Sunday, January 29, 2012

Not a Gangster

I only have one companion now, it is Sister W.  We got an interesting phone call on Tuesday or Wednesday.  The APs (Elders who are assistants to the president) asked us if there was enough work going on in the wards to split them.  Transfers weren't for another month so we were a little alarmed.  We said yes, there was.  After a bit of digging we learned that there might be a sister missionary coming who was waiting for her Visa to another country.  We didn't really think anything of it, or make any decisions.

On Saturday, President Y called and asked if we could be ready to move another sister into the apartment in 2 hours.  It was pretty exciting.  Long story short, Sister R is training Sister F who is a Visa-waiter going to Russia.  They are working in the M Ward.  Sister W and I are covering the R Ward.  We are all living in the same 2 bedroom apartment.  It is a party!  Sister F and I are pretty sure we are related.  I whipped out my handy-dandy pedigree chart—(thanks, mom!) and we both have relatives who lived in the Chihuahua, Mexico area.

It has been a bit wet here, for about 2-3 days it was raining solid.  It was gross, but better than the snow.  My boots and jacket kept the rain out; hopefully they will keep doing that.  I might get a cheapy pair of rain boots in case my shoes start leaking.  Who would have guessed it rained in Oregon?!  Just kidding!  Luckily it only really snowed last Sunday.  It reminded me of the time right after we moved to the Chicago area when Dad made me call Kara and ask if church was cancelled because of 2-3 inches of snow.  Haha.

I have a funny story from last night at dinner.  We ate with a family who had 5 boys and when they learned I was from Chicago they were joking with me about being a gangster.  I was wearing my pretty sparkly scarf and totally looked nothing like a gangster.  It was fun joking with them.  We were teasing about "packing heat" and stuff.  It reminded me of hanging out with the cousins.  Another member, Brother S, he is probably in his 60-70s, asked if I had a gun in my purse when he learned I was from Chicago.  He was kidding and it was fun.  Everyone asks why I don't have a Chicagoan accent.  Then I usually say “Chicago” in the Chicago accent way a couple of times.  (Or they say it with an accent like that-- that's my favorite.)  I then explain the whole story that every time Dad becomes ward employment specialist, we move.  It usually gets a laugh.  I miss you guys.  I hope you had fun reading this letter.  Love, Sister Cluff.

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