RoseE writes:
"Dearest Mum & Dad,
Once again, I am securely Not Blown Up for one more week. Yaaay!
So here's the news:
My mom kicks trash on bagpipes*. Seriously. I told everybody about this.
Bro. Cho Jung Gol is getting baptized on the first of August!! He has a baptismal date! Oh my freakin' gosh! Somebody actually wants to get baptized! I mean, that's why I came out here, to help people get baptized, but it's a bit of a shocker to actually see it really happening.
Wednesday, Costco opened.
And the entire district, in a fit of supreme irresponsibility, went to the opening even though it was NOT a P-Day.
We divided ourselves into three groups: The Americans, who were so excited to see a store full of familiar, American stuff that they were ready to either cry or dance jigs in the aisle; the Koreans, who thought this was all kind of neat but why was this such a big deal, again?; and Elder Hamilton, who does not like shopping or crowds (of which Costco was very full on its opening day; but VERY) and thus quietly curled up in a corner until someone told him he could go home.
I had a good time, though. And I bought a chicken wrap for my lunch, and because it was opening day and I was a Costco member and had made a purchase, I got a Free Gift: a box of TimTams, a giant chocolate muffin, a bag of Ghardetto's, a gatorade, a banana, and a dozen and a half eggs. Not bad for a three-buck purchase, considering that the TimTams alone go for about four dollars on the open market.
So after cavorting joyously in the midst of all this American-ness (The Elders spent about four hundred dollars, which they'd been saving for MONTHS, on tortillas and ground beef and Cheerios and CHEESE and I know not what-all), my companion and our former roommates and I went to grab some lunch at a restaurant where they ate a soup, with a fish in it. Like a whole fish. Cut into chunks. And inside the chunks was something that I at first thought was Ramen but was actually said creature's intestines. But they ate it like Ramen. I'd had the chicken wrap, so I abstained. It was the first moment of my mission where I felt genuinely weary of trying to be Korean, at least in the food aspect. I'd sort of forgotten that there was more American food than pizza, hamburgers, and spaghetti (which is what they think of as 'American food' here). I'd forgotten there were other flavors to things besides gochujang. I'm over this fit now, although I did have a leftover piece of pizza for breakfast this morning, but it was sweet-potato-and-corn pizza so it wasn't all that American, really. But there was a melancholy poignancy to the sight of pancake syrup and apple pie.
I've gotten roped into being the token American at an English class taught by a less-active member of Yeonsan ward. This class is WEIRD. The students are all middle-aged ladies (just sweet as anything, all of them) and the teacher is as jittery as the White Rabbit. I can't understand anything he says in English or Korean because our presence rattles him so much. But in this class, the students learn such useful phrases as "Congratulations on your begetting a son" and each week must listen to their teacher reciting the following: "Learning to speak English is like learning to swim or learning to play baseball. You learn to swim by swimming. You learn to play baseball by playing baseball. And you learn to speak English by speaking English. If you want to learn to speak English well, the best way is to jump into English river and try to learn to swim there." Which is good advice, really. But my idea of 'jumping into English river' is just talking to Anglophones, messing up, making mistakes, possibly learning to canoe or weave a basket or navigate a major city without the crutch of your native language to fall back on. The Korean Education System's idea is reading off pre-printed 'dialogues,' first as person A. and then as person B. (I've got the dialogue memorized too.) This is frustrating to me. I vent my frustration by going to Yoon Gi Dong's restoraunt and teaching his daughter English prepositions by balancing glasses of water on my head, building towers out of the salt shakers, and climbing under the table.
I baked another custard for my breakfast this week. It was yummy. But as I came home that night and walked into the apartment, the smell of gas told me that I had LEFT THE OVEN ON ALL DAY. Genius, me. So Sis. Pak and I planned in the stairwell while the stuff aired out, then said a prayer and went inside to turn on the light. We didn't die, although Sis. Pak screamed as though she had. Scared me to death.
It poured torrential, horrific rain on Tuesday. We had zone conference, so we stayed inside all day, so HA. I think I used about fifty paper towels trying to get my shoes dry.
There was a fireside this week at Kumjeong ward (which is a brand-new building slightly more beautiful than the Provo temple; there are big cabinets full of slippers as you come inside, so everyone wears slippers all through any church meeting and leaves their shoes in the cabinets) in which Robert Halley, Korea's best-known American and Pusan radio celebrity, spoke. The missionaries sang, most of us badly, but Sisters Mont and Hill quite well. I was the only person in the packed room who could correctly identify a picture of a quiche. Well, President and Sister Jennings probably could have, but they didn't speak up.
Sister Pak has this book. It's a 'Conversational English' book. Well, the sort of English that sure starts a conversation. Because it makes no distinction between casual speech and outright vulgarity, and of course poor little Sister Pak doesn't know which words are which. This book has caused her a lot of trouble; once, when at a meal with a brand-new fresh-off-the-plane greenie elder, she kindly explained to him that the meat they were eating was pig ass. She even spelled it for him when he looked confused.
Now she checks all expressions with her foreign companions before using them in conversation.
This is often funny. "Chamenim . . . (this English word/expression) many use? Bad word?" And I can say either "No, that's fine, you can say that," or "No, that's a great one, please call Elder Hansen that" or "Um . . . yes. Never say that again. You'll get struck by lightning."
Escalators in Korea have motion sensors. So when nobody's using them, they're not running. How brilliant is that?
Oh, and a word about babies. Korean babies are carried on their mother's backs, strapped on by a blanket with two long straps that wrap it in place. I think this is a splendidly sensible and comfortable system, but I am the only American missionary who thinks so. The other Elders and Sisters shake their heads and mutter, "That's why all the women are so bent over when they're old. They carry these kids on their backs!" Um . . . American old people are bent over too. We just never see them because they are locked in rest homes, not out shopping or hanging with their friends or carrying their grandkids (or great-grandkids, even) around with them . . . on their backs . . . all over the city . . . pretty much until the very day they die. I read a study once that said that the more children are held as they're growing up, the less likely they are to act out violently when they grow older. Violent crime in Korea is almost nonexistent. At least in this end of Korea. I want to steal a pattern for the baby-carrying thing.
And . . . we're off to Costco, again, so that's the news for the week. I love everybody!
RoseE"
* I guess this is the missionary equivalent of "kicking ass". In June, the Salt Lake Scots (of which I, blogmom, am a piping member) took first place in both events at the Salt Lake Highland Games. This last weekend we again took first place in both events at the Payson Highland Games. I also took first in one solo event and third in the other at the Yellowstone Highland Games last month.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
RoseE writes:
"Dear Mom & Dad,
Here's a shoutout to Elder Anderson's mom. He's Sister Beckstead's dongi (MTC graduating class). I don't know him, though. At least I don't think I do.
So here's the news of the week. We did, indeed, make it to the aquarium, and that was a lot of fun. The aquarium designers sure know their audience . . . around every corner was a new photo opportunity. (Koreans love to take pictures. But really.) I'll try to send a few, but ldsmail is being a pain again. What else is new.
So this week, I got swamped with letters. Really. I got eight letters and a package. I think the rest of my zone wants to kill me, they're so jealous. So Daddy, Bethe, Bug, Emily, Sara V., Violaine, and Thora, your replies are planned and will come as swiftly as I can wield a pen. I am SO grateful. I am the most spoiled missionary ever. You're all freakin' fantastic.
So, this week in missionary work . . . well, sister Noh Heon Hee, a young mom in Sujeong that we're teaching, is keeping her commitments and listening when we teach her. This seems like such a little thing, but it's SUCH a big deal, because that means she's progressing, and she's learning, and she's gaining a testimony, and that's awesome! She has a little eighteen-month-old girl, Su Een, who is Sis. Pak's new best friend. Also we're having lots of fun with Bro. Cho Jung Gol, who was raised Buddhist and always has so many questions that our lessons can last up to two and a half hours. (Really. I timed last night's. Five thirty to eight in the evening.) The members of the ward all love him and keep inviting him over for dinner. He wants to get baptized. He still wanted to get baptized after we threw the Word of Wisdom and Tithing at him, which tend to be dealbreakers (though, oddly enough, they're a couple of my favorite commandments to live, because they just straight up bring lots of blessings and that's all there is to it). So nothing but promise on that front.
Our last lesson with Brother Cho, President Jennings was supposed to come and teach with us, but he had to cancel at the last minute. To a missionary, having someone cancel on you at the last minute is called being 'punked,' and it entitles you to go get ice cream. So since it was President who punked us, we're going to get really expensive italian gelato and send the reciept into the office for a refund . . . because it was President who punked us.
Fourth of July was fun. The American missionaries wore all the red, white, and blue they could find (generally red ties with white shirts and navy blue slacks for the elders, and a red shirt, cream skirt, and blue necklace for me). And we had a barbeque in the parking lot of Gwangan ward. Since I'm a bit of a pyro, I helped manage the fire pit, and I also spice rubbed and de-boned all the chicken (not, like, pieces of chicken, like A CHICKEN that had been chopped into chunks, bones and all) until my grip slipped and I took a chunk out of my finger with my thumbnail. But I didn't get any blood in the chicken, and it was mostly done by then anyway. I was also the only person to come to the barbeque equipped with a pocketknife or a flashlight, both of which won oooohs and aaaaahs from the elders and earned me that most coveted of titles, "Boy Scout."
"Sister Hadden . . . she's a Boy Scout, man." "Who got the fire going?" "Sister Hadden. She's a Boy Scout." "Whose idea was it to bake the chicken in folded pie tins?" "Sister Hadden. She's like a Boy Scout or something." And when we were discussing putting the fire out, and of course someone suggested peeing on it, because Elders are really just big Cub Scouts in suits, Elder Hansen quipped, "I think of all of us standing here, Sister Hadden would be the only one gutsy enough to actually do it." Which I decided to take as a compliment.So it was a fun time. And it all felt very peaceful and American, despite the fact that there were no hot dog buns and our soda was plum-flavored.
I here enclose the following conversation between Sister Pak and myself.
Me: Sister Pak, why do you keep your breakfast cereal in the freezer?
Sister Pak: Don' like. Too salty. Bud wid strawberry jam . . . so good!
Me: What?
Sister Pak: Too salty eheoh!
Me: The freezer?
Sister Pak: Yeah!
Me: The freezer is too salty?
Sister Pak: Yeah! You don' tink so?
What I was missing here was that I was saying "freezer" and she was hearing "pretzel." Which makes sense in a weird kind of way when you've lived in Korea for three months.
Sweet little sister Ee In Suk found me a cute shirt for 5,000 won. It's light gauzy cream with gray-green lacework all over it. Sooo summery and nice. Sister Ee has been really concerned about the fact that it's hard for me to find clothes in Korea . . . she's been on the hunt, bless her.
So that's the news for this week, I think. It's getting hot but not unbearably so, there's good work to do, the apartment is comfortable and COSTCO OPENS IN TWO DAYS! Sis. Beckstead and Ogelvie are already planning to go for next P-day, and they informed me (not invited: informed) that I was coming too, 'cuz I got the card.
Gonna go try to send those pictures now. Hold tight.
Love you
RoseE"
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
New Apartment and A Korean Funeral
6/28/09
RoseE writes:
"Dear Mum and Dad,
Well, the new apartment is fantastic, in a peculiar kind of way. Here's how it is:
It is about two and a half rooms smaller than our old apartment: just kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, other room that is supposed to be a family room but we use for hanging clothes, and the small rectangular porch holding the washing machine and a storage closet. The bathroom has no sink, so we're brushing our teeth and washing our hands in the bathtub. When we moved in, it did not smell funny, but it was occupied by a lot of STUFF left over by the elders: pamphlets and Books ofMormon everywhere, random bits of leftover food, old shopping receipts, shoes, shaving cream, takeout menus. I set to it with a will, and within two days it became a neat, pretty, well-organized little place with pictures on the walls, and we have about six bags of stuff sorted and ready to take down to recycling. And I have a new toiletry bag and some free body wash.
The washing machine was a bit of a surprise. I stored my almost-empty luggage next to it, where it would be out of the way, and put in a load of laundry. Twenty minutes later I came back to discover that the washing machine drains straight onto the floor, and the water just runs to the drainpipe at the other end of the room. So guess whose duffel bag went on the clothesline for a while? It just isn't an adventure until somebody's luggage gets soaked.
My bed is fantastic. After three months of sleeping sardine-style with three other girls and kicking Sis. Beh every time I roll over, I have a king-size bed all to myself, with sheets and a blanket and everything, and a headboard with fleurs de lys on it. I absolutely adore my bed. It is the best thing ever . . . except the little 'Natural Noise Making Machine' left over by somebody. I figured out how to operate it and fell asleep last night listening to crickets. It's like Christmas in this place, I tell ya.
So when I'm not in bed, I'm teaching investigators. Really. One day this week, we had three lessons! With three different people! And one of them came to church yesterday! Sis. Pak has high hopes that we might actually see one of our very own investigators baptized this transfer. We're praying like crazy, and I'm working on my Korean again (it was on hiatus last transfer as I tried to memorize scripture references I needed for pass-off). As the only missionaries in Yeonsan, it's really all on us right now. Well, and Heavenly Father. Him, too.
We have heard tell that Michael Jackson has died. However, this pales in importance next to something more immediate: the same day, Sister Lee Du Yeop, Bishop Ryu's mother and our sort-of investigator, passed away. She was quite an old lady, but healthy and active all the way up to the end. I could never understand a word she said, but she always tried to talk to me, because she thought that I must be lonely, the lone American in an all-Korean world. She had compassion, and for that I will miss her. She's also the only person who ever made Sister Montgomery resort to sneaking food into her purse, unable to eat everything that she was served.
We attended her funeral two days ago. Sis Pak doesn't know the English word for funeral, so she kept telling me, "We go to hospital. Sister Lee Du Yeop." Which left me a little confused . . . why were we going to the hospital in the interest of someone who has already passed away? Well, here's why. Because with practicality that is as convenient as it is marcabre, every hospital in Korea has a funeral hall inside it. Um . . . yeah.
The funeral was a Cultural Experience. The funeral hall looked like every other soup restaurant in Pusan--hardwood floor, low tables. But beyond it was a room with a wall of flowers framing sister Lee's portrait, with incense burning in front of it. We all went into this room and did a full, formal Korean bow, which means getting down on your knees, pressing your forehead to the floor, getting up, kneeling down and doing it again, getting up, and then bowing once from the waist as deep as you can go. Then we turned ninety degrees to where Sister Lee's children and children-in-law were lined up (the men in suits with a yellow band around one arm, the women in black hanboks with white collars) and did the whole bow again. And then we sat down and ate. Yep, welcome to Korea.
The hospital catered. The dishes, however, were all paper (I have never eaten off paper dishes in Korea) and bore the logo of Pusan Bank, which where I come from would be considered a little tacky. But that seems to be the way it is here: ancient ceremony and modern practicality harshly juxtaposed, the monumental events of your life tempered with the knowledge that your life is just one of many millions going on around you and there isn't too much time for everyone to focus on just you.
This week, I also spent most of English class hearing stories about the Korean War from the older people who attend the class. Brother Pak Gun Gi, the choir director, used to make his living shining shoes for the American soldiers. That sobered me quite a bit. The past here is harldy past at all--it's within living memory, times when war raged everywhere and food was more precious than gold. All the meals I eat, with all the endless bowls of rice, are in part a celebration: we have food. We have safety. Eat . . . our country hasn't eaten well in such a long, long time.
Also this week the government issued a 50,000 won bill. Up until now the largest bill was 10,000 won . . . roughly $8 or $9. Really. That was as big as it got.
And in other history news, Happy Fourth of July! I shall celebrate by watching 1776 in my head, and possibly setting something on fire.
Sister Ogelvie's boyfriend is serving a mission in Montana. He wrote her a letter gasping in shock that he had been obliged to eat Rocky Mountain Oysters*. Sister Ogelvie's reply: "Rocky Mountain Oysters? Are you kidding me? I eat weirder things than Rocky Mountain Oysters for BREAKFAST, EVERY DAY. At least you know what part of what animal you're eating! Stop being such a wuss!"
I like Sister Ogelvie.
I also like Liz. Liz is my electronic dictionary. It's made for Korean-speakers learning English, Chinese, and Japanese, but it's dang useful for me, anyway. In addition to being able to look up anything in Korean, I can also look things up in French (it's got a pretty basic 11-language dictionary function, but it pronounces things out loud for you) and learn how to write hanja and store pictures and read Teachings of the Presidents of the Church, which the former owner conveniently left on the hard drive for me. I couldn't name it Katherine, because that name is reserved for my someday-I-will-get-a-new laptop, but in keeping with my traditions of naming electronics after classic movie actresses, she is Liz.
Can I have the recipe for granola, please? *puppy eyes* It is so good and yummy, and breakfast cereal here is out-of-the-question expensive. Although I did make rice pudding this week, baked and everything; that was fun. And COSTCO opens next week! Yaaaaay!
And today we're going to the Haeundae Aquarium, which is rumored to be better than Monterrey. We'll see--Monterrey was pretty impressive, at least when I was thirteen.
And that's the news from Lake Woebegone**, I think. I love you all so much, and I miss you! I made Irish pancakes for another breakfast this week (the elders left powdered sugar . . . I would have taken it with me) and missed breakfasts with my family while I ate them. Sad day. But other than that, really, I'm just fine. Great. I have my own bed!
RoseE"
*Rocky Mountain Oysters . . . sorry, you're going to have to google that for yourselves.
**Lake Woebegone: ficticious (or mythological) town in central Minnesota, home to the many characters created by Garrison Keillor of Prairie Home Companion fame.
RoseE writes:
"Dear Mum and Dad,
Well, the new apartment is fantastic, in a peculiar kind of way. Here's how it is:
It is about two and a half rooms smaller than our old apartment: just kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, other room that is supposed to be a family room but we use for hanging clothes, and the small rectangular porch holding the washing machine and a storage closet. The bathroom has no sink, so we're brushing our teeth and washing our hands in the bathtub. When we moved in, it did not smell funny, but it was occupied by a lot of STUFF left over by the elders: pamphlets and Books ofMormon everywhere, random bits of leftover food, old shopping receipts, shoes, shaving cream, takeout menus. I set to it with a will, and within two days it became a neat, pretty, well-organized little place with pictures on the walls, and we have about six bags of stuff sorted and ready to take down to recycling. And I have a new toiletry bag and some free body wash.
The washing machine was a bit of a surprise. I stored my almost-empty luggage next to it, where it would be out of the way, and put in a load of laundry. Twenty minutes later I came back to discover that the washing machine drains straight onto the floor, and the water just runs to the drainpipe at the other end of the room. So guess whose duffel bag went on the clothesline for a while? It just isn't an adventure until somebody's luggage gets soaked.
My bed is fantastic. After three months of sleeping sardine-style with three other girls and kicking Sis. Beh every time I roll over, I have a king-size bed all to myself, with sheets and a blanket and everything, and a headboard with fleurs de lys on it. I absolutely adore my bed. It is the best thing ever . . . except the little 'Natural Noise Making Machine' left over by somebody. I figured out how to operate it and fell asleep last night listening to crickets. It's like Christmas in this place, I tell ya.
So when I'm not in bed, I'm teaching investigators. Really. One day this week, we had three lessons! With three different people! And one of them came to church yesterday! Sis. Pak has high hopes that we might actually see one of our very own investigators baptized this transfer. We're praying like crazy, and I'm working on my Korean again (it was on hiatus last transfer as I tried to memorize scripture references I needed for pass-off). As the only missionaries in Yeonsan, it's really all on us right now. Well, and Heavenly Father. Him, too.
We have heard tell that Michael Jackson has died. However, this pales in importance next to something more immediate: the same day, Sister Lee Du Yeop, Bishop Ryu's mother and our sort-of investigator, passed away. She was quite an old lady, but healthy and active all the way up to the end. I could never understand a word she said, but she always tried to talk to me, because she thought that I must be lonely, the lone American in an all-Korean world. She had compassion, and for that I will miss her. She's also the only person who ever made Sister Montgomery resort to sneaking food into her purse, unable to eat everything that she was served.
We attended her funeral two days ago. Sis Pak doesn't know the English word for funeral, so she kept telling me, "We go to hospital. Sister Lee Du Yeop." Which left me a little confused . . . why were we going to the hospital in the interest of someone who has already passed away? Well, here's why. Because with practicality that is as convenient as it is marcabre, every hospital in Korea has a funeral hall inside it. Um . . . yeah.
The funeral was a Cultural Experience. The funeral hall looked like every other soup restaurant in Pusan--hardwood floor, low tables. But beyond it was a room with a wall of flowers framing sister Lee's portrait, with incense burning in front of it. We all went into this room and did a full, formal Korean bow, which means getting down on your knees, pressing your forehead to the floor, getting up, kneeling down and doing it again, getting up, and then bowing once from the waist as deep as you can go. Then we turned ninety degrees to where Sister Lee's children and children-in-law were lined up (the men in suits with a yellow band around one arm, the women in black hanboks with white collars) and did the whole bow again. And then we sat down and ate. Yep, welcome to Korea.
The hospital catered. The dishes, however, were all paper (I have never eaten off paper dishes in Korea) and bore the logo of Pusan Bank, which where I come from would be considered a little tacky. But that seems to be the way it is here: ancient ceremony and modern practicality harshly juxtaposed, the monumental events of your life tempered with the knowledge that your life is just one of many millions going on around you and there isn't too much time for everyone to focus on just you.
This week, I also spent most of English class hearing stories about the Korean War from the older people who attend the class. Brother Pak Gun Gi, the choir director, used to make his living shining shoes for the American soldiers. That sobered me quite a bit. The past here is harldy past at all--it's within living memory, times when war raged everywhere and food was more precious than gold. All the meals I eat, with all the endless bowls of rice, are in part a celebration: we have food. We have safety. Eat . . . our country hasn't eaten well in such a long, long time.
Also this week the government issued a 50,000 won bill. Up until now the largest bill was 10,000 won . . . roughly $8 or $9. Really. That was as big as it got.
And in other history news, Happy Fourth of July! I shall celebrate by watching 1776 in my head, and possibly setting something on fire.
Sister Ogelvie's boyfriend is serving a mission in Montana. He wrote her a letter gasping in shock that he had been obliged to eat Rocky Mountain Oysters*. Sister Ogelvie's reply: "Rocky Mountain Oysters? Are you kidding me? I eat weirder things than Rocky Mountain Oysters for BREAKFAST, EVERY DAY. At least you know what part of what animal you're eating! Stop being such a wuss!"
I like Sister Ogelvie.
I also like Liz. Liz is my electronic dictionary. It's made for Korean-speakers learning English, Chinese, and Japanese, but it's dang useful for me, anyway. In addition to being able to look up anything in Korean, I can also look things up in French (it's got a pretty basic 11-language dictionary function, but it pronounces things out loud for you) and learn how to write hanja and store pictures and read Teachings of the Presidents of the Church, which the former owner conveniently left on the hard drive for me. I couldn't name it Katherine, because that name is reserved for my someday-I-will-get-a-new laptop, but in keeping with my traditions of naming electronics after classic movie actresses, she is Liz.
Can I have the recipe for granola, please? *puppy eyes* It is so good and yummy, and breakfast cereal here is out-of-the-question expensive. Although I did make rice pudding this week, baked and everything; that was fun. And COSTCO opens next week! Yaaaaay!
And today we're going to the Haeundae Aquarium, which is rumored to be better than Monterrey. We'll see--Monterrey was pretty impressive, at least when I was thirteen.
And that's the news from Lake Woebegone**, I think. I love you all so much, and I miss you! I made Irish pancakes for another breakfast this week (the elders left powdered sugar . . . I would have taken it with me) and missed breakfasts with my family while I ate them. Sad day. But other than that, really, I'm just fine. Great. I have my own bed!
RoseE"
*Rocky Mountain Oysters . . . sorry, you're going to have to google that for yourselves.
**Lake Woebegone: ficticious (or mythological) town in central Minnesota, home to the many characters created by Garrison Keillor of Prairie Home Companion fame.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Letter to the Family received 6/21/09
RoseE writes:
"Dearest Mum et al,
Thank you so much for the wonderful package! Chocolate is splendid. :)* But I'm most grateful for the photos. I'm putting them in my take-it-with-me-everywhere photo album, so I can show everyone I meet my family, my kitchen, my dogs, my cat, my yard, bagpipes (bagpipes are very hard to explain to Koreans) . . . my whole life. . .
I'm also enclosing a myongham--that's a card, like a business card or calling card. All the missionaries make them and stick them in one another's journals. They're a Korea thing. This particular myongham is Elder Sindow's. I don't really know him, but I'm sending it because it has the dragon Bethe requested. He had to hike a long way uphill to a temple to get the shot, which I can't do right now 'cuz I have to do missionary stuff, so I am taking advantage of his effort. A genuine Korean dragon. The test says "Dream of the dragon"; dreaming of a dragon is supposed to be good luck.
If anyone else wants a specific picture of something, I'll do my best to oblige. . .
I continue to be perfectly safe, and seemingly more comfortable than all y'all getting soaked to the skin at bagpiping events judged by dementors. It's getting summer, and I'm faithfully using sunscreen, but we haven't yet hit the infamous boil-you-alive Korean summer. Only a matter of time, I guess.
Spend lots of time at the library where it's cool.
Love ya,
RoseE"
* :) Despite having some skill in drawing, and using a pen and paper, RoseE still wrote the smiley sideways, as if she was using a computer without a drawing program.
"Dearest Mum et al,
Thank you so much for the wonderful package! Chocolate is splendid. :)* But I'm most grateful for the photos. I'm putting them in my take-it-with-me-everywhere photo album, so I can show everyone I meet my family, my kitchen, my dogs, my cat, my yard, bagpipes (bagpipes are very hard to explain to Koreans) . . . my whole life. . .
I'm also enclosing a myongham--that's a card, like a business card or calling card. All the missionaries make them and stick them in one another's journals. They're a Korea thing. This particular myongham is Elder Sindow's. I don't really know him, but I'm sending it because it has the dragon Bethe requested. He had to hike a long way uphill to a temple to get the shot, which I can't do right now 'cuz I have to do missionary stuff, so I am taking advantage of his effort. A genuine Korean dragon. The test says "Dream of the dragon"; dreaming of a dragon is supposed to be good luck.
If anyone else wants a specific picture of something, I'll do my best to oblige. . .
I continue to be perfectly safe, and seemingly more comfortable than all y'all getting soaked to the skin at bagpiping events judged by dementors. It's getting summer, and I'm faithfully using sunscreen, but we haven't yet hit the infamous boil-you-alive Korean summer. Only a matter of time, I guess.
Spend lots of time at the library where it's cool.
Love ya,
RoseE"
* :) Despite having some skill in drawing, and using a pen and paper, RoseE still wrote the smiley sideways, as if she was using a computer without a drawing program.
Letter to Todd received 6/21/09
RoseE writes:
"Dear Dad,
Despite your dire predictions, Busan continues to be boring from a military standpoint. We hear that a couple of American reporters are having a more exciting time than we are, though--they're in our prayers over here.
I like your Appalacian Trail theory of testimony. It reminded me of something President Jennings said in my interview with him this transfer. He referred me to "The Search for the Neutrino" which, of course, I can't read right now. How do you find a particle that has no mass and no charge? How do you quantify faith? How do you know you have enough of something you can't measure? Well, having never read "The Search for the Neutrino" and not being a physicist, I haven't a clue about that, but faith you see by not looking for it. Am I on a mission? Am I testifying of Jesus Christ and the Restoration? Do I love the scriptures? Am I doing things I didn't think I could? That I have faith. "How much" is immaterial. Whether or not I see visions, dream dreams, or speak prophecy is irrelevant. I have enough faith to do what I have done, and when I am called upon to do more, I will do that.
Most of the time, you're between white blazes and can't see them either before or behind you. That's okay. You're still walking, and you know you're going in the right direction, so you're fine.
I have been a little down, but not drastically so. Slow missionary work is frustrating and disappointing, that's all. But it's just something I've got to wade through. I'm physically healthy and well-rested, my Korean is sloooooowly improving, I'm making a lot of progress on personal goals. Other than the lack of missionary work, my mission is going fine.
Sister Montgomery told me that every transfer is different--dramatically different, even if you don't change areas or companions. Last transfer day I was terrified to the point of tears. Transfers are coming up again this week, but I'm not scared. I'm ready for another roll of the dice. I'm ready for a dramatically different experience, though I've learned a lot from this one.
I'm out of room and need to go play with my new toy . . . I bought an electronic dictionary off Elder Kent. It is shiny.
I love you.
RoseE"
"Dear Dad,
Despite your dire predictions, Busan continues to be boring from a military standpoint. We hear that a couple of American reporters are having a more exciting time than we are, though--they're in our prayers over here.
I like your Appalacian Trail theory of testimony. It reminded me of something President Jennings said in my interview with him this transfer. He referred me to "The Search for the Neutrino" which, of course, I can't read right now. How do you find a particle that has no mass and no charge? How do you quantify faith? How do you know you have enough of something you can't measure? Well, having never read "The Search for the Neutrino" and not being a physicist, I haven't a clue about that, but faith you see by not looking for it. Am I on a mission? Am I testifying of Jesus Christ and the Restoration? Do I love the scriptures? Am I doing things I didn't think I could? That I have faith. "How much" is immaterial. Whether or not I see visions, dream dreams, or speak prophecy is irrelevant. I have enough faith to do what I have done, and when I am called upon to do more, I will do that.
Most of the time, you're between white blazes and can't see them either before or behind you. That's okay. You're still walking, and you know you're going in the right direction, so you're fine.
I have been a little down, but not drastically so. Slow missionary work is frustrating and disappointing, that's all. But it's just something I've got to wade through. I'm physically healthy and well-rested, my Korean is sloooooowly improving, I'm making a lot of progress on personal goals. Other than the lack of missionary work, my mission is going fine.
Sister Montgomery told me that every transfer is different--dramatically different, even if you don't change areas or companions. Last transfer day I was terrified to the point of tears. Transfers are coming up again this week, but I'm not scared. I'm ready for another roll of the dice. I'm ready for a dramatically different experience, though I've learned a lot from this one.
I'm out of room and need to go play with my new toy . . . I bought an electronic dictionary off Elder Kent. It is shiny.
I love you.
RoseE"
Monday, June 22, 2009
RoseE writes:
"Dearest Mum & Dad,
Well, here's the BIG news: Transfers.
None, really.
The elders are all shuffling around, and one American sister is switching around to take the place of a homeward bound Korean sister, but other than that all the Sisters are staying where they are. Except that sister Pak Je Yeon and I are moving . . . not work areas, but apartments. The elders with whom we were working in Yeonsan are transfering/going home, so we are moving into their old place so the Mission can keep the apartment and we don't have to ride the subway for half an hour to get to the chapel every day. We will be the only missionaries in Yeonsan. And Sujeong, which had two teams of elders, will now have one. We have one investigator in Sujeong, so we're sort of still working there, but we'll spend most of our time in Yeonsan because, hey, we're living there and there's no one else to get the work done.
Elder Lee Song Gi, who is the Yeonsan Elder transferring away, says that the apartment smelled funny when they got there. Um . . .
The whole mission is getting stretched thinner because today THIRTEEN missionaries finished their service and tomorrow THREE are coming. We are down ten missionaries. That's five teams. That's a lot of people. But we still have enough people to have at least one team in every ward, which is good. A ward without missionaries in it scares us.
So I'm staying here in central Pusan for another six weeks. Well, another twelve, because in six weeks Sister Pak is going home, so I will have to stay in Yeonsan or nobody will know what is going on there. So I'll be here until September, at least. Good. More P-Days to try to get to the bathhouse, where I have STILL not gone since my first day. *sniffle*
I had an interesting experience this week: I was discriminated against on basis of race. Yeah. Um . . . odd. For a middle-class white American girl. We (Sister Pak and I, and Elders Hansen and Routson) were less-active hunting one afternoon, and the gwalija (the door guard) of an apartment complex wouldn't let us into his building. When we provided the name and address of the person we wanted to visit, and explained that she was a member of our church, he shook his head and said flat-out that we weren't allowed in. Sister Pak demanded to know if this was the apartment rule: that no one could get on the elevator if they were not personally known to the gwalija. "No," he shot back, "but I won't let 'weigukin' go wandering around the apartments." 'Weigukin' means 'foreigner.' He wouldn't let us in because three of us were white.
Sister Pak, tiny, Bambi-eyed Sister Pak, who is about the cutest human being ever born, proceeded to rip him a new one in rapid-fire Korean, then turn and stalk off with the moral high ground firmly in her control. By the time she made it to the corner, she was shaking, so we all stopped at a grocery store to get some water.
It was . . . a strange experience. I'm still processing it.
Oh, guess what yesterday was? Right . . . it was Father's Day. Guess when I finally managed to find someone in this blessed country who knew the date of Father's Day this year? Last Tuesday. So Daddy, your card is late. I'm sorry! But it's coming, and with a darn good present, too. You'll like it. Unlike your birthday present, which I am going to send mostly because I think it is funny. So happy Father's Day. I miss you like crazy and wish you were here to be in charge of stuff and know everything about everything. The American missionaries here keep asking me, "How do you KNOW all this random stuff? Where the heck did you learn it?" and I shrug my shoulders and smile to think that I am much more like my dad than I ever thought that I was.
Here's Strange Things From Korea for the week:
In Korea, both the handcart and the parasol are alive and well. Every woman in Pusan carries a parasol when it's sunny. They come in a billion colors and you can buy them anywhere. I have not bought one, though Sis. Pak bought me a fan last week, which has proven to be indispensable as the summer starts to heat up. It has cranes on it.
Handcarts are generally full of cardboard. I'm not sure why. But there's always one somewhere, full of cardboard, either pushed or pulled by a Korean grandpa.
And yes, in Korea, just like the newsreel footage of Hong Kong, people do wear surgical masks in public. They are called 'hygene masks.' People make their kids wear them, too. I'm not sure if they're to prevent catching something or to prevent spreading something. Maybe both.
At English class this week, Pak Un Geong, one of our less-actives, actually CAME and hung out with the ward members and it was great! But she was teasing me about how all sister missionaries gain weight, and I just shrugged and smiled and answered, in what I think was perfect Korean, "There is so much love in these wards. And in Korea, where there is love, there is RICE." She laughed and told me, in excellent English, "You understand Korean culture!"
So it seems I've got the culture thing down. It's just the language that's escaping me. But I'm going to work harder on that this transfer, because this transfer I read the entire Old Testament, and so that's done and I'll have all this study time to work on something else. Like . . . Korean. I really should get on that.
Yesterday Elder Routson and I sang at the Halmoni Tree. On the road coming up to Sujeong ward there is this tree, and under the tree are about ten chairs of various kinds, and on a good day every chair is occupied by a Korean grandma, just gossipping in the shade. We always bow to the Halmoni tree as we pass it . . . it's like a rule or something. But yesterday, as we were walking past with the Elders, we stopped and I asked the Halmonis if they would let me take their picture with Elder Routson, since he was going to transfer away. And they laughed and let me. And then Elder Routson asked, "Can we sing?" and I was like, "YEAH! I've been wanting to do that for months!" So we asked if we could sing to them, and then sang "I am a Child of God," the only song we both know (sort of) in Korean. All the Halmonis clapped to keep time for us, and then we gave them all gospel pamphlets. Man, I wanted a picture of all those sweet little grandmas reading our pamphlets in the shade under their Halmoni Tree. It was so adorable.
I ate a bunch of chocolate from my dear families this week. :-) I think, with letters, e-mails, and packages, I am about the most spoiled missionary ever. Every time the Elders hand me my mail, usually with a letter from Dad, one from Em, one from Mom, one from Holly, one from Grandma and Grandpa Hadden . . . they just stare at me like "How the heck do you get all this MAIL?" It's because I only love really really awesome people. I'm just lucky that way.
Urgh, I wish there were more e-mail time!
Bethe, don't get sick, that would be lame. A dragon picture is on its way to you.
Bug: take care of your war wound. My blessed brother can't go fifteen minutes without getting himself hurt . . . .
Cat: Lie down before you hurt yourself. Love you.
Talk to you next week! Much love and all that! I wish you were all here in Korea with me! CHURCH IS TRUE! No, really. It really is. It's crazy, but it's so incredibly really absolutely just flat-out TRUE. My gosh.
RoseE"
"Dearest Mum & Dad,
Well, here's the BIG news: Transfers.
None, really.
The elders are all shuffling around, and one American sister is switching around to take the place of a homeward bound Korean sister, but other than that all the Sisters are staying where they are. Except that sister Pak Je Yeon and I are moving . . . not work areas, but apartments. The elders with whom we were working in Yeonsan are transfering/going home, so we are moving into their old place so the Mission can keep the apartment and we don't have to ride the subway for half an hour to get to the chapel every day. We will be the only missionaries in Yeonsan. And Sujeong, which had two teams of elders, will now have one. We have one investigator in Sujeong, so we're sort of still working there, but we'll spend most of our time in Yeonsan because, hey, we're living there and there's no one else to get the work done.
Elder Lee Song Gi, who is the Yeonsan Elder transferring away, says that the apartment smelled funny when they got there. Um . . .
The whole mission is getting stretched thinner because today THIRTEEN missionaries finished their service and tomorrow THREE are coming. We are down ten missionaries. That's five teams. That's a lot of people. But we still have enough people to have at least one team in every ward, which is good. A ward without missionaries in it scares us.
So I'm staying here in central Pusan for another six weeks. Well, another twelve, because in six weeks Sister Pak is going home, so I will have to stay in Yeonsan or nobody will know what is going on there. So I'll be here until September, at least. Good. More P-Days to try to get to the bathhouse, where I have STILL not gone since my first day. *sniffle*
I had an interesting experience this week: I was discriminated against on basis of race. Yeah. Um . . . odd. For a middle-class white American girl. We (Sister Pak and I, and Elders Hansen and Routson) were less-active hunting one afternoon, and the gwalija (the door guard) of an apartment complex wouldn't let us into his building. When we provided the name and address of the person we wanted to visit, and explained that she was a member of our church, he shook his head and said flat-out that we weren't allowed in. Sister Pak demanded to know if this was the apartment rule: that no one could get on the elevator if they were not personally known to the gwalija. "No," he shot back, "but I won't let 'weigukin' go wandering around the apartments." 'Weigukin' means 'foreigner.' He wouldn't let us in because three of us were white.
Sister Pak, tiny, Bambi-eyed Sister Pak, who is about the cutest human being ever born, proceeded to rip him a new one in rapid-fire Korean, then turn and stalk off with the moral high ground firmly in her control. By the time she made it to the corner, she was shaking, so we all stopped at a grocery store to get some water.
It was . . . a strange experience. I'm still processing it.
Oh, guess what yesterday was? Right . . . it was Father's Day. Guess when I finally managed to find someone in this blessed country who knew the date of Father's Day this year? Last Tuesday. So Daddy, your card is late. I'm sorry! But it's coming, and with a darn good present, too. You'll like it. Unlike your birthday present, which I am going to send mostly because I think it is funny. So happy Father's Day. I miss you like crazy and wish you were here to be in charge of stuff and know everything about everything. The American missionaries here keep asking me, "How do you KNOW all this random stuff? Where the heck did you learn it?" and I shrug my shoulders and smile to think that I am much more like my dad than I ever thought that I was.
Here's Strange Things From Korea for the week:
In Korea, both the handcart and the parasol are alive and well. Every woman in Pusan carries a parasol when it's sunny. They come in a billion colors and you can buy them anywhere. I have not bought one, though Sis. Pak bought me a fan last week, which has proven to be indispensable as the summer starts to heat up. It has cranes on it.
Handcarts are generally full of cardboard. I'm not sure why. But there's always one somewhere, full of cardboard, either pushed or pulled by a Korean grandpa.
And yes, in Korea, just like the newsreel footage of Hong Kong, people do wear surgical masks in public. They are called 'hygene masks.' People make their kids wear them, too. I'm not sure if they're to prevent catching something or to prevent spreading something. Maybe both.
At English class this week, Pak Un Geong, one of our less-actives, actually CAME and hung out with the ward members and it was great! But she was teasing me about how all sister missionaries gain weight, and I just shrugged and smiled and answered, in what I think was perfect Korean, "There is so much love in these wards. And in Korea, where there is love, there is RICE." She laughed and told me, in excellent English, "You understand Korean culture!"
So it seems I've got the culture thing down. It's just the language that's escaping me. But I'm going to work harder on that this transfer, because this transfer I read the entire Old Testament, and so that's done and I'll have all this study time to work on something else. Like . . . Korean. I really should get on that.
Yesterday Elder Routson and I sang at the Halmoni Tree. On the road coming up to Sujeong ward there is this tree, and under the tree are about ten chairs of various kinds, and on a good day every chair is occupied by a Korean grandma, just gossipping in the shade. We always bow to the Halmoni tree as we pass it . . . it's like a rule or something. But yesterday, as we were walking past with the Elders, we stopped and I asked the Halmonis if they would let me take their picture with Elder Routson, since he was going to transfer away. And they laughed and let me. And then Elder Routson asked, "Can we sing?" and I was like, "YEAH! I've been wanting to do that for months!" So we asked if we could sing to them, and then sang "I am a Child of God," the only song we both know (sort of) in Korean. All the Halmonis clapped to keep time for us, and then we gave them all gospel pamphlets. Man, I wanted a picture of all those sweet little grandmas reading our pamphlets in the shade under their Halmoni Tree. It was so adorable.
I ate a bunch of chocolate from my dear families this week. :-) I think, with letters, e-mails, and packages, I am about the most spoiled missionary ever. Every time the Elders hand me my mail, usually with a letter from Dad, one from Em, one from Mom, one from Holly, one from Grandma and Grandpa Hadden . . . they just stare at me like "How the heck do you get all this MAIL?" It's because I only love really really awesome people. I'm just lucky that way.
Urgh, I wish there were more e-mail time!
Bethe, don't get sick, that would be lame. A dragon picture is on its way to you.
Bug: take care of your war wound. My blessed brother can't go fifteen minutes without getting himself hurt . . . .
Cat: Lie down before you hurt yourself. Love you.
Talk to you next week! Much love and all that! I wish you were all here in Korea with me! CHURCH IS TRUE! No, really. It really is. It's crazy, but it's so incredibly really absolutely just flat-out TRUE. My gosh.
RoseE"
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Letter to Todd dated 6/8/09
RoseE writes:
"Dear Dad,
You continue to be the most complete, accurate, and reliable supplier of news to the entire district. Six elders, two sisters, and the two sisters' two roommates thank you heartily. We haven't a blessed clue what's going on. Well, we did hear about the ex-president's suicide, but that was kind of hard to miss because flags were up and at half staff all over the place.
Regarding living exclusively with Koreans: I think I find it harder over the long term than living with Americans, but everybody (including Pres. Jennings) says I'm handling it much better than the average American sister. So that's good. And the only American sisters I ever see are Sister Jennings, Sister Ogelvie, and Sister Beckstead, all of whom I get along with extremely well, so maybe I'm getting a skewed picture of how easy it would be to live with Americans.
I really didn't think my area was as big as you said, but now that I think about it, it does take a good hour on the bus for us to get anywhere. And we spend a lot of time within easy walk of the subway line, so I get the impression that Pusan is a lot narrower than I think it actually must be.
Koreans are strange. They think that Spam is real food.
I have been close to the U.N. cemetary, but I have not yet actually been to it, although it is something I want to do while I'm here. I just have to talk someone into going with me.
I love you, but P. Day's* over.
RoseE"
*P.Day: Preparation Day. For those of you who don't remember or didn't read the last entries about P.Day, it's a missionary's one day off during the week. She has to stay with her companion, though. I would think that having a Korean companion in Korea on P.Day would be a good thing.
"Dear Dad,
You continue to be the most complete, accurate, and reliable supplier of news to the entire district. Six elders, two sisters, and the two sisters' two roommates thank you heartily. We haven't a blessed clue what's going on. Well, we did hear about the ex-president's suicide, but that was kind of hard to miss because flags were up and at half staff all over the place.
Regarding living exclusively with Koreans: I think I find it harder over the long term than living with Americans, but everybody (including Pres. Jennings) says I'm handling it much better than the average American sister. So that's good. And the only American sisters I ever see are Sister Jennings, Sister Ogelvie, and Sister Beckstead, all of whom I get along with extremely well, so maybe I'm getting a skewed picture of how easy it would be to live with Americans.
I really didn't think my area was as big as you said, but now that I think about it, it does take a good hour on the bus for us to get anywhere. And we spend a lot of time within easy walk of the subway line, so I get the impression that Pusan is a lot narrower than I think it actually must be.
Koreans are strange. They think that Spam is real food.
I have been close to the U.N. cemetary, but I have not yet actually been to it, although it is something I want to do while I'm here. I just have to talk someone into going with me.
I love you, but P. Day's* over.
RoseE"
*P.Day: Preparation Day. For those of you who don't remember or didn't read the last entries about P.Day, it's a missionary's one day off during the week. She has to stay with her companion, though. I would think that having a Korean companion in Korea on P.Day would be a good thing.
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