Tales of December
Beware the Mormons
I arrived home at 5pm, sweaty and tired from the gym. All was quiet at the house as the family wasn’t home yet, and I took advantage of the odd tranquility by sitting on the house’s front stoop to watch the sunset. I had been sendentary for about five minutes when the silence was broken – a woman had approached the gate and was hollering to me, ‘Erin! Erin, I need your help, please!’ Feeling a bit unsettled, I got up and walked to the end of the driveway, realizing that this woman was the sister of one of the secretaries in the Alcaldia. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I’m a teacher and I’m on vacation right now – do you think you could give me some english classes so I can eventually get a better job?’ Harboring a slight feeling of relief that I wasn’t being asked to go pull a child from a burning building or something like that, I told her sure and invited her in. We worked for twenty solid minutes, conjugating verbs and laughing over mispronunciations when suddently, my host family arrived.
My host family does not just consist of the typical nuclear entity. They are in fact an entourage, an envoy of blood relatives and third parties who are employed to make everyone’s life easier. Returning home this day was my host mother, her three children, a young cousin, her parents, her godmother, her personal assitant, and the children’s nanny. Music blaring and various childrens’ heads poking out of half-opened windows, they rolled in like the circus and subsequently set hell loose. People streamed out of the Ford Explorer like a reverse Chinese fire drill, running in all directions, clutching bags, shouting to each other and slamming doors. My three year old host sister ran right up to my english pupil, pulled down her pants and popped a squat to pee in the dirveway, grinning at us the whole white. The kids had all just grabbed various bicycles, scooters and trikes to chase each other around the driveway in a complete frenzy and it was getting dark, so I told my friend I would see her tomorrow and sent her home.
As I walked her to the front gate, we saw two young men approaching. They were wearing white button-down shirts and ties with nametags – they could only be one of two things, refridgerator salesmen or Mormons. Delix my english student recognized them immediately and shot me a pitying look as she bolted – yes, they were Mormons. And they had me cornered, at 6pm in my own house. I had no choice but to let them into the slightly chaotic scene.
We sat on the same stoop Delix and I had just occupied, and they started in on me. They were two twenty year olds from Panama and Arizona respectively, here in El Salvador on a mandatory two year missions trip. The information wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as I expected it to be, but as you can imagine it was tough to concentrate. The kids kept running into us with their two-wheelers in the treacherous path they had made from the house to the driveway. My host brother called my cell phone twice from 15 ft away. At one point during a prayer my host mother’s hairdresser showed up and announced herself louder and louder as, with head bowed, I tried to focos on the words and mentally tell her to hold on a second. Just as Elder Recinos got to the most vital part, how Joseph Smith received a vision from God to create the Book of Mormons, an elderly couple pounded on the gate demanding the doctor (my host dad) because the husband was bleeding profusely from the head. ‘Do you think God is trying to tell us that now isn’t the right time for you to share your message?’ I tried to joke with the missionaries. They didn’t crack a smile. Instead, they asked me if I felt the sensation of conversion yet. This time, my one-liner ‘How about a little foreplay first?’ stayed in my head. I managed to keep a straight face as I exclaimed, while Arturo seized the Book from me and started running around shrieking and flapping it over his head, that perhaps I should read at a quieter time and get back to them should I feel any converting tendencies coming on. They were disappointed, but what could I do? It’s a miracle I even caught their names in the mayhem of screaming children and hairdressers and head trauma victims seeking out my host family. When they asked me for my cell phone number and I responded with ‘How about I call you if I want another appointment?’ I could tell it was on the tip of their tongues to chastize me for turning down a date with Jesus. Eventually however, even they had to admit it was getting late and made their farewells.
This happened December 4th – since then I have seen these two Mormons walking around Chapeltique seven times, and have successfully ducked into doorways and avoided them five of those times. Once they cornered me at work, and once they camped outside my house until I came home at 9pm. The first time I told them I hadn’t read yet, and the second time I was more to the point (it was 9pm for God sake, that’s bedtime for me) in saying I really meant what I had said that I’d call them if I was interested in learning more. ‘But we’re only trying to save you!’ one exclaimed with a look of utter anguish on his face. Hah! Little do these guys know I’ve already been through the whole experience of being told that as a Catholic heathen I’m doomed to an afterlife of fire and brimstone. I even used to live in front of a Jehovah Witness church, you can’t scare me that easily. For the third time I sent them on their way without the slam dunk of a successful conversion. This may be the beginning of a seven month battle for my soul in which case I’ll have to resort to drastic measures – I’ll ask my evangelical friends to drive them out of town. There’s only room for one fanatical religious group in these parts.
La Elección de la Reina de las Fiestas Patronales
Bueno. As in July, Chapeltique celebrates another round of patrone saint festivals just before Christmas. And again, every festival needs its polished representative queen to accompany it right? So once more I agreed (read; was coerced into) judging the contest to see which lucky girl would take home the crown this year. I received my formal invitation to be a ‘jurado calificador’ requesting my esteemed presence at 8pm on Friday the 14th in the Alcaldia, so I threw on a pair of jeans and kept my hair down to dress more ‘formally’ and showed up. The first thing that happened was all of the Alcaldia workers complimented me on how nice I looked, one man going so far as to say ‘Now THIS is how I like to see you,’ not finishing with ‘because every other day you look like a blind thrift store junkie’ like I knew he wanted to add. But I noticed that my attire had absolutely nothing on the reina contestants, also waiting in the Alcaldia for the competition to begin. Each of the eight 16 year olds was a vision of sparkles and shine, not one curl of the immaculately designed updo out of place or one chip in a polished nail. They reminded me of my junior prom and I had to resist the urge to point stupidly and gargle ‘Ohhh, pretty’ like a country bumpkin as they walked by. Each heavily-made up face was glamorous, and tormented. They could have been sitting a court appearance they looked so nervous. I coul see girls practicing their entrance stances, hands on hips and heads back like dowager duchesses, girls silently mouthing their planned speech to greet the crowd. The friend of one candidate found out I was one of the judges and approached me to ask what she could ‘do’ to help her situation... should she shmooze with me for a while? I told her to tell her friend to chill out and try to enjoy herself. Looking back, I probably should have seen if she could have done my laundry for a while.
Finally at 10pm we stepped outside to the street, where a stage and table of honor had been set up for the event. Before the candidates took the stage, a local cumbia band started things off. Of course, because we’re in El Salvador, there couldn’t just be one speaker to carry the music onto the street, there had to be ten. And naturally the table of honor was set up directly in front of the speakers. I coul literally feel my eardrums throbbing, and by the time the band finished, I’m sure in direct response to my desperate prayers to God, I was certifiably deaf. Just me though – I’m convinced Salvadorans are immune to all forms of noise. As the band exited the stage the MC took his place by the mic. Excitedly he announced that the competition would now begin and started by introducing each girl. Only the most vital information was passed onto the audience for the time being – the girls’ names, places of birth and their waist and bust measurements. After the cowd had oogled the cup size of the final girl the MC very seriously stated that ‘We do this competition to prove that women are important too.’ I could have fallen off of my chair in astonishment. And the most surprising part yet – no one else looked shocked at this insane proclamation. I’m deaf and even I caught it!
It would only get more incredible from there. Each judge was given a spreadsheet with six categories to qualify the candidates on. It wasn’t a shocker to see that the most important categories were considered to be greeting, poise, elegance, dress, physical beauty, and, oh wait, here’s one for the nerds, response to a question. It seemed that the MC neglected to finish his thought that women are indeed important... to look at. Well as you can probably guess, this is about the time I started tuning out. Judge or no judge, I refuse to objectify women by comparing their physical traits and raiting their worth based on how well they can imitate a Barbie doll. I could have saved myself the trouble of traveling to the Third World and just gone back to high school for that. This was, however, the moment everyone else was waiting for and the crowd grew still with anticipation.
As the heart-wrenching soundtrack of Titanic played in the background, the candidatas sashayed out to the stage. The crowd ate up every twist of the hips and coy smile, precisely rehearsed by each girl in her fervent desire to be the best. I gave each girl the maximum amount of points for each of the first five categories, then sat back to await the question section.
After much fawning and catcalling, the moment of truth arrived – each girl would have to actually say something. The first candidata stepped up to the mic and chose an envelope with a question. The MC asked, ‘How would you increase tourism in Chapeltique?’ With utter confidence, contestant number one answered ‘I would go around door to door telling each citizen of the town to tell visitors how pretty it is here, and to have big hearts to welcome newcomers in.’ End of story. I was flabbergasted. What about generating some micro business in the area so that there’s a reason beyond agriculture to come here? Creating clearly marked paths and road maps? Or hey, here’s a tough one, picking up the trash that gets tossed into the street each day so that the town doesn’t look like an oversized dump? Now granted, this girl was 16 years old, but still I was expecting a bit more than just create shiny happy people to tout Chapeltique’s cuteness. The third candidata fared far better in my book. She was asked, as queen what would be your first project in an effort to improve the town? She replied that she would create a campaign to visit the schools and teach the kids about self-esteem, respect and the importance of creating and aspiring to fulfill future goals. Yeah girl, the future starts with the kids, I couldn’t agree more. Candidata number four took an interesting approach – she began answering a question before choosing an envelope with a question in it. As inebriated as the crowd might have been, even they caught on to what was happening and laughed uproariously at the stage. The poor girl ‘chose’ her question and started her answer anew, but the damage was already done. Finally, the last candidate caught my interest as she was prompted to answer What are and were some of Chapeltique’s customs and traditions, and what do they teach us today? Her response was much longer than those of the other girls, she rattled off example after example and explained in detail the significance of each one. It was her shining moment, and I was proud of her for it.
Then, it was time to vote. As the judges tallied up their scores, the girls stood on the stage in a line, holding hands and appearing anxious and excited. The results were handed over and the MC, milking the moment for all it was worth, gabbed for a bit about the honor of being crowned queen. Just as he finally arrived at the cucial moment and proclaimed ‘and the winner is...’, there was a large creek, and the stage where the girls were standing groaned and dropped. All eight girls were comically and instantaneously lowered two feet as they shrieked in surprise. The timing couldn’t have been any better, it was as though someone had pulled a lever. The candidatas, flustered but laughing, recovered quickly and the winner was announced.
As the newly elected queen hugged her fellow candidates and cried joyously, the mayor stepped on stage to crown her. He was visibly swaying as he placed her sash on backwards and threw her crown over her eyes like a blindfold. Having finally managed to straighten out her accessories with the help of the others on stage, the bolo mayor turned to the audience, threw his arms up in triumph and bowed to the jubilous applause of the crowd. As Celine Dion belted out that her heart will go on, our queen thanked God, her family and waved happily to all her royal subjects.
As it turned out, the winner was the girl who answered her culture question so well. Yes she was pretty, but so were all the other candidates, and for that I have to believe the other judges took some value from the question category as well. I could have mimicked my wasted mayor and thrown up my arms in jubilation – triumph! Brains over boobs! Or at least, boobs AND brains! It’s a start.
Happy New Year!
I hope the holiday season was warm, heartfelt and fulfilling for all at home... I'm wishing you the very best start to the New Year from El Salvador! As my fellow volunteers, Salvadoran friends and I said goodbye to 2007 and welcomed in 2008 with fireworks, hugs and wellwishes I realized just how little time I have left here in this incredible place. 7 months is about the fly by and all I can think is, I want to make the very best of them that I can. It is a privilege to be here living through such unique and diverse experiences and meeting and getting to know the many individuals who have affected my life in myriad ways. At the same time, I am blessed to have such a wonderful support network of family and friends at home and it will be a pleasure to return to that come July of this year. That being said, my new year's resolution is to make the very best of both my life here and at home throughout 2008... to continue sharing my experiences in El Salvador with those at home via phone conversations and emails and to tell my Salvadoran friends all about what life is like in the "norte," to beat stressful feelings back home by recalling the peacefulness of an afternoon spent lounging on a hammock watching the leaves blow in the breeze in El Salvador, to practice Spanish as consistently in the second half of the year as I do now and to never lose touch, at any point throughout the year, with loved ones. My two "worlds" are both beautiful and enriching in and of themselves and have helped to shape the person I have become and am still becoming, and for that I cannot be more thankful. I wish you all the same... to appreciate the present, to focus on what life has given you rather than what is lacking and to be grateful for it, and to always maintain a sense of peace. This poem was sent to me from a fellow volunteer and so I share it with you... happy 2008.
New Year Wishes
May peace fill all the empty spaces around you
And in you, may contentment answer all your wishes.
May comfort be yours, warm and soft like a sigh.
And may the coming year show you that every day is really a first day,
a new year.
Let abundance be your constant companion,
so that you have much to share.
May mirth be near you always,
like a lamp shining brightly on the many paths you travel.
May you be true love. -- Author Unknown
I arrived home at 5pm, sweaty and tired from the gym. All was quiet at the house as the family wasn’t home yet, and I took advantage of the odd tranquility by sitting on the house’s front stoop to watch the sunset. I had been sendentary for about five minutes when the silence was broken – a woman had approached the gate and was hollering to me, ‘Erin! Erin, I need your help, please!’ Feeling a bit unsettled, I got up and walked to the end of the driveway, realizing that this woman was the sister of one of the secretaries in the Alcaldia. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I’m a teacher and I’m on vacation right now – do you think you could give me some english classes so I can eventually get a better job?’ Harboring a slight feeling of relief that I wasn’t being asked to go pull a child from a burning building or something like that, I told her sure and invited her in. We worked for twenty solid minutes, conjugating verbs and laughing over mispronunciations when suddently, my host family arrived.
My host family does not just consist of the typical nuclear entity. They are in fact an entourage, an envoy of blood relatives and third parties who are employed to make everyone’s life easier. Returning home this day was my host mother, her three children, a young cousin, her parents, her godmother, her personal assitant, and the children’s nanny. Music blaring and various childrens’ heads poking out of half-opened windows, they rolled in like the circus and subsequently set hell loose. People streamed out of the Ford Explorer like a reverse Chinese fire drill, running in all directions, clutching bags, shouting to each other and slamming doors. My three year old host sister ran right up to my english pupil, pulled down her pants and popped a squat to pee in the dirveway, grinning at us the whole white. The kids had all just grabbed various bicycles, scooters and trikes to chase each other around the driveway in a complete frenzy and it was getting dark, so I told my friend I would see her tomorrow and sent her home.
As I walked her to the front gate, we saw two young men approaching. They were wearing white button-down shirts and ties with nametags – they could only be one of two things, refridgerator salesmen or Mormons. Delix my english student recognized them immediately and shot me a pitying look as she bolted – yes, they were Mormons. And they had me cornered, at 6pm in my own house. I had no choice but to let them into the slightly chaotic scene.
We sat on the same stoop Delix and I had just occupied, and they started in on me. They were two twenty year olds from Panama and Arizona respectively, here in El Salvador on a mandatory two year missions trip. The information wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as I expected it to be, but as you can imagine it was tough to concentrate. The kids kept running into us with their two-wheelers in the treacherous path they had made from the house to the driveway. My host brother called my cell phone twice from 15 ft away. At one point during a prayer my host mother’s hairdresser showed up and announced herself louder and louder as, with head bowed, I tried to focos on the words and mentally tell her to hold on a second. Just as Elder Recinos got to the most vital part, how Joseph Smith received a vision from God to create the Book of Mormons, an elderly couple pounded on the gate demanding the doctor (my host dad) because the husband was bleeding profusely from the head. ‘Do you think God is trying to tell us that now isn’t the right time for you to share your message?’ I tried to joke with the missionaries. They didn’t crack a smile. Instead, they asked me if I felt the sensation of conversion yet. This time, my one-liner ‘How about a little foreplay first?’ stayed in my head. I managed to keep a straight face as I exclaimed, while Arturo seized the Book from me and started running around shrieking and flapping it over his head, that perhaps I should read at a quieter time and get back to them should I feel any converting tendencies coming on. They were disappointed, but what could I do? It’s a miracle I even caught their names in the mayhem of screaming children and hairdressers and head trauma victims seeking out my host family. When they asked me for my cell phone number and I responded with ‘How about I call you if I want another appointment?’ I could tell it was on the tip of their tongues to chastize me for turning down a date with Jesus. Eventually however, even they had to admit it was getting late and made their farewells.
This happened December 4th – since then I have seen these two Mormons walking around Chapeltique seven times, and have successfully ducked into doorways and avoided them five of those times. Once they cornered me at work, and once they camped outside my house until I came home at 9pm. The first time I told them I hadn’t read yet, and the second time I was more to the point (it was 9pm for God sake, that’s bedtime for me) in saying I really meant what I had said that I’d call them if I was interested in learning more. ‘But we’re only trying to save you!’ one exclaimed with a look of utter anguish on his face. Hah! Little do these guys know I’ve already been through the whole experience of being told that as a Catholic heathen I’m doomed to an afterlife of fire and brimstone. I even used to live in front of a Jehovah Witness church, you can’t scare me that easily. For the third time I sent them on their way without the slam dunk of a successful conversion. This may be the beginning of a seven month battle for my soul in which case I’ll have to resort to drastic measures – I’ll ask my evangelical friends to drive them out of town. There’s only room for one fanatical religious group in these parts.
La Elección de la Reina de las Fiestas Patronales
Bueno. As in July, Chapeltique celebrates another round of patrone saint festivals just before Christmas. And again, every festival needs its polished representative queen to accompany it right? So once more I agreed (read; was coerced into) judging the contest to see which lucky girl would take home the crown this year. I received my formal invitation to be a ‘jurado calificador’ requesting my esteemed presence at 8pm on Friday the 14th in the Alcaldia, so I threw on a pair of jeans and kept my hair down to dress more ‘formally’ and showed up. The first thing that happened was all of the Alcaldia workers complimented me on how nice I looked, one man going so far as to say ‘Now THIS is how I like to see you,’ not finishing with ‘because every other day you look like a blind thrift store junkie’ like I knew he wanted to add. But I noticed that my attire had absolutely nothing on the reina contestants, also waiting in the Alcaldia for the competition to begin. Each of the eight 16 year olds was a vision of sparkles and shine, not one curl of the immaculately designed updo out of place or one chip in a polished nail. They reminded me of my junior prom and I had to resist the urge to point stupidly and gargle ‘Ohhh, pretty’ like a country bumpkin as they walked by. Each heavily-made up face was glamorous, and tormented. They could have been sitting a court appearance they looked so nervous. I coul see girls practicing their entrance stances, hands on hips and heads back like dowager duchesses, girls silently mouthing their planned speech to greet the crowd. The friend of one candidate found out I was one of the judges and approached me to ask what she could ‘do’ to help her situation... should she shmooze with me for a while? I told her to tell her friend to chill out and try to enjoy herself. Looking back, I probably should have seen if she could have done my laundry for a while.
Finally at 10pm we stepped outside to the street, where a stage and table of honor had been set up for the event. Before the candidates took the stage, a local cumbia band started things off. Of course, because we’re in El Salvador, there couldn’t just be one speaker to carry the music onto the street, there had to be ten. And naturally the table of honor was set up directly in front of the speakers. I coul literally feel my eardrums throbbing, and by the time the band finished, I’m sure in direct response to my desperate prayers to God, I was certifiably deaf. Just me though – I’m convinced Salvadorans are immune to all forms of noise. As the band exited the stage the MC took his place by the mic. Excitedly he announced that the competition would now begin and started by introducing each girl. Only the most vital information was passed onto the audience for the time being – the girls’ names, places of birth and their waist and bust measurements. After the cowd had oogled the cup size of the final girl the MC very seriously stated that ‘We do this competition to prove that women are important too.’ I could have fallen off of my chair in astonishment. And the most surprising part yet – no one else looked shocked at this insane proclamation. I’m deaf and even I caught it!
It would only get more incredible from there. Each judge was given a spreadsheet with six categories to qualify the candidates on. It wasn’t a shocker to see that the most important categories were considered to be greeting, poise, elegance, dress, physical beauty, and, oh wait, here’s one for the nerds, response to a question. It seemed that the MC neglected to finish his thought that women are indeed important... to look at. Well as you can probably guess, this is about the time I started tuning out. Judge or no judge, I refuse to objectify women by comparing their physical traits and raiting their worth based on how well they can imitate a Barbie doll. I could have saved myself the trouble of traveling to the Third World and just gone back to high school for that. This was, however, the moment everyone else was waiting for and the crowd grew still with anticipation.
As the heart-wrenching soundtrack of Titanic played in the background, the candidatas sashayed out to the stage. The crowd ate up every twist of the hips and coy smile, precisely rehearsed by each girl in her fervent desire to be the best. I gave each girl the maximum amount of points for each of the first five categories, then sat back to await the question section.
After much fawning and catcalling, the moment of truth arrived – each girl would have to actually say something. The first candidata stepped up to the mic and chose an envelope with a question. The MC asked, ‘How would you increase tourism in Chapeltique?’ With utter confidence, contestant number one answered ‘I would go around door to door telling each citizen of the town to tell visitors how pretty it is here, and to have big hearts to welcome newcomers in.’ End of story. I was flabbergasted. What about generating some micro business in the area so that there’s a reason beyond agriculture to come here? Creating clearly marked paths and road maps? Or hey, here’s a tough one, picking up the trash that gets tossed into the street each day so that the town doesn’t look like an oversized dump? Now granted, this girl was 16 years old, but still I was expecting a bit more than just create shiny happy people to tout Chapeltique’s cuteness. The third candidata fared far better in my book. She was asked, as queen what would be your first project in an effort to improve the town? She replied that she would create a campaign to visit the schools and teach the kids about self-esteem, respect and the importance of creating and aspiring to fulfill future goals. Yeah girl, the future starts with the kids, I couldn’t agree more. Candidata number four took an interesting approach – she began answering a question before choosing an envelope with a question in it. As inebriated as the crowd might have been, even they caught on to what was happening and laughed uproariously at the stage. The poor girl ‘chose’ her question and started her answer anew, but the damage was already done. Finally, the last candidate caught my interest as she was prompted to answer What are and were some of Chapeltique’s customs and traditions, and what do they teach us today? Her response was much longer than those of the other girls, she rattled off example after example and explained in detail the significance of each one. It was her shining moment, and I was proud of her for it.
Then, it was time to vote. As the judges tallied up their scores, the girls stood on the stage in a line, holding hands and appearing anxious and excited. The results were handed over and the MC, milking the moment for all it was worth, gabbed for a bit about the honor of being crowned queen. Just as he finally arrived at the cucial moment and proclaimed ‘and the winner is...’, there was a large creek, and the stage where the girls were standing groaned and dropped. All eight girls were comically and instantaneously lowered two feet as they shrieked in surprise. The timing couldn’t have been any better, it was as though someone had pulled a lever. The candidatas, flustered but laughing, recovered quickly and the winner was announced.
As the newly elected queen hugged her fellow candidates and cried joyously, the mayor stepped on stage to crown her. He was visibly swaying as he placed her sash on backwards and threw her crown over her eyes like a blindfold. Having finally managed to straighten out her accessories with the help of the others on stage, the bolo mayor turned to the audience, threw his arms up in triumph and bowed to the jubilous applause of the crowd. As Celine Dion belted out that her heart will go on, our queen thanked God, her family and waved happily to all her royal subjects.
As it turned out, the winner was the girl who answered her culture question so well. Yes she was pretty, but so were all the other candidates, and for that I have to believe the other judges took some value from the question category as well. I could have mimicked my wasted mayor and thrown up my arms in jubilation – triumph! Brains over boobs! Or at least, boobs AND brains! It’s a start.
Happy New Year!
I hope the holiday season was warm, heartfelt and fulfilling for all at home... I'm wishing you the very best start to the New Year from El Salvador! As my fellow volunteers, Salvadoran friends and I said goodbye to 2007 and welcomed in 2008 with fireworks, hugs and wellwishes I realized just how little time I have left here in this incredible place. 7 months is about the fly by and all I can think is, I want to make the very best of them that I can. It is a privilege to be here living through such unique and diverse experiences and meeting and getting to know the many individuals who have affected my life in myriad ways. At the same time, I am blessed to have such a wonderful support network of family and friends at home and it will be a pleasure to return to that come July of this year. That being said, my new year's resolution is to make the very best of both my life here and at home throughout 2008... to continue sharing my experiences in El Salvador with those at home via phone conversations and emails and to tell my Salvadoran friends all about what life is like in the "norte," to beat stressful feelings back home by recalling the peacefulness of an afternoon spent lounging on a hammock watching the leaves blow in the breeze in El Salvador, to practice Spanish as consistently in the second half of the year as I do now and to never lose touch, at any point throughout the year, with loved ones. My two "worlds" are both beautiful and enriching in and of themselves and have helped to shape the person I have become and am still becoming, and for that I cannot be more thankful. I wish you all the same... to appreciate the present, to focus on what life has given you rather than what is lacking and to be grateful for it, and to always maintain a sense of peace. This poem was sent to me from a fellow volunteer and so I share it with you... happy 2008.
New Year Wishes
May peace fill all the empty spaces around you
And in you, may contentment answer all your wishes.
May comfort be yours, warm and soft like a sigh.
And may the coming year show you that every day is really a first day,
a new year.
Let abundance be your constant companion,
so that you have much to share.
May mirth be near you always,
like a lamp shining brightly on the many paths you travel.
May you be true love. -- Author Unknown
posted by Erin @ 12:57 PM
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