You didn't get to heaven but you made it close

Carla let me plan our group activity for the teenagers today. In the spirit of cultural relativity, I decided I wanted to teach the kids how to carve jack-o-lanterns (also because I just wanted to do it myself, ha.). I told Carla what materials we would need and she said she'd take care of everything. Today when I got to Volcanes she showed me all the GREEN and WHITE pumpkins she had bought! She told me the orange ones were too expensive to buy for all the kids. I was a little worried because they were incredibly thick and tough and we only had some wimpy kitchen knives to carve them with. It all worked out wonderfully though. The kids were soldiers and didn't seem to mind wrestling against hard pumpkin flesh (probably because they have nothing to compare it to) and they loved taking out the pumpkin guts and getting all sticky. They all kept tasting the raw pumpkin, which I thought was a little weird, but it's all real chill. I did slice half my thumb off carving a "chimuelo" smile for my buddy Luis, but that's real chill too. I heard you get extra blessings for bloodshed.

Two of the older boys were leaving for "work" right afterwards (their work is washing cars in the crucero) and gave me their pumpkins because they didn't want to carry them through the streets. I am happy? because Carla tells me attendance of the older teenage boys has improved substantially since my arrival. (I hope Megan reads this!) Sometimes they even bring their friends, and the friends keep coming! These boys in question have stopped going to school and work all day in the street washing cars. Thursday afternoons they take a little time off to come to the group. I wish their choices were different, but it makes me so glad that they make time to participate...whatever their reasons. They go through so much heavy ugly stuff. Today I asked Miguel how his week was and he said with a smile, "Well, there wasn't much good, maestra, but I don't want you to hear about the bad." Miguel and his younger brother stopped working in the calle during the 3 years JUCONI worked with the family, but now they are back to their old ways. It's a difficult situation and I know I don't know the half of it.

I spent a lot of my time at Casa Juconi this week drawing skeletons for the boys to color. Dia de los muertos is this weekend. The basic tradition as I have learned is to put out the "ofrenda" (the offering) on a table for departed loved ones, to let them know they are still remembered. The ofrenda table is decorated with skulls, incense, pictures of deceased family members/celebrities, and pictures of calaveras (skeletons.) Nayeli at Casi Juconi showed me these pictures online and we traced some of them for the boys:




Creepy, verdad? The one in the middle is the most famous, and is called Katrina for some reason. Nayeli said that the calaveras are portrayed dressed in normal clothes and participating in normal activities in an attempt to normalize death, to insinuate the perpetuation of life and the idea that "the dead are not really that different from us." Ha. I got really into it though! I don't think I have ever drawn a skeleton before in my life, but I got lots of practice because I was supposed to draw one for all the boys to color and Jesus Arthur took about 9 of them because he couldn't decide which one he liked best. (He also did my hair for me this week, which was awesome. He braids like a cholo!) My favorites that I did were of a gang banger skeleton, mariachi band skeletons, and a Shakira skeleton. If you ever need anyone to draw you a skeleton, let me know and I will hook you UP!

In other news: I made it 7 weeks here before getting molested. MEXICO: 1. ROMANIA: 253

We're made out of blood and rust, looking for someone to trust without a fight

Me faltan las palabras aptas para describir las luces que ahora brillan en mi vida, más que nada el cariño que siento para estos niños preciosos con quienes me toca a trabajar.

This week was so lovely and thick with goodness. I think the first couple of weeks of anything new are a little jolting and no matter how eager I am to work it takes me awhile to learn the rhythm. I feel it now! I am perfectly content here. I want to say that now so that when I come home and I'm having a dramatic fit about something insignificant you can tell me that my life is not fraught with trauma and that I have been truly happy and will be again. Halle-hallelujah, as Hermano Niel would say. :)Here are some of the brightest lights of my week:

*CASA JUCONI--I am loving those boys so much! They are such complex little creatures and despite the roughness and experience that some of them have, there is an endearing innocence about them too. I've been teaching them all the card games I know with Rook cards. I know that would make my grandmother happy to know that these little gamin are playing Gin with a Tail, Pyramid and Doughnut. (I haven't taught them Eights yet because I think if I try to explain it in Spanish I will just confuse them. I need another month in!)

*There are such sweet moments that come being with the boys. There is one 11 year old (Leobardo) who is not as naturally gifted at sports as the others are and I can see how he suffers for that. I wince when he tries to kick the ball and misses and the other boys laugh at him, when he is automatically removed from the team if the numbers become uneven. I've felt a little of that hurt and I'm sure it stings him more than I know. One day I showed him how to play "Reloj" with basketball (just shooting from different points on the court) and I wouldn't let anyone else join. I was worried he'd get bored, but now every few hours he comes to find me wherever I am with the basketball in his hands. "Maestra, want to come play with me?" It's our special game now and I know it means a lot to him that I spend that time with him. It feels so good to be able to do that especially since I have always been a "gran fracaso" at sports and I really do know how he feels.

*Angel Jose, the little boy I wrote about last time, is my constant shadow and that means so much to me. He always wants to be where I am and to hold my hand. He'll say, "Maestra, is it okay if I give you a hug?"

*On Friday I was about to leave and I went into the playroom to say goodbye already wearing my backpack. While I was talking to someone one of the older boys unzipped the front pocket to see what was in there and my hymnbook fell out. They all asked about it and I told them it was a book of songs about God. They asked me to teach them one so I turned to the Christmas songs and we sang some of them. They asked me to teach them one they didn't know, so I turned to "Soy un Hijo de Dios" (I am a Child of God). I sang the first verse for them and they all stared at me open-mouthed and clapped (HA!). Then they all crowded over my shoulder and sang the next few verses with me. This might sound cheesy, but there really was a quiet feeling of love in the room that there hadn't been before we started singing. I could tell they felt it too because their faces were so peaceful and right after we stopped singing they all just grinned at me.

When I walked down the street afterwards I was thanking God for that moment. Growing up I never really appreciated that song, but during the last several years I have had so many experiences singing it with children who have not been blessed with "parents kind and dear," but who respond to it with reverence and wonder because it still speaks the truth, they are children of God, and even if they're been thrown away, injured and abandoned by this world, they still belong to Him and He knows them and loves them. It makes me feel like a child at home as well; if I just hang on He will take care of me and help me be strong enough to endure hard things and to serve Him well. I hope the boys let me sing with them again.

*I love doing anything with Lolis from TRACA. She is incredibly warm and good-natured and an excellent social worker. She is also one of the people I can be funny with in Spanish. I laugh the most with her. I told her how it's funny to me that she, Carla, and Marce call each other "Gorda" (Fat) affectionately because "en mi pais" most American women are dissatisfied with their bodies and calling someone fat is one of the worst things you could say. Lolis thought that was hilarious! She said, "Well, we know we're fat and we've accepted it, so being called Gorda doesn't bother us!" Lolis is very protective of me and whenever I'm in the mercado with her she won't let me walk too far away from her because she's worried harm will befall me (even though I go there by myself all the time!). She is also mildly obsessed with getting me to try every kind of food available in Mexico and is constantly buying me fried platanos, tortas with carne enchilada, pueblan candy, chips from street vendors. If she herself is eating something she'll ask if I've had that thing before and even if I say yes she will always give me some.

*In our group with the teenagers this week a professional photographer came to speak with the kids about taking pictures for the project we are doing, "Mi Vida desde Mis Ojos" (my life through my eyes.) We are going to have the kids in the TRACA program take photos along the parameters of various themes and then choose the best pictures to auction off in the U.S to garner donations for JUCONI. It's similar to the project done with the children in the movie Born into Brothels. I'm very excited because I get to supervise the children while they go take pictures! I feel like we got a righteous wind at our backs here. Totally righteous!

*I've been reading "The Bible" on addiction recovery and I felt so sharply that the only way a human being can overcome any kind of addiction is to strengthen their relationship with the Savior. There can't be any other way. We are too frail and too pathetic and too vulnerable to the suction of our vices. We need heavenly arms to hold us back. Carla wants me to find this information to help with the fathers in TRACA who have a drinking problem. I want to use this opportunity to be an ambassador of Christ if it comes to me.

*Habanero chips are a light in my life, but won't be much longer if I can't stop eating them. They are to me what Joes were to me in Romania. Irresistible, intoxicating influx of calories.

*I was in the mercado this afternoon and wanted to take so many pictures but it would all involve bothering people and trying to ask permission, when really I just wanted to freeze some slice of the moment and asking would destroy the spontaneity. I would have taken a picture of a little girl curled up asleep in a cardboard box beside her frantic mother who was selling pottery, a man with birdcages filled with live parrots stacked on his back, all the smoky haze in the air from people selling incense for dia de los muertos, an ancient woman sitting serenely on a stool by the guayaba booth, a father playing soccer with his little girl who was wearing a pink dress, two little brothers sitting behind a booth with their arms around each other, a drunkish man begging who had eyes like Rasputin. Maybe next time I will ask.

*I do have this visual from Friday sports day, taken by one of the TRACA girls who was fooling around with my camera. Bien tierna, verdad? I told you it was a good week.

You make me happy, oh when skies are gray, and gray, and gray

I've been wrestling with some thought-demons this week regarding grad school...trying to weigh how much damage going somewhere far far away would do to me financially versus how much damage staying in Provo would do to me emotionally. During trying times of such heavy decisions, it's good to counsel with friends. This is me counseling with J. R Jarstad when he waxed SUPER wise and poetic:

Robby Jarstad: I think I may have started to become provo as much as hate it.
Raquelita: what is provo, anyway?
Robby Jarstad: I don't know it's the opposite of sehnsucht I think
Robby Jarstad: It's an answer every question before it's asked.
Robby Jarstad: It's a song that is sung by a 20 year old attractive female american idol winner but written by a crusty 50 year old chain-smoker and formulated to move units.
Raquelita: i have to write these down
Raquelita: what else?
Robby Jarstad: It's believing radical change can come from the electoral college.
Robby Jarstad: It's like kissing a sibling.
Robby Jarstad: It's like planning to be spontaneous.
Robby Jarstad: It's like pretending that a bologna sandwich is your favorite food?
Raquelita: can we make this into, like, a pamphlet and distribute it on campus?
Raquelita: or a children's book? haha
Robby Jarstad: Haha a children's book!
Raquelita: like an educational children's book, ha
Robby Jarstad: Yeah. The kid is like, when I grow up I want to go to BYU and then the mom's like I don't know honey...
Robby Jarstad: And the kid's like why what is provo like?
Robby Jarstad says: And then the book starts.
Raquelita: you are too clever
Robby Jarstad: nosotros
Robby Jarstad: Dude I'm gonna be walking to the orphanage every day trying to think of what else provo is.
Robby Jarstad: Provo is that super european dude with too much cologne and that slightly skanky euro chick that's into that.
Robby Jarstad: It's like your dad letting you win at ping pong...
Robby Jarstad: And you not knowing till his funeral.
Robby Jarstad says: I AM these things.
Raquelita says: how?
Robby Jarstad: I don't know it just started sinking into me over time.
Robby Jarstad: When I was offended by my own friends on tour I think I realized it.
Raquelita: oh, really? i think i'm a lot more provo too, when i'm out of it
Robby Jarstad: I guess that's not really evidence because Jesus is probably a little provo too.

After this scintillating conversation, and upon further reflection, Robby wrote this chilling metaphor on the Facebook wall of our mutual friend bleedingern567. Every time I read it I cannot stop laughing. There is so much I could say to explain why this clicks with me, but I know at least a few of you who read this will understand without me having to say anything at all. This is for you!:

"Once I had a unicorn, but one day a masked man hunted and murdered every last one, including my own. "That unicorn was my hopes and my dreams," I cried, "The one creature who understood and brought light to my bitter and sorry existence. Who would ever do such a thing, Who are you?!"

To which despair, this unfaced murderer replied, "I am Provo.""

Oh tell me you love me, come back and haunt me, oh and I rush to the start

3 years ago today I became an MTC n00b. I had stayed up late the night before playing cards with my mother and sisters (I also prayed for my "companion" who turned out not to exist. Ha!). I was fresh-faced and beaming in my red and white Jody dress, feeling extra-righteous in nylons.

My heart was whirling from the glowing promises given to me and from wanting to think more deeply, stand up and be stronger and more grateful--stretch my arms out to the heavens and let the rain fall. During the cheesy Called to Serve video I was wriggling with excitement and when they told us to go our separate ways I hugged everyone and made a beeline for the other side. My sisters and mother were crying.

When I got up the stairs all I was leaving behind suddenly felt a little heavy. My arms were so empty. I told myself that my world would "remain within a frame like a painting on the wall" and when I came home I would just climb back into the frozen scene and yell "ACTION!"
I think maybe every missionary needs to believe in that, a little bit, at first.

I had no idea how thoroughly I was about to get rocked.

I feel so far now from that first day. I was so little and didn't even know it. The sky ripped open and God showed me the lining of the world, the lining of my soul. There really is a voice of mercy from heaven and a voice of truth from the earth. I untangled myself from the roots of this life so I could please Him who chose me to be a soldier (2 Tim 2:3-4). He stood by my side in every moment and caught me every time my knees startled buckling. When I think of how the heavens really did rain down miracles, I know I shouldn't complain about anything in my life.

It's bittersweet how time is pulling me away from my mission. Even though I was naive and unassuming, I'm glad I raced up those stairs at the beginning. If I could have seen a piece of the future, I might have walked more slowly. If I could have seen all of it--I would have run faster. :)


I miss you, Morena!

Y sí tu me pagas con eso, yo ya no te doy mas de esto amorrr

The posters advertising the Juanes concert on 10.17 were some of the first things I saw when I got to Puebla and my heart leaped for joy, but the concert sold out awhile ago. Manuel insisted we could get tickets anyway, so last night we jumped on la moto and hied ourselves to the XXI theater. I kept telling him it was okay if we didn't get in, that I wouldn't be mad. He laughed at me, "Mujer de poca fe! Espera." There were plenty of scalpers trying to shell their tickets for 6, 7 times the original price. Manuel would tell them we didn't have the money and they'd lower it a little and then threaten to leave when we wouldn't budge. Later they would come back and lower it a little more. 20 minutes before the concert started we had 5 or 6 people
crowding around us jockeying for position, yelling that they had better seats, etc. Manuel held out until the end and got us two ROCKSTAR seats for 500 pesos (the online selling price was 400 pesos for ONE ticket!). I was so excited!!! We got in line and I was jumping up and down screaming. Manuel grinned at me and said, "You know I've never been to a concert before." I said, "No manches! Are you kidding? How did you know how to work it with the ticket scalpers then?" He was all, "Por ser mexicano!" ("I'm Mexican!") Ha!

Either way, he worked the system like a pro and our seats were AMAZING!!!! We made best friends with the people sitting near us and the whole place was buzzing with energy. When Juanes came out everyone went completely crazy y ni sabria que decirles porque el concierto fue TAN PADRE!!! Juanes es un cantante super talentoso y igual si se sabe moverrrr! Casi todos en el cuarto se pusieron de pie y estaban bailando, cantando y gritando, me imagino que era yo la unica presente que le faltaba ritmo. Jaja. Ni modo, me entusiasme muchismo y jamas he disfrutado tanto a un concierto! Lo que mas me gusto fue que Juanes fue tan agradable como persona y no se porto con mucho orgullo. Estoy LOCA por el!!!

Juanes is an INCREDIBLE performer and he played absolutely everything I love: La Paga, Volverte a Ver, A Dios le Pido, Gotas de Agua Dulce, la Camisa Negra, Mala Gente, Para tu Amor, Fotografia, Me Enamora, Nada Valgo sin Tu Amor. He also has a new anti-war song called "Odio por Amor" that is awesome. I can't remember ever being happier at a concert, this might be my favorite one ever.

Here is an awesome video of Juanes performing "La Paga" with Black Eyed Peas! This is back when he was working his Ashton Kucher/Mowgli hair. I LOVE this video with BEP running around in the background, jajajaja. I was obsessed with this song right when I first got home from my mission.


Now Juanes looks like this and he is FIERCE! This is one of his newest songs, "Gotas de Agua Dulce." Check out what he does at the beginning of the song. Oh man. Ese hombre me enloquece!


I snuck this picture at the concert before they kifed my batteries. My cameria isn't great but this is proof that I was PRESENT for the raising of the Columbian goblet of rock!


Y por fin aqui estamos despues del concierto, SUPER FELICES!!!!!


Having a BFF with a motorcycle is PIMP because we got to skip all the after-concert traffic by weaving in and out of the lanes and, a veces, driving on the sidewalk. We went to Los Angeles for midnight tacos arabes and to uncrazy ourselves from the concert. :)

There were peasants singing and drummers drumming, and the archer split the tree

Sports day at Centro JUCONI! After Israel ran the normal activities, I ended up teaching a bunch of the mothers how to play basketball...I know, ME, right? I find that all I have to do is surround myself with people who don't know how to play at all and then I can unleash my inner Latrell Spreewell. :)

Most of these mothers are indigenous women around my age or younger and they each have several children. They have lived in the pueblecitos outside Puebla for most of their lives and have limited activities outside of their homes. They were hesitant at first, giggling and ducking when someone tossed the ball at them, but as we kept playing they got more aggressive and kept trying to steal the ball from each other. I kept coaching and cheering for them and we didn't stop until everyone had made at least one basket. One mother, Lupita, got it together and started making it every time she shot. Each time the ball went in she screamed in delight. I told her this could be a new career option for her and that she should go practice with the jovenes in her neighborhood in the afternoons. She asked who would make dinner for the family and I said her husband should do it sometimes so that she can focus on her new talent. :) She loved that and thought it was so funny, mostly because it is depressingly unlikely that her husband would ever consent to that plan. He's a little machista, ese.

After the basketball game we had a pushup contest which I would love LOVE to have pictures of because everyone's form was so terrible! I kept trying to explain that your back/rear end should be straight and only your arms should bend, but they all kept contorting themselves and it was hilarious. All of the falling over and laughing created camaraderie and afterwards we walked back to the paradas for the buses all together with two of the little girls clinging to my hands, twisting to look up and talk to me. I feel so much love from those little birds. I've been here about a month now and I am so glad to see my days getting longer. Too many words again, right? Just four more in this section. I AM SO HAPPY!

So: Centro JUCONI is on the other side of the mercado Hildago, which is so huge and deeply winding that it makes the Pulga in Houston look like a mall kiosk. It's also the kind of place that gives you an eerie feeling that you could disappear, be murdered under some tarp and no one would ever notice. The sketchiness doesn't disturb me much, but these things did!:

Chicken lynchings:


These white things are cow stomachs (panza de rez). People just buy these and march off with them!


"SOME PIG." They murder Wilbur and put his head on display, and people take it home and make posoli, which I will maybe never eat again.

Gahhh! There are seemingly endless tables heaped with the corpses of dead animals. These were some of the less graphic meat stands. Another one I saw had raw cow hearts hanging off the table, turning slowly in the breeze. Everything in this part of the mercado is splattered with blood and smells hideous. I told Marce that I think in my country we try to hide our meat and kind of pretend it isn't really part of an animal carcass. Anyway, I just wanted to share the carnage.

There is a light and it never goes out

I can feel my spirit stretching and uncurling itself. I learn so much from being here and from everything I see when I am humble...I miss so much when I'm not! It's crazy painful how my heart keeps hardening and softening over and over again--I feel that when I am engaged in some kind of service that strikes a pure chord in me it's a little easier to keep it soft because my children just make me melt. Being here, I am considerably less cynical than I tend to be in Provo and I'm thankful for this time I have had in my youth to serve and to have adventures. I don't feel anymore that I missed some essential crossroads and derailed myself--I used to have ugly knots in my heart about my wrinkled fate slash face, and my heart was very rocky, but now I feel peace and power knowing God has always known exactly what would happen in my life, and He sees the path before me winding back home to Him. What more could I ask for?

This week Carlita and I wrangled my schedule a little bit so I could divide my time between TRACA and the Casa JUCONI where 24 (former) street kids live. I had a *secretheart* always to get in there and get to know those boys,(kind of like my west wing again, the Forbidden Room) and I didn't even have to ask for it, Carla told me they needed a volunteer who had good Spanish and she suggested that I go there on the days that TRACA works in the office. I'm realizing there is more than enough to keep me busy at JUCONI! Mondays I go on family visits with TRACA, Tuesdays and Wednesdays I will be with the lost boys in Casa JUCONI, Thursdays I have the grupo de adolescentes (and in the mornings I work on putting together a recovery program for addiction), and Fridays I will go to the Casa JUCONI in the mornings to do art projects and activities, and in the afternoons I go to sports day with the TRACA kids. I honestly can't think of anything better than this!!!1

The other day I expressed a worry to Carla that I don't know the culture well enough to make good decisions about what to do when I'm in charge of the group, and she told me that I'm actually doing better than some native employees they have had. She said, "Tienes mucha empatia, ganes muy facilmente a las personas, aun los que no confian en cualquier persona." (That I have a lot of empathy and I win the people over very easily, even those who don't trust others very easily.) That was so good for me to hear! It's fun being here and feeling welcome. In Romania it felt like everyone hated on us my matter what we did.

This is already too long (again) but I just wanted to write about the Casa JUCONI--right now it houses 24 boys who have lived on the streets at some time. They all have that in common although their reasons for being there vary. Some were living in overcrowded orphanages and were invited to come live at JUCONI. Two brothers were abandoned by their mother. Their grandmother took them in but was too poor to feed them, so they started working and sleeping in the street. Several of the boys ran away from home because they were being beaten by their parents. Most of them have noticeable scars on their skin. One boy listed 3 or 4 different shelters and homes he has stayed in, each time for a year or more, but doesn't remember his family well. He was placed in an orphanage at the age of 4. Some boys entered Casa JUCONI as young as 7, and the boys there now range from 8-16. When they get older they can go to the casa de jovenes (also run by JUCONI) until they are in a position to live on their own. Many of them go to school in the afternoon; others have never been before and do not know how to read or write. All of them have been through so much ugliness; many have been sexually abused and all of them without exception come from families where addictions and violence are present.

One of my assignments as a volunteer there is to work with 3 boys who are very behind academically. I have an 11 and a 12 year old that I will be teaching to read, and a 15 year old who just started reading last year. Nayeli (one of the educators) went over all the lesson plans with me and I was amazed at how many dynamic and creative ways they had devised to make the principles accessible and interesting for the boys. I know all the vocabulary now to teach about decimal placement and simple math. :)

I love getting to know the boys and making friends with them. Some of them are very outgoing and love to sit with me and ask me all kinds of questions about myself, the U.S, music. I like making them laugh. It took me awhile to figure out who "Ill-erry Doof" was, also "I-rawn Mai-den." One of their favorite things to do is to ask me how to say certain words in English, especially their names. "How do you say Paco? How do you say Luis? How do you say Marcos?" One little boy was very excited to find out that his name translated to "Jesus Arthur" in English and he kept running around to the other boys and shouting, "HELLO, MY NAME IS JESUS ARTHUR! NICE TO MEET YOU!" It sounded profane to me but it was funny. They wanted to know what all the English curse words they've seen in American movies mean. They wanted to learn how to insult each other: "How do you say, 'you are'? Okay, how do you say 'ugly'?" I won a lot of respect the morning we played basketball (I know what you're thinking!), where I held my own mostly because I'm taller than all except a few of them. I was like Kevin Garnett ballin' it up, ha! It was so fun playing with them, they are all amazingly good but they foul it up like you wouldn't believe, scratching each other and pulling hair. Haha. I laid the beat down and it got a little better.

The youngest boys break my heart, they are so sweet and eager to please and reminded me of my little brother Chris. One of them, Angel Jose, is too shy to say much but always tries to sit by me. He has a hideous jagged scar right over his left eyebrow. I asked him what happened just to see what he would say: "Maestra...es que...I have a lot of family problems." He loves to show me the small treasures he owns; his Yugioh cards and the pogs he saves that come free with a bag of chips. He is eight years old and has been living at JUCONI for a year now. On Wednesday he had a family visit and he wanted me to help him choose what he should wear out of his three outfits. We decided on a shirt that had his name on it: ANGEL. He was getting so jittery and excited as he washed his face and combed his hair; by the time the social worker arrived to take him to see his family he was practically dancing with glee. "Will you be here when I get back, Maestra? Are you coming every day?"

I asked the directora how often the boys are able to go back and live at home again, and she said unfortunately that rarely happens. The boys invited to come live at the house are the most extreme cases. She told me that only one boy in the last 2 years has been able to successfully transition back home. In some cases the boys thrive on the environment at JUCONI and going back home to less than nurturing circumstances is even more traumatic for them. Other times, the family has worked hard and progressed, but the boy is not willing to make changes himself, and ends up running away to the street again.

I look at their bunk beds stacked up in the rooms, the little lockers that they use for closets, and it hurts to think about how most of them won't ever go home, that they don't have mothers. But at JUCONI they do have people who care about them, they have opportunities, they have advocates. So much effort goes into soothing their hurt, helping them grow. I'm glad they are here and more glad that I have this brief time with them.