The Smell

Inevitably, when I introduce myself, someone will look at me with a deep, confused expression. They will look me up and down, and after much thought, politely say (almost as a correction, because surely they heard wrong), "You know, in Spanish, linda means pretty..." To which I reply that yes, I know. I am very much aware of that AND the irony.

I totally understand their perplexed look. I am sure that, if my parents could go back, they would change my name to something a bit more appropriate.

Such as: Personalidad (Spanish for 'personality')
Such as: Høj (Danish for 'tall')
Such as: Potius (Latin for 'embarrassing')
Such as: Meinung (German for 'opinion') 

But today, I feel like the most accurate name given to yours truly is Idiot (English for 'complete and total moron'). This is not a quest for pity or sympathy, but it is a warning to all of you: I am an idiot.

(The first step in recovery is recognition.) 

Now, I know all of you are saying,"Why have you only just now come to this conclusion? We've known for years!!" But please, allow me to explain. 

I live in one side of a duplex with 4 other girls. I love where I live. I love my neighborhood. I love my huge private room. The only thing I do not love is my roommates' collective inability to make our home UNATTRACTIVE to the enemy: Rodents. Pests. Bugs. Weird boys.  

Those of you who know me best, or at all, understand that I. Do. Not. Like. Animals. But. ESPECIALLY. NOT. RODENTS. Snow White, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty better pass on by my house when they need a place to stay. Just saying. 

So you can imagine my horror when, upon arriving home very late Saturday night, I opened the door to my very clean room and smelled essence of ANIMAL DEATH. 

I recognized that Smell. 

It was The Smell of my childhood: the pungent Smell of the dead deer head from the neighbor's yard that always wafted over the fence and destroyed my outdoor experience. #smalltownrednecks

It was The Smell that seeps through the car vents as you pass over what was once a cat on the side of the road. 

It was that dreaded, awful, rotting Smell of DEATH and DECAY and DISASTER, which is exponentially worse because the producer is Animal.

Clean air is very precious to me. I do not tolerate gross air (caused by smoking, pollution, chemicals...) very politely. 

In fact, my not-so-secret-but-dearest-ambition is to spend my days attacking smokers and 
particularly polluting cars with a portable fire-hydrant-like water gun. Such will be my contribution to society.

That MY BEDROOM, which I vacuum weekly/bi-weekly and regularly bathe in bleach and peppermint oil, REEKED WITH THIS MAGNITUDE OF GROSSNESS was nearly enough to cause a nervous breakdown for yours truly.

I took out my sniffer. Feeling like Trusty, I sniffed every corner of my room, every nook and cranny, trying to pinpoint The Smell source. 

photo cred: The Internet

But it was the weirdest thing. The Awful Smell was most awful in midair, right above my bed. Not on ANY surface, just in the air...floating around... destroying my sanity... 

Now I am not a canine when it comes to spotting smells. All of my senses (sight, smell, taste, hearing, etc...) 
are about as acute as Granny's on the Beverly Hillbillies. But I swear, that is the truth. 

My room was spotless. Everything was in order. So there was clearly only one explanation, since my hygiene and general obsession for cleanliness in my room were not at fault. 

Explanation A: There was a dead rodent somewhere in my walls*. And it obviously was attracted there by my roommates' terrible trash-storage habits**.  

*A thought that caused me major panic.

**A story for a later date.

Sub-point A.1) This abrupt heat wave along the Wasatch Front caused whatever rodent a) was stupid enough to crawl into my walls and b) subsequently had the nerve to DIE there to Smell VERY bad. And as such, my room-air was unbreathable. 

If ever there was a reason to call 2319, this was it.

This explanation led me to consider possible solutions:

1. Burn the duplex to the ground. Leave town permanently.
2. Contact Landlord about The Smell problem. Abandon all possessions. Leave town permanently.
3. Leave town permanently by volunteering to travel as the first human to Mars, wherein there are no rodents.

After complaining (like I do, because I am a total whiner) to everyone I know about the problem, and quickly blaming everyone else, I generated a lot of sympathy. My ego stroked, I was barely able to endure the next few days, which (whenever I was in my room) consisted of soaking all surfaces in vinegar, essential oils, and bleach.

Still, The Smell persisted.

Last night, as I was going through my "food storage" shelf (i.e. my 8 pounds of dried herbs and enough food to MAYBE last about 3 days), I discovered a dark spot. Tracing up the spot, I found a dark trail. Tracing up the trail, I found the organic aquifer from which The Smell originated.

This photo was taken outside in the dead of night: such was my shame.
I did not want the roommies to find out. Nor will they ever, unless they stumble upon this blog. 

It is a potato.
A very old potato.
A very old, very dead, very rotten potato.

I definitely am the person who put it in my "food storage" area. It was there, in plain site, contaminating my room. How did I miss it? Why on earth was it there? 
Ah, dear readers, we have come full circle: I'm an idiot. 



And, by the way, The Smell disappeared precisely 25 seconds after The Potato's eviction.
Another problem solved (and caused) by dear Linda. Or should I say Potius? I should really get going on that name change...

The D-Day Post

I cannot possibly end the day without sharing a thought or two about one of my favorite topics ever: WWII, especially on a significant day like today (June 6, 2016).

Two years ago, I was in Normandy (on my LDS mission, which I absolutely adored) and spending all day every day strolling the streets of Caen. Oh, how I love that place. Of all the places I've lived, Normandy is definitely my favorite. That is the place I've ever felt most "at home" away from home. I could write pages and pages about all the reasons I love it there (and my secret desire to return), but that is not the focus of today's post.

It was particularly significant to me to spend the 70th anniversary of D-Day in Normandy itself. As you can imagine, it was a celebrated event. The entire summer was packed with activities and dedications and parades and memorials to commemorate the anniversary of such a magnificent, terrible, and awe-inspiring victory. Of course, as a missionary my participation was limited (rightly so), but I had many opportunities to see the effects of war, destruction, and restoration in a gorgeous place. I saw the marks of war that STILL scar beautiful Normandy. But I also saw the recovery and the reverence that it maintains. The similitude it has to the Atonement I found beautiful and touching.

Every D-Day, I take time to reflect on the symbolism of what the soldiers who raided les plages de Normandie called a "quiet journey". As they rode in the boats taking them to storm the beach, the soldiers were silent.

photo cred: http://www.cnn.com/2013/06/03/world/europe/d-day-fast-facts/

Doubtless, they were terrified. Terrified because death was so immanent. Terrified because the task they were assigned seemed so impossible. Terrified because they were so young... too young to die. It is unfortunate that the price of liberty always seems to be paid for by the innocent. 

But I imagine that the terrified silence was also a reverent silence.

We hear all the time that "freedom isn't free", and I agree. But what I thought about today as I reviewed the events of that great and dreadful day 72 years ago was not necessarily the price that these young Allies paid for America, but the sacrifice they made to FREE OTHERS. While they may have chosen to think about loved ones whose pictures they held in their pockets, in reality, most were fighting to save strangers in a strange land. I don't want to idealize the attacks of the Allies (heaven knows it was not a smooth nor an easy /perfect/bloodless victory), but I do want to focus on the fact that in that moment they weren't fighting for themselves. 

And they did it silently.

They were fighting to make a better future for someone else. For the French, the Polish, the Danish, and the German as well. They were not boasting about their heroism as they went off to literally save the world. They were silent. Theirs was a humble, selfless sacrifice.

As I read about (and get frustrated with) politics and world trauma and local catastrophes, I see a common thread tying many problems together: gone is the attitude of quietly building a better world for someone else; we want it to be better for us, now, regardless of futuristic consequences, and we want the credit for what little improvement we contribute.
#iamdoingsomethingamazingsogivemesomefame

Instead of taking accountability for our mistakes/neglect/poor judgment and CLEANING UP after ourselves, we are pushing the mess on to someone else in the future, but quick to grab the residual popularity.

If those D-Day soldiers had the same attitude ("I'm not interested in helping if it doesn't directly benefit me"), the mission would have failed. Maybe this is cynical of me... but if they had spent the morning publishing selfies about the amazing thing they were about to do, don't you think the sacredness would have been lost?

  (And... is it rather hypocritical of me to be BLOGGING about it? Haha oh well :) 

That summer, their purpose was not to help themselves.
Despite the turmoil and emotional scarring for the survivors, and life itself for the lost, I know the sacrifice they made for others DID benefit them. It benefited them more than anything they could have done for themselves.

The pattern holds true for us as well: if we focus on sacrificing for others, which may mean foregoing personal comfort without a guarantee that we will be compensated for our efforts, I know that the character that is developed by doing so will be more satisfied, happier, and grateful.

I need to work on that. I need to be less worried about what I'm going to get out of doing something for someone else, to stop thinking about whether or not the "pros" I can see with my pathetic mortal perspective outweigh the "cons", and just DO for others.

The attribute of GRATITUDE is one we always should strive to improve.

To the soldiers who stormed those sandy and intimidating beaches: I thank you.
To the leaders who led them: I thank you.
To the families who supported them: I thank you.
To the Europeans who welcomed them in: I thank you.
To the civilians who were hurt, killed, or worse during the rescue: I thank you.

But most of all...
To the God who continually delivers us: I thank thee.

At the end of every day (whether it is D-Day or not) I think it's best to trust in Him.