Christmas Letter 2010

The Perry Family Review of 2010!

It's Christmas time again! And whether we like it or not we are going to enjoy it or I swear I am going to turn this year around and we can all go through it again. With the close of the year I get to sit myself in front of a computer to come up with a way to waste the lives of several trees and hand over a few more cents to the Ink barons. May these trees live on to become part of a package that says, “Made from recycled materials”.

As I sit and reflect on the year behind us I can't help but think, “Where did all the time go? What of note really happened? And, What can I say that won't make me feel like a lout and make others feel like I am better then them?” And although I know that I may not be able to answer all of these questions with much accuracy, and I will make up the parts that I think are lacking.

I for one this year am more proud of the things I didn't get done then the things I did do. I didn't take over the world or build a Death Ray. I didn't contribute to the national debt or did I cause anyone to lose a job. I didn't actively participate in strip-mining and I reduced my carbon footprint by throwing out all my carbon soled shoes. I didn't get fired or laid-off... yet. Oh, and my in-laws are still in town... This time there are more of them...

My wife thought that the homeschooling English I was giving her wasn't doing the trick so she decided to enroll in the ESL classes at UVU. She also graduated with a nice little certificate that will be filed, or framed, or something. Personally I think the best part was that we got a free dinner out of it. This little honor has been a long time coming since my wife has been taking her grandparents to the hospital for their checkups and translating better then the hospital translators. She has been spending lots of time with her family...

DJ is now in second grade, and if you couldn't guess, she also graduated from first grade. She also decided that she has come to that age where she will allow someone at the mall to hold a very gun-looking apparatus up to her head and jam a needle in her ear. She can't wait until she can wear the gaudy, dangling earring that are going to drive her Dad nuts. She is also practicing her morning bathroom time extensions and is currently up to 40 minutes doing who-knows-what. She continues to let her parents push her into learning French, English and Spanish at the same time, and loves to remind her Dad that she is smarter then him because she speaks French and he doesn't.

Big Dis becoming his own little man and learned that there is one quick way to win a fight with his Dad. One quick punch at his shoulder level will always bring Dad to his knees. I have taken to wearing a cup when I know that my little boy will be wanting to roughhouse. He has successfully joined in the ranks of kids whose parents can't wait to get them out of the house before they are even old enough to go to school, ie preschool, and is learning all those little things things that kids learn in preschool. For example, they have started to undo all the damage that Dad has done by trying to teach him his colors (Thanks color-blindness!). He has also learned all sorts of new things to ask God in his prayers, for example, “Dear Heavenly Father, please bless that Mom and Dad are nice and aren't mean to me because I've been good and they haven't been. And DJ has been mean. Name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

We still have two dogs, Pimienta (Alias, 'la negra') and Comino (Alias, 'el gringo') and are a lot smarter then are previous dogs, since they are still alive.

As the end of the page creeps upwards and as my ability to recall the past year wanes. I will say that we wish you a Merry Christmas and that if your only present from us is that you don't have to hear from us more then once a year we will happily provide.

Merry Christmas!

Been a while

I know it's been a while and the honest truth is that I stopped because I didn't feel like I had a whole lot to say. Well, that and I had some in-laws move in with us and, well, I didn't have anything good to say about it.

And to be honest I still don't have many good things to say about my inlaws. Except my grandpa and grandma-in-laws. They are fantastic.

Moving right along, I was inspired to write because I just got back from my very first political debate. It was a lot of fun. I live in Jason Chaffetez's district and that guy has always rubbed me the wrong way. So, of course I've been leaning the opposite direction, contrary to my Mormon/Republican peers.

Karen Hyer is Jason's opponent and honestly I think that most people should be able to see that she is the clear choice. She has years and years of non-government experience and is a little rough around the edges. She is certainly conservative, and so much so that she didn't even register as a Democrat even though she is the Democratic candidate (She's unaffiliated). She is very well educated and certainly knows how to express herself.

Jason, ooooh, Jason. He's a politician, and he's good at it. He knows how to make it work. He certainly knows how to play the voters here in Utah. BYU football kicker, part of the Huntsman campaign and a handsome guy. My wife says his wife doesn't look too bad herself, but I wasn't looking at her (What kind of man am I?).

Karen did really good at the beginning. Her ideas are strong and clear. She knows that healthcare isn't going to get repealed, but she knows that they need to fix the bad parts of the bill. She also knows that the major problem with immigration is that we have 12 million illegals here in the US. The problem that I really felt she had was that she ran a little negative against Jason. I agreed with her completely, especially the cot thing when she told him it was a publicity stunt, which I think it is. But, she doesn't realize that negative campaigning doesn't work where I live. Here, when you run a negative campaign people get turned off, and it gives the opponent the opportunity to not only dodge the question, but say, "She's so mean, she's attacking me!" Therefore the sympathy vote kicks in.

I was able to go with my Dad, the only guy that I can really talk politics with that doesn't shun me for my less then Republican ideals. He was turned off by Karen's negativity, but when I asked him about Jason he realized that Jason didn't really have any ideas. Karen had the ideas, and Jason was just showing off and feeding sound bites.

Overall I had great time and I hope that I might be able to make a bit of a habit of getting more involved and maybe a little more blogging would be useful.

Family Christmas Letter 2009

As we look back over the past year, and as I look to release my inner PR agent, I can only be glad that although this year was a good year, and I say that with all the flexibility that can be used with the word ‘good’. We can only hope that every year that follows this one can only be followed by better ones. With everything that has happened this past year it shouldn’t be hard, frankly just an extra scoop of ice cream would be a great improvement.

I of course exaggerate; this is of course the family Christmas letter and it could hardly be called a family Christmas letter unless an extreme amount of exaggeration were used, or, as most would like to say, creativity.

First, as most hadn’t wondered, we didn’t include a family Christmas letter last year. This was due to budget cuts. Sure, blame the economy, blame Barak Obama, I blame the leaky gas line in our furnace that caused our furnace to die thereby costing us a new furnace and heck, while your at it might as well replace the water heater. And our dog got ran over.

The big event this year was that Millie’s sister called her up saying that she was going to get married and since she was going to get married Millie was going to have to come down to Peru for a month. We booked all the flights, made the plans, we decided that I was going to stay behind since both kids were going to have to pay airfare and that my money had spent enough time in Peru that I don’t need to go and visit it. It’s too bad that things didn’t work out with Millie’s sister and her fiancé like they had planned, err… until this upcoming February. We will save that until next year’s letter.

Being on my own was great, I was able to do all the things guys like to do when they don’t have a family around to bother them. Like; clean the house, play video games, take really long bike rides, go on hikes and cry themselves to sleep.

But, after a month of lonely bliss, they came back. And like Job, after his time of suffering, his blessings were doubled, but unlike Job, they didn’t feel like blessings. For our daughter’s birthday we had conned a neighbor into letting us have one of her Chihuahua mix pups, but when my wife went to go pick her up she brought back two. If you have told your wife that she can only keep one pup of two when the pups are sleeping in your lap, then you are a much better man then I.

As if the duplicity of blessings of dogs was not enough, then God thought that I should be blessed with the blessing of in-laws. Not just “close-by-in-laws”, but “come-and-live-with-you in-laws,” and don’t forget the kids. My wife’s aunt just immigrated to the US with her two sons (5-years-old, 6-years-old). The father had to stay behind due to some curious anomaly brought to you by the US government. He should be here in the next couple of months once we sign some documents with our blood and wave good-by to our eternal

Anyway, no Christmas letter would be complete until I proved that my kids were better than anyone else’s.

This year our little girl entered into first grade, since kids these days have it too easy, we had to walk to school uphill both ways, in ten feet of snow, barefoot. We decided that she was going to get involved in the French Immersion Program, in other words, she speaks English the first part of her school day, French the second half and Spanish when she gets home. We have finally gotten her to sleep in her own room through the ancient art of bribery. She now reads and can use the computer. Daddy now has to have a special password to use the computer.

Our son was attending a special pre-prechool program in Provo until he aced their test and they said he couldn’t go anymore. I never thought I would have to teach him the art of dumbing it down when he was three.

Silver Lining My Eye!

The water main broke just outside of my house last week. I got home from work to find a gaping hole in my yard where the water had pushed it's way up through the yard and the remains of a bush that had gotten in the way. My wife ran to a neighbor's house and got them to shut off the main valve, but I already could imagine how much water had already ran through that pipe before it was shut off.

Now, my first reaction is usually me throwing my hands in the air and screaming, very dramatically, "Why me?" But, I've been working on that. So, despite my stress I did my very best to just let the situation flow. My wife is so very good at it, honestly, she is, people should pay her to give them classes. She says it's because she has a bad memory that everything just flows past her, but I think she just has everything in the correct perspective.

Anyway, so first thing was first. Assess the damage. I dug a hole, following the hole the water had created. After about an hour, maybe two I found the pipe. I guess at this point calling it a pipe is using the word loosely. At this point the "pipe" was more an example of rust collection. The neighbor (a Non-member by-the-way) that rushed over to shut the water off when my wife needed him told me that he could patch it, but, by the way it looked I would be lucky if it didn't just break in a couple of days someplace else. So we started calling plumbers and excavators to get bids. Thankfully the kids were in school still and we have a limited supply of bottled water in our food storage. Bids ranged from $1,500 to $2,400. I really wasn't surprised, I went with the guy that gave us the bid for $1,500, more because he used words like "That's my cost" and "I won't make a dime on labor" and so forth. He was the local ward member the people in the ward went to for things like this so I did the same. My neighbor came over a little later and asked how it was going and what the bids were. When I told him, he said that I was being taken for a ride, and that he could recommend a guy that could do it for $700, and he did.

The new guy isn't even in the yellow pages but as promised he gave me a bid of $700 and I took it. The next day he showed up as promised and began his work. Along the way he discovered that some of the pipe had already been replaced with copper and that he thought that we should just replace the bad pipe. He also discovered the old septic tank and an old sess pit, but he said that we could just continue to ignore those. Suffice it to say at the end of the day we only paid $500 for the whole job. I was very pleased.

Now for the moral of the story. First, I am a pessimist, I still don't like the idea that at the end of the day we had to pay $500. But, it certainly was a lot better then what the other guys told me and I would bet that any of the others would have had me pull out or fill the old septic tank and sess pit. This simple excavator was straight forward and didn't want to have me pay any more than I wanted to, no pressure, no fluff, just get the water back on. It's times like this that makes it hard to even see the black cloud past the silver lining.

Oh yeah, just because the guy is in your ward doesn't mean he's giving you the best price. He is first and foremost a business man.

Random Missionary Memories

More Random Missionary Moments. I am going to warn you ahead of time, they aren't funny or uplifting. Unless of course human suffering uplifts you, under which of course, you should probably see a doctor.

Within the first couple of months in the mission, my trainer and I went to see a family. Now if you know anything about the Latin culture you know that they will almost always offer you some kind of food or drink. Sure the mission rules were that we shouldn't eat or drink anything down there that we weren't sure of, but I honestly believe that the church makes those rules just to pacify parents that we aren't going to get sick. In other words, we would eat or drink almost anything put in front of us and prayed that Lord would bless us not to get sick. Most of the time he did bless us, I often wished he would turn the cow stomach into something I could stomach, but alas, those prayers remained unanswered.

When we went to see this family they served us a drink. A slightly orange hot water. I drank it and thanked the mother, she was a single mother of four kids. She replied to me, but since my Spanish could only be described as pre-pre-preschool level I didn't understand. My companion was a Peruvian and didn't speak English so he couldn't explain it to me right then. After we left I asked him what it was we drank, being the green missionary I was I was slightly afraid that it was tea. He explained to me that it was sugar water. Just water with a bit of sugar? Yep. That was all they could offer, but they offered it anyway. The mother had a small loom that she would make rugs with and that's how she would pay for food, but that was all she could do. I didn't realize it at first, but the room we sat in when we talked with her was the only room in what can only be described as a hovel.

Some months in the mission field, and with considerable improvement to my Spanish. I was stuck with a companion that was nearing the end of his mission and was already thinking of home, we call that Trunky. One day we were out looking for contacts, in my mind we were, in his mind we were strolling through the park. There were a group of kids playing soccer, for whatever reason one of the kids tripped and ran straight into my leg, then fell to the ground. He didn't really make an effort to get up. My companion knelt beside the kid and picked him up. I was just a dumb kid and my mind was conjuring up lessons of CPR. My companion sat the kid down on a bench and told the kid to sit there while we looked for his mother. No sooner did my companion release the child did he fall straight forward, flat on his face without making any movement to stop his fall, to the concrete. My companion was quick and picked the kid up immediately. I looked at the kid's face, it had the expected scratches, but what I didn't expect was a non-mucus white liquid coming out of his nose. Within seconds did his mother and a neighbor run up to us. The mother was freaking out, cursing at us she ripped her child from my companion's arms. My companion told her that she needed take him to a doctor, she cried and muttered that she couldn't afford it and that she'd take him home. The neighbor stepped in and said that it wasn't like it used to be, and that she could take her son to the doctor and that they didn't charge for children. I will always remember her face, the hopelessness disappearing and hope peaking through. She didn't believe it at first, but the neighbor insisted and flagged down a taxi. I never did hear what happened.

I feel ill when people say that they "understand" poverty. Or when they say that poor people just need to get a job. There are times I can't sleep at night thinking about some of the people I've seen. I sit here with a computer in front of me with high-speed internet, while I know that there is a family that has had their livelihood taken away from them and there is no one that will plead their case. I get to decide what I eat, while some have to wonder if they are going to be able to. The worst part is, I have seen their faces, I know their voices and they are my friends.

Smaller Moments that change you.

Growing up in Utah was great and at the same time bad. Great because I never felt threatened, except for that time a car pulled up next to me and a guy asked me to come over and give him directions to some place; of course I told him to buzz off, thanks McGruff! Bad because I never really got to see a world that I didn't even know existed. Okay, I am probably generalizing, and it happens to every kid, but I like to think I am special and it only happened to me.

Anywho, my mission was a big wake up call on a lot of things. Most of which I won't talk about right now, but in the future. Even then I didn't really get it. It wasn't until a few months after I got home off my mission did I realize some things.

For some reason I didn't like the idea of donating blood. Upon reflection I think to myself that I didn't really want a person sticking needles in me and so I searched for rationalizations to not donate. My rationalization was that we donate blood for free and the Red Cross and others turn around and sell it for buko bucks. No way am I going to contribute to a system where they sell something that they get for free. Not once during my whole life did I find anyone that would say I was wrong. Sure there was a person or to that said they would do it anyway, but on the whole I was never challenged. One day while I was working a friend of mine and I got onto that discussion. I spewed out my very well practiced speech of being a moral human being and not supporting a greedy system. After which he responded, "well, I think it's a karma thing. I did my part, what they do has nothing to do with me."

That stuck with me. For some reason it had never occurred to me that I should do the right thing no matter what others did about it. Salvation is personal after all. I don't think God will throw me down to hell because I gave money to a charity that was corrupt, but we will be very disappointed if I didn't give money to charity at all. I gave blood at the very next opportunity, although it lead to a lot of laughs and incriminating pictures. I now look for more opportunities to give blood, I don't go as out of my way as I should, but then again there are a lot of things I don't do as well as I should. At least the intention is there, let's see if I can do anything with it.

More Moments that Change you

Like many Utah born Mormons. I've have very little exposure to widespread sin. Or what we consider sin. Alcohol, Porn (although Utah is the biggest subscriber to online porn), Coffee and the like. It's easy to grow up with an idea that people that do these things are depraved, or like I thought some time ago, were just plain evil.

When I was courting my wife I went down to Peru for a time so we could actually spend some real time together. She is related to half of the town were she lives. It's a small town. One night her "Brother-in-law" came to meet her new boyfriend. (I put 'brother-in-law' in quotes because he's old enough to be her father, did I mention that my mother-in-law and my father-in-law are separated by almost 40 years?) Anyway, he had a beer bottle in his hand and had just started drinking. So, he had a buzz but wasn't drunk. I didn't want to talk to him, I just looked at him as if he offended me. My soon-to-be wife pulled me aside and told me, "Why aren't you talking to him?" I responded, "He's drinking" as if that was all that needed to be said. "Yea, and?" was her rebuttal. I was dumbfounded, I didn't understand. Shouldn't she try and hold people up to her standards, shouldn't she let people know that it's no okay to drink?

Being the intuitive person she is she explained, "Look, he's not Mormon. Drinking doesn't make him a bad person. He is very nice and has never hurt anyone. People drink, it's part of the culture, it's something they do. I could isolate them or myself from them, or I could accept them for who they are, just like they accept me for who I am. Please, just talk to him." and I did.

As I look back, I can't even realize why it never occurred to me before. People are people. Just because you don't hold the same ideals, principles, religion or anything else, doesn't make you a bad person. I can have fun with a person who drinks, just like a person that drinks can have fun with someone who doesn't.

I really don't know how to put it into words properly, but I will try. Jesus went among the poor and downtrodden inviting them to repentance and offering solace. He chided those that should have known better. He made people feel at home, he made them want to be like him. He didn't go around calling people sinners.

Well, I really don't know if I got my point across, but there you go.

Moments that change you.

Throughout my life I have had only a couple of moments that have really changed me. All of the ones I can remember are the ones that have changed me for the good. Just for simplicity I will leave it to be understood that Marriage/Kids and similar experiences go without saying. I'm talking about the ones that change your view of the world.

While I was in the MTC and trying to become the best missionary I could be despite my groups efforts to the contrary. One night all the missionaries when to the auditorium for some talk of some kind, (come on, it's been ten years, you can't expect me to remember). It's understood as a rule that all the missionaries wear their suit jackets. It was winter at the time and overall there really wasn't a problem. Well, this particular day I sat next to a guy who didn't have is jacket on and was wiping his head every little once and a while with a handkerchief. I asked his if he was sick, because it looked like he was hot. He said that he wasn't hot, and in fact he couldn't tell. 'Why?' was the question that came out of my mouth uninvited. He then explained to me that he was recovering from brain cancer, and that when they operated they took out the part of your brain that controls your body temperature, in other words, he was cold-blooded. I asked him if they got it all and if he was going to be okay, he didn't know.

"Then why come out on a mission if you don't even know how long you are going to live?" I asked.

"Because there are more important things..."

Those words must have turned to fire and burned themselves in my brain, because to this day I can hear him say it. I never learned his name, because his words effected me so much I just sat there dumbfounded.

My whole life I have tried to make sense of those words and apply them. What are things that are more important then living? And as I pondered that question I never seem to run out of answers.

A Never-ending List of Firsts

As I get older, and as I watch my kids get older. I begin to think about all the firsts that my kids are going through and all the firsts I went through. My daughter's first tooth. My nephew-in-law's first snow storm. My son's first interest in a superhero, although he seems to really be attached to Spiderman despite all my efforts to get him interested in Superman (But, let's be honest, the Spiderman movie was just a lot cooler then Superman Returns.)

I think of all the firsts I've gone through. First kiss, first and only wife, first really bad haircut, first public humiliation. It gives me chills to think about all the things that my kids still get to go out and do. It's times like this that suddenly the old-man's adage about how youth is wasted on the young suddenly rings true. I guess I could just take that I am now old and uncool, all I need now is for one of my kids to roll their eyes at me for something. Then it will be official.

Nevertheless, in my old age I still find myself in a situation where there are still firsts out there. The latest one is that my best friend had his first kid. "How in the world does that relate to being a first for you, you selfish pig?" You ask? Well, as I was sitting with my friend in sacrament meeting I saw him struggling to try and calm his son down. He looked nervous, self-conscious and insecure. I wanted to say something to him to make him feel that it's normal. I am a two-time father so I know that every parent out there just smiles and understands when they hear a child going meltdown in the middle of sacrament meeting. Nevertheless, how do you communicate that to a new parent? Let's be honest, before we had kids we all thought about how rude those parents are that can't keep control of their children, but once we have kids we suddenly realize that keeping children quiet is like juggling chainsaws. I told him that it's all part of being a father, and I felt like a goon spouting off platitudes. I really want to be a good friend, but I really don't know how to go about it. Then again, sometimes all you can do is be there and be yourself. Although I really don't like the second answer because I do a lot of that. It really is times like these when you really need to keep the line of communication between you and the Lord open. That way if he can send a some inspiration he can.

Doing the right thing.

There never seems to be a clear way to right thing. Okay, maybe I am exaggerating. I haven't been on my most spiritual best behavior lately. Which would probably explain the reason why I am not quite so sure about how to make the right decision. I suppose that God had his reasons when he said hold fast to the rod. If you're not holding fast, then things get a little fuzzy.

Anyway, I find myself on the fuzzy end of spiritual guidance. Unfortunately, I can't postpone all my decisions until I get my spiritual feet back on the ground, so here is to being taught by goodly parents.

One of the problems that comes with being married is in-laws, and the problem with having foreign in-laws is that you are the hotel when they come into the country. Picking up on what I'm about to reveal? You'd be right, I've got some of my wife's family living with us. Oh, sure, I could have told them to stay with some other family here in the US, on the other side of the country. The situation would have been better for me, I like my space, but I couldn't ignore my wife. She didn't really push the idea. Okay, maybe she did, but she sure made it feel like she didn't. Nevertheless, she has always wanted family to live a little closer and her family that is currently living with us aren't freeloaders. In fact my house has never been so clean, and since they've moved in they've already applied for several jobs and a mountain of other stuff that my wife knows about. I've been taking Pres. Hinckley's approach to dealing with the affairs of women, ie. stand back and marvel.

With more people at the house it is of course adding a bit more of a financial drain on out current strapped budget. I decided, or at least my wife let me think I decided, that we should help these people out and do the best we could. I usually don't take risks like this but sometimes you just have to do the right thing. Although I still am not sure how right it was.

What I did during my summer vacation

Okay, it's been a while since I've written. For the most part all of my posts over the summer were pre-written and just scheduled to post themselves during the summer months. So in my own way I took the summer off to pursue other endeavors. And, although my pre-scheduled posts stopped over a month ago I've been facing a kind of writer's block. Okay, it's not been so much that I haven't had anything to say but more that I didn't feel confident enough to say it. Now, I have enough confidence or at the very least have suspended my feelings of insecurity long enough to sit down and write.

Geocaching.

A new hobby that I copied from my brother. Well, it's a new hobby to me. Pretty much it's treasure hunting but without all the trial and error and most of it being error. With Geocaching you are pretty much given the spot and have to do a little searching around. I have no idea why I really enjoy this, I do it almost every day with my keys. Although with geocaching you get to see places you never knew existed and you are also able to show others your favorite places. Our kids love it because it's a little adventure and for the most part they will always walk away with a toy of some kind. Look into it if you are an outdoorish kind of person or just want a reasonably cheap hobby. I love the idea of buying one piece of equipment then not having to buy anything after that. Although the website does want you to pay $30 a year for a subscription so you can get extra search features, but compared to the crap you have to buy for cycling, it's chump change.

Alone Time

The big thing that happened this summer was that my family went to Perú, without me. As I have stated previously it was mainly about the money and secondly about the time. My wife wanted to spend a month down there and I couldn't get the time off. So, I thought I would be a supportive husband and tough out the month alone.

Bad idea, oh, I'm sure every husband dreams of having so much time to himself. I can't think of anything worse. Well, at least now. The first couple of days were kinda fun, but, as soon as the novelty of it wears off then it's like living my own private hell. Suddenly, I realized that the only reason why I was getting up in the morning was to go to work. Not a good realization. My wife didn't communicate with me as often as I would have liked, after all she was now surrounded by family that she hadn't seen in years, therefore was easily distracted. To be perfectly honest, my wife is easily distracted by anything that has the hint of being shiny. So that added to my already weakened emotional state.

Suffice it to say, it was not fun.

Ay Chihuahua!

Last year we had a wonderful dog named Shelby. We had him for about four months and he was the best dog a family could ever ask for. Since I am not a dog person that says a lot. Ever since poor Shelby got ran over my family has been wanting to get a new dog. There is something that a pet brings into a home that you can't really describe. Before my wife and kids ran off to Peru for a month a neighbor of ours had a litter that she needed to get rid of. She has like 15 dogs, 8 of which are chihuahuas. She usually breeds the chihuahuas but a terrier got with one of the females and she didn't really want to sell those so she offered one to us when they got old enough to leave the mother. After my family got back my wife went over to our neighbor's house to see about the puppy, and as my wife is always surprising me, she came back with two.

My wife told me that our neighbor wasn't planning on giving us both of them, in fact my wife didn't even know about the second one. When my wife went over to check on the puppy that we were going to get the neighbor couldn't bear separating the brother and sister pair. So she offered my wife both. So my wife brought both of them over to me and asked me if we could keep both. I think only a statue could have said no. There is my beautiful wife holding two cute, baby chihuahuas. I had to say okay, I really didn't have a choice.

So here I am, trying to recover from my summer and get back in the swing of things. I have so much more to say. But I think the fact that I lost the habit has really been dragging on getting it written down. So I think I will post this as-is in an attempt to get back into the rhythm.

My little latin love story, Part 14 of ...

We began to plan the wedding; actually it was my mom who began to plan the wedding. My mom always wanted to be either an interior decorator or a wedding planner, but because my father is the kind of person that likes steady paychecks and doesn’t like the idea of trying to start a business, she gave up the dream. On the other hand when a moment came along to plan a wedding or decorate a room, my mom would show up without being asked. I was very grateful that my parents offered to pay for the wedding because there was no way Mili’s parent’s were going to be able to or be able to come to it for that matter. Mili arrived on the 28^th of November and we were going to be married on the 19^th of December. I remember clearly that day because my best man left early so he could catch opening night of Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. He said, “This is a once in a lifetime thing.” I didn’t want to badger him by saying “same here”, so I let him go, and because of that movie Mili and I were among the last to leave.

From the time Mili came to the US we spent every moment I wasn’t at work together. It was fun taking her around town and showing her what life was like in the US. Mili marveled at all the things we had that helped us be even lazier than we already were. One button washing machines, a garbage truck with a mechanical arm that would come out and pick up the trash can and dump it, and an enormous array of computers and computer parts.

Well, for now I am going to call this a wrap. Of course there is so much more, but for now I think it's time to get back to business.

My little latin love story, Part 13 of ...

The first problem we encountered was the fact the Mili didn’t heed my warnings (something she does to this day, a trait that jumps back-and-forth between endearing and irritating) of how cold Utah gets. I had told her that she should concentrate on sweaters, wool and alpaca (a member of the llama family who’s fleece is a very good insulator, even better than sheep’s wool).

She said, “I thought this jacket would do,” referring to the long sudo-leather jacket. I laughed.

First we hounded my sisters for spare winter clothing. My older sister despite her middle class upbringing, her middle class parents and her perfectly comfortable middle class siblings liked to live the high life. Or at least look like it. I wanted my girlfriend to look and feel like a million dollars so we went to her first. She only had a jacket, but it was a place to start. My younger sister unfortunately had very little as far as clothing that would fit Mili. Mili is a small, petite Latin woman and my younger sister a very strong and intimidating white woman.

Next stop was the best thing to come out of the Mormon Church since the gospel, the DI. My parents were always willing to help out by buying things for Mili, but I wanted that almost married feeling of being able to do things without my parents help. I was surprised to see exactly how far I could stretch $8.50 an hour. Nevertheless, my parents on more than one occasion took her shopping for clothes. Sure, I have my pride, but I like to think I am humble enough to know when I could use a little financial help.

My little latin love story, Part 12 of ...

I had more or less of a plan. According to the INS we had 90 days to get married, after we got married we had to fill out a whole new set of forms, pay $200 and she would get her conditional permanent resident status for two years. After that we would pay a whole new fee and fill out a whole new set of forms and that would be the last hurdle for the next ten years or was that two? Then it would be something completely different if she decided to get her US citizenship. That was my plan as far as the INS.

Reality was different, as is usally the case. In preparation for Mili’s arrival, I had moved out of my parents home and rented a one-bedroom apartment. I didn’t make very much money so I took on a roommate. He had a futon so his room was the living room. I had checked with the INS and they said with the kind of Visa Mili was coming in on she would be able to work, little did I know that the work visa she was getting was a mini-work visa that only lasted ninety days and didn't just renew itself when we got married. I like to think this is one of the many jokes the INS plays on immigrants, 'Hey, we're going to give you this visa that lasts 90-days! Gook luck finding an employer that is going to hire you for only 90-days and oh, yeah. To get a work visa that lasts a year you are going to have to pay $250' Ha ha, I'm sure they laughed themselves to sleep every night over that one.

I had made arrangements with a girl from Argentina that I worked with so that Mili could stay with her until we could get married. I think she had the hots for me and was still betting on the fact that things wouldn’t work out when she made the arrangement but when things worked out I called her on it. My original plan was to have her live with my parents but Mili and my parents didn’t want to work around the language barrier. I could understand that because my very first companion on my mission didn’t speak a lick of English and it was very difficult, I mean drag a man to tears difficult.

My little latin love story, Part 11 of ...

It was November and it was the first time I had been to the airport since 9/11 and the new excuse for violating human dignity (and civil liberties) came into play, they called these excuses 'increased security'. At least people didn't have to take their shoes off at the security point yet, that was still a couple of months away. I was nervous, worried and filled with a scary new hope. Her plane was delayed in Denver for over an hour and I didn’t have a cell phone, so I just had to hang around and wait. I wanted to sit down and rest, but I guess chairs were only good enough for people beyond the gate and the lucky 10 who got to the chairs between the escalators. My mom wanted to come but I told her that I really wanted to be the only one there. As always, my mom understood.

Before, a person could walk all the way to the door that connected the plane to the airport and only have to see the people on the same flight as the person you were waiting for. I really hated this new everybody-come-though-the-same-gate thing. I mean planes are coming off all the time so there is a constant flow of people, you never know when the people from the plane you are waiting for are getting off. I felt a little like a gumba, in my semi-formal shirt, my very clean and ironed jeans, my mostly clean winter coat and holding a bouquet of flowers asking people “Are you coming off the flight from Denver?” Weird looks were abound from the groups of families that were awaiting returning missionaries. I just tried to blend into the background while still being close enough to see who was coming off and not being part of any grouping of people. There were mixed results.

She was wearing the same long black sudo-leather jacket that she had on the first time I met her in Perú outside of the mission, which for me was the first time I really met her. She said good-bye to the sister missionary (who's family had been looking at me the whole time wondering if they should say something to this lonely and obviously nervious/anxious person) that just so happened to be coming home from Peru that she had been traveling with and we embraced.

Emotions raced around my body like a Nascar race being shook up in a snow globe. Happyness, love, exaltation, relief and all other complex emotions smashed into each other or along the walls of my being. She seemed so relaxed. Her hair, as she usally wore it, was hanging loose and falling about her shoulders. She had on a grey shirt that pressed the limits of temple worthy low cut, a pair of blue jeans and a pair of black boots that added at least an inch to her height. Her wonderfully white teeth spread out in a heart-melting smile in contrast to her dark moca skin.

“I missed you so much, heaven.” She whispered as we continued our embrace.

“I missed you too.” I was still a little unsure about the whole new list of pet names available to me and didn't know which one to use. So, my brain ran around the emotional and mental chaos and handed me silence.

When we tore apart I gave her the flowers that I had brought with me and we hugged again, this time with a long, drawn out kiss. In hindsight I get the image and feeling that you get when watching a movie and suddenly the whole world speeds up while the couple in the middle remain, slow and in real time. At that moment, the world felt like it had left the sun like a bad lover and began to orbit around us. Fireworks exploded, angelic choirs sang and God probably took his attention from something important to look at us for a moment and give an approving nod. Sure, I'm exaggerating but it sure felt that way.

My little latin love story, Part 10 of ...

At that time Xbox had come out and I was studying whether to buy an Xbox or a Playstation 2. I really liked Halo on Xbox, but my sister said I should come to her house in Salt Lake and try out her Playstation 2. With what I was going through I thought it was a good idea to get a distraction in my life. While I was there I called Mili. At long last she answered.

I was so happy just to speak to her, but she was more reserved. A more ‘I-want-to-tell-you-something-but-I-probably-shouldn't-tell-you’ kind of mood.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I didn’t go in.”

“Did they not let you go in?”

“No, I just didn’t go in.”

“WHY!” I screamed into the phone. This was the first time I had really become agitated with Mili. I was usually the one that kept his cool.

“I’m not ready to marry you.” This wasn’t happening. I had paid so much, suffered so much and fought so much. I wasn’t even going let Mili stop me at this point.

Eventually, I pried the information out of her and she told a tale of how she just didn’t feel like she was a good person. Mili felt bad about some things that she had done in the past. Things that had long since past, things she had long since left behind her, things she had long since repented of. I could see that she was a completely different person now then the person in her past. But she couldn’t. I listened as she laid the whole story before me, and when she was done I broke into the ‘you-shall-be-as-white-as-snow’ speech. Sure, it's a little overdone, a little cliché, but things don't get cliché because they arn't true or useful. I didn’t care about what she had done or how she felt about things she had done in the past, and at that moment I felt like an old friend had walked up to me to say 'hello', I remembered the true reason I was fighting so hard and tolerating so much. Something that had gotten lost in the fighting, the straining and the overall mess of government. I loved her, and I wanted to spend eternity with her.

The next day Mili called the embassy and they told her she couldn’t get another appointment until next year. Although the government was taking their time, with regard to 9/11, I feared that they might just get their act together and look at the INS instead of just promoting patriotism. First, I called the US embassy in Peru and tried to convince them that just because I was a tax-paying US citizen I had some say in what went on in government, I refused to speak or acknowledge that I spoke Spanish in a foolish attempt to intimidate them like I would a Wal-Mart customer service employee into accepting the return of an item that I had bought without the receipt. It didn’t work; they probably don't get paid enough to care. Next I called my representative in Washington, my voice in federal law, my congressman, Chris Cannon. I figured that he could call the embassy, throw some proverbial (and probably literal) weight around and tell them to make an appointment for Mili and that would be that. I got passed off to some underling who gave me the excuse that because of Sept. 11 the INS told them that they couldn’t pull strings like that any more and I never voted for Chris "Jowels" Cannon again.

I wish I could take back every tantrum I ever had. I wish I could take back every tear I had ever made my mom cry, every sleepless night that she had for my sake. My Mom, seeing my suffering, called Orin Hatch’s (our senior senator) office and told them of my plight. Orin Hatch or at least one of his powerful secretaries (because, let's be honest, it's the secretaries that get things done) waved the stick of senatorial power and with a call, a fax and within 24 hours Mili had an appointment for the very next week and I had a smile on my face once again.

My little latin love story, Part 9 of ...

September 11, 2001 at about 7:30am MST. I turned on the television for the morning news as I did every morning before I went to work. I liked to listen to the strange crimes that go on and make fun of the TV anchors that tried to be funny and all they had to report on was a sale at some store in Salt Lake. Some might say I’m a little psychotic, but I was happy that something interesting was happening in the world. I was fascinated by the reactions of the news media. Astounded by the footage. I marveled at the story of a couple that clasped their hands before jumping from the tower. I wasn’t really hurt or saddened until that night when my mother mentioned that the hijackers were immigrants and that it would probably have an affect on Mili’s case. That is when I became worried and angry.

I like it when companies put radio stations on their hold music. You get a variety to listen to. The INS doesn’t. After two hours on hold to the INS, I learned that they repeated the same music and message every fifteen minutes. I even began to say the message with the machine when it came on. I don’t even know why I called the INS. I had called them a few times throughout the process and I always came to the same conclusion; that conclusion was that the people working in the call center probably don’t even know whom they work for or what they are suppose to do. This time I wanted to know how September 11 was going to affect my case. As usual, they didn’t know.

Luckily the government has a speed all it’s own. They passed the US PARTIOT ACT (it seems like the only thing they are quick about is taking away our civil liberties) quickly enough but then they really didn’t know what to do with themselves, other than collect their paychecks. So no major changes happened until after Mili came to the US.

After all her paperwork and exams were done the US embassy gave Mili an appointment for an interview for the last week in October. We were delighted. I happily spent forty dollars just to talk about how this whole nightmare might be coming to an end.

I anxiously waited the day of her interview at work watching my e-mail for the news on when she was going to be able to come. All I got was “I’m not going to be able to come.” I called, I wrote and no answer. Two days later I was a basket case. I didn’t know what had happened. I didn’t know what to do. I even called in sick to work. So I did what I always do to escape reality, I played video games.

My little latin love story, Part 8 of ...

Our relationship began to suffer. Mili was becoming impatient. “Why are they doing this to us? Why don’t we get married here?” (She knew that she didn’t want her children to grow up the same way she did, but she said it anyway. Although I believe that she knew that no matter what they would have a better life no matter where.). The idea was appealing but I had learned that we would have to go though the same process for her to come to the US whether we were married or not, and I felt that I would miss her a lot more if we were already married. She also began to very agitated with little things. For example, if I didn’t write one day she would have a fit and I would spend close to forty dollars on phone cards so that we could talk out our frustrations and be ready to carry on. More than once she had been willing to call off the whole thing, but I would talk her out of it.

Not only was the strain weighing on Mili and me. It was also weighing on those who had to deal with me. My brother sat me down and asked, “are you sure you want to go through this? I mean this really seems like a lot more work than it’s worth. And with all the problems that you’re running into, it might even be God telling you that it isn’t right.”

“I’m sure about this.” That was a lie, at this point I was doubting too. I believe that God has a plan and is always more than willing to give hints on what one should do. My patience was wearing thin and I was looking at all that was going on and asking myself if maybe God didn’t want it to work out. But I was sick of being out of control. I was sick of putting my heart and soul into something and then for some reason or another watching it crash and burn. I had watched my last girlfriend dump me for some stupid reason. I came back from my mission and saw someone completely different inside of the body of the woman that I had loved so dearly. I wasn’t going to allow the government to destroy my hopes. I wasn’t going to allow even God from keeping me from doing everything in my power to make our relationship work. So I put my doubts aside and marched on knowing that more than likely I was going in alone.

The first week of September Mili received a package filled with forms and a list of documents they needed copies of, oh yea and $100. She had to have a complete medical exam done by a doctor at the US embassy in Peru (another $100). I wired her $300 because I had become used to the idea that when working with the government there is always another fee.

My little latin love story, Part 7 of ...

Now the hard part...

The only difficult part about making a big decision, like marriage is all the paperwork that goes along with it. As soon as I got home I began to research exactly what it was going to take to bring Mili to the US. The following week; I sent a form, a set of pictures, and a copy of my birth certificate with $95.00 to Nebraska. We continued to chat and write letters. The overall tone of the letters had become more romantic and we constantly spoke about being together again.

A month later I received a letter from the Department of Immigration and Naturalization (INS). The letter said that they had received my petition to bring my fiancé to the US and that it would be about two months to find out if my petition had been approved or not.

The idea of being without Mili for two more months was heartbreaking. I missed her, and my coworkers and parents were getting real tired of hearing about it. I broke the news and we mourned together. The next day I took my computer to a friend’s house to have a LAN party, when I brought my computer home that night and plugged it in to write Mili, it began to smoke. For reasons that I was unable to understand God smote my computer, frying the Motherboard, the hard drive, the video card, the network card, and the sound card. I was surprised because I had a surge protector and when I told the techs at the computer store, they said, “Wow, really? I never heard of that happening before.” $400, the help of my computer savvy brother and a week later we were able to communicate again on a more regular basis.

In August I received another letter from the INS. They said that they needed more forms, copies of every financial document I ever had, proof that we were engaged, proof that we had spent time together, a letter from a third party saying the we weren’t getting married just so Mili could get a Visa and $145. It took me a week to gather everything up, get it all notarized and sent off.

Dun dun duuuuunnnnn....

My little latin love story. Part 6 of who knows how many.

I'm not going to keep doing this, you guys can just scroll down. Fine, we were in Perú and getting to know Mili, her family and her culture.

I don’t know how long I slept. It was probably only an hour, but when I opened my eyes I was looking right into Mili’s eyes.

“How long have you been awake?” I asked.

“Only a moment.”

“All right,” I rolled onto my back and tried to go back to sleep.

“What are you thinking about?” as it turns out this question is a universal question asked by all women trying to get inside the male mind, little do they know that there really isn’t anything to get into.

“How I wish I could have slept better on the plane.”

“I mean we’ve been together for almost twelve hours and we haven’t really even spoken to each other. You’re only going to be here a week.”

“And you would really like to start to get to know me.” She was right, I wanted to get to know her to. I pushed mute on my body’s whining and we begun to talk.

It was a little hard at first; Mili even suggested that we go to the Internet café so maybe would feel a little more comfortable. I was definitely nervous. We were lying in the same bed and talking. My mom always said that the first step to fall off the chastity wagon was to be lying on the same bed, there was no other place to sit in the room and Mili’s family would want to talk to me if I was out in the open. I decided to start the conversation. An hour or two later during a seven-minute pause, we kissed. It was a quick, soft, tongueless kiss. As far as first kisses go, that was the best one I had ever had.

Later that afternoon we flew out to a little province on the Ecuadorian border called Tumbes. Her mom, step-dad, younger brothers and sisters live there and she wasn’t going to let her potential fiancé go home without meeting her parents.

Tumbes is a small town where everybody knows one another. It was surprising to hear that they had an international airport, at the time it didn’t occur to me that if Utah was it’s own country Provo airport would be international. I would often laugh, as Mili would take me around her hometown, because she would always point to someone and say ‘that’s my uncle/cousin/aunt/2nd cousin/etc’ I was reminded of my mom’s hometown. Almost every summer growing up we would go see my grandma and an assortment of cousins. Often on these trips my mom would take us around town and tell us who lived in each house and how we were related to them.

Mili’s parents were somewhat better off than most. They lived in an apartment that was about 100+ years old downtown. They owned the two-story building but rented out the lower half to a chicken restaurant. The floors were well-kept wood and they had plaster walls, except they had movable partitions dividing the large one room apartment into a three-bedroom apartment.

Her mom was very warm and loving the way only a Latin-mother could be and she would shove food down your throat the way most moms do. Her skin was a lighter color than Mili’s and she had red streaks in her light black hair. I thought that the streaks were dyed but Mili swears that that they are natural and have been there her whole life. I’d heard that some Latin women from the jungle have different colored hair, so I didn’t argue. I also heard that on hot days they walked around with their tops off, but I couldn’t prove that either.

Mili’s step-dad was a great deal older than her mom, about forty. But for a man about eighty he sure didn’t act like it. I’m not saying that he was child-like, more like he wasn’t old-like. Most men in their eighties take lots of pills, shake and ask you to repeat everything. He was very lucid, clear and loud. He was easy to get along with and very patient with the holes in my Spanish Vocabulary.

The week went by too quickly and we couldn't stand to be apart for even a second. It was appearant that we got along very well, too well in in fact.

I asked her hand in marriage the day before I went back to the US. We stayed up late walking on the beach that was only twenty-minutes from her house. We kissed constantly until I left.

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