Boeing, Val leaned toward something different.  Considering together another course, we talked with my father’s first cousin, JoAnn Bennett, who served a recent mission in the Mexico City temple, not knowing Spanish before.  She was encouraging, and promised that reading el Libro de Mormon in Spanish would open up a door for me, which it has.  Thirty six chapters to go and I hope to enjoy the gift of “tongues.”  It is amazing how persisting can help even the unfamiliar to appear less daunting.   

The second whirlwind of “circling” came as both my father and Val’s passed within three weeks of each other, after Val and I had just begun serving as ordinance workers in the LDS Bountiful temple. 

We had talked of missions, but neither of us dared, with our family responsibilities, helping parents in their golden years with health challenges in the forefront.  As Val describes it, somehow when the doors of the lives of our fathers closed, a window opened up to submit mission papers. 

As Val’s brother and sisters shared their family happenings at weekly dinners with Mom Starkey, Val’s sister Sherryl’s husband told us about his brother who is on his sixth Spanish speaking mission with his wife in the new Honduras temple.  So we called Bob to learn.  He told us about his brother Don, who emailed us and the rest is history. 

A new temple, understaffed, with “participantes” from as far as four hours away, with 200 workers, wishing for 500, they begged us to consider.  Consider we did. 

Our papers (following doctors’ visits, some immunizations, work considerations to iron, and details to care for home and family) were submitted on Val’s birthday, Easter, March 31.   

April 31^st came and we still had not heard official word securing our call.  It was literally May 3^rd, when the letter came. To leave home to train (in the Salt Lake temple for three days) on May 13^th with airplane tickets for 12:55 a.m. on May 16^th. Val cried.  And he continues to choke up.  He can say “Teguc” (and the “igalpa” comes with a gulp and cloudy eyes.)  I should have cried, too.

It is the girls 

(and my mom

and all in the wake of such a whirlwind) who need to be crying, as debris flies in the wake of moving 7 years of bad luck (or bad stuff) into boxes from floor to ceiling—no room for exercise equipment in the exercise room, and kind helpers are applauded for avoiding the gym by lifting weighty Boeing material, books, and scrapbook boxes. 

Thanks to all who encouraged, helped, and continue to assist.  Bienvenido to Kristen and Zach in our little cul de sac, and thanks to friends for welcoming them and their self-declared “white” and red-haired bambinos.

Three days basking in the history of a temple of pioneers with couples heading from Cebu to Madrid to Montevideo, we attended the sealing of Bellevue, WA friend, Angie (Barnum Phelps) Neal, and practiced our fledgling responsibilities translated into a language of yesteryear. 

Then it was time to embark! 

After having fixated on Youtube videos of Toncontin airport landings, Val cheered the navy pilot captain who confidently commandeered our Boeing 737-700 to gracefully land in “one of the most difficult [airports] in the world to all aircraft” (see Wikipedia.)   

Interestingly, as the airplane prepared to land, we circled the Tegucigalpa temple, which stands in the very neighborhood that a young Elder Val Starkey walked forty years ago.  

Val and I are beginning to see that the temple, and other peaceful places in our home and in our lives, and as we circle, offers us bearings as we lift our eyes to the hills “from whence cometh [our] help.” (Psalms 121:1)

Blessings to you! 

Elder Val and Sister Laurene Starkey