Day 9

A Familiar Place

      My brother Shawn (the one who had to leave the country to get the sheriff’s department to leave him alone) always carries a lighter with him.  It’s amazing how you find uses for whatever you are carrying around with you.  For instance, I carry around a key specially manufactured for opening generic Spam.  And it’s just amazing how often I find uses for it (it is especially adept at removing staples from carpet—even those that have been twisted into the fibers to an apparent inextricability).  Fire, the original tool (unless you are a proponent of Rock Theory), is always handy to have around.  And so Shawn bought me a lighter for Christmas ’98, and it had been in my backpack ever since.

      The morning of the Ninth Day, there was a need for fire.  And since there was nary a smoker among us, I was the only fire-bearer available.  It was, you see, the birthday of three of our sister students, and a breakfast-in-bed composed of hotel lobby food, complete with candles, had been prepared.  Where there are candles, there must be flame.

      We were a little noisy during the breakfast preparation.  Brother Dahl had to shush us.  I think he was getting a tad anxious for the peace and quiet that was rapidly a-coming.  “But he’ll miss us,” I noted in my journal.  “You’ll see.”

      Four hours later, we arrived in Nauvoo, home sweet home.  The kitchen staff was happy to see us (which seems odd to me, given we interrupted their vacation), and fed us a fine lunch.  And then we were left to ourselves.  In less than twenty-four hours, we would leave Nauvoo for good.  And who’s to say if this time we would ever return?  Nauvoo exists in the LDS psyche like a mythical homeland, but we had lived there.  And we loved the place.  And we were loath to leave.  Yet, our lives awaited us, as far away and as unreal as they may have seemed after three months in paradise, there they were, so close.  A quick check of the email inbox after a week of neglect proved that point.  The world was ready for our return.

      Also in my email was a letter from my mission friend, Sooyoon of the CTR ring.  She reported that she had been accepted to Ricks and was awaiting a visa confirmation.  By the time I read the email, she already knew whether or not she would get the visa, but I decided to pray anyway.  After all, surely prayers can be retroactive.

      After wrapping up my email, I was struck fully by the sentiment mentioned earlier—this was my very last day and I had better do everything I wanted to do.

      The first thing I did with this new resolve was walk to the drugstore and pick up the photographs I had dropped off for development just before leaving, and then took the photo taken with Brother Neff off to him at his store.  Then I headed back to the Academy.  Only I didn’t make it all the way back.  While we were gone, NRI had finished the observation deck they had been building so visitors could spy on the construction, and I wanted to look inside the hole.  It was rather exciting—I could now make out where the font would go—but otherwise, the Temple really had not come all that far in terms of flashy appearance since we had dug through the mud.  I chatted with Elders Horn and Jackson who manned the deck, then headed inside to finally confront one of the great mysteries of the JSA.

One of the Great Mysteries of the JSA

      In the boys’ lounge stands a mysterious cabinet.  I had casually tried to open it a few times, but although I could clearly see a seam in the wood and other evidence of its opening, the cabinet door never gave—not even enough to let me know that it could in fact open.  It might as well have been a solid block of tree sitting there for all the give it had.

      The cabinet was of more intricate woodworking than we are used to with today’s furniture, and although obviously not young, did not strike me as being particularly antique either.  So I doubted there was a grateful fairy trapped inside or anything (besides, fairies don’t need to be plugged in, do they?), but no one had ever opened the cabinet, and my casual pulling and prodding had never shown any results.  If we were to ever know what was inside, I would have to be the discoverer.

      Once I set myself to the task, it opened quite easily.  The problem was that instead of opening out it opened up.  Ah ha!  Inside was a fancy old radio with a record player built in.  Too bad we had not known this before.  No radio in the building had been able to pick anything up, but the radio in the cabinet was very talented at picking up stations.  But since I’m really not much of a radio man myself, I’m not entirely sure why my journal records the discovery in these words:  “It’s a radio and record player! cool!  It gets lots and lots of stations! cool!”  All I can say is that I must have been truly media-starved by the end of my sojourn in Nauvoo.

      But I will still agree that the volume of that sucker was impressive.  Hoowee, was it loud!

Laundry List

      I suppose it is evidence of my ever-bad planning that I ran around so much this final Nauvoo day.  For instance, a brief dozen of last day activities:

      First, I took a picture of the Nauvoo Cheese Company building (and if you ask me, if they had any sense in the world they would start offering tours).

      Second, I bought a block of their blue cheese for my dad from Duck’s Foods.

      Third, I realized I had never taken a picture of Joseph, Emma and Hyrum’s graves.  So I rushed out there.

      Fourth:  Egad!  I haven’t taken pictures of any of the RLDS-owned stuff!

      Fifth, I took a picture of one of the fence pillars surrounding the temple site.  The pillars are made of original Nauvoo Temple stones and the stonemasonry marks are plain to see.

      Sixth, I took several pictures of the wavy Academy building and the monastery.

      Seventh, I ran to Old Nauvoo in order to buy an extra brick for my family.  On the way, I realized they had changed the Browning gun shop’s sign!  Egad!

      Eighth, I finally made it to the brickyard and Elder McKee sold me a nice brick.

      Ninth, I took the requisite Hotchkiss and Hyde photos.  You see, the intersection features prominently in the Rendezvous; plus, by covering up the C and second H in Hotchkiss, it becomes something most amusing.

      Tenth, Jeff and I stood next to the peculiar “FIND THE HIDDEN ARTS VILLAGE!” billboard and had a photo taken.

      Eleventh, I took a shot of the LDS chapel, and

      Dozenth, Jennifer and I strolled out to the quarry so that I could get a picture blowing the cement trumpet on the cement faux sunstone next to the quarry.  That done, we hurried off to the cultural hall for our very last chance to see The Nauvoo Rendezvous.

The Last Show

      I have not adequately explained how important viewing The Nauvoo Rendezvous was to us.  We loved it.  I went almost every week and two or three times the first week.  I loved to see the missionaries up there enjoying themselves and I love being entertained by friends.  Plus, knowing practically every word made it all the more enjoyable. We would get so involved, that finally, they had to add a little bit to the introduction:  “For those of you who know the show well, try to refrain from yelling out lines.”  (As opposed to lining up to yell out the refrains as we were prone to do.)  You see, it required stern concentration for me not to yell “No Ducks in the House, George!” along with Abigail.  Heck, I was yelling it out all the time anyway.  One could never tell when Theric would suddenly walk up to them and start yelling at them, telling them to leave the ducks outside, already!

      Truly, many of the JSA’s favorite catchphrases originated in the Rendezvous’s script.  Some favorites:

      “Maybe you’re just toooo oooold—”

      “Helldamndarnshootfudge!”

      “Ya don’ expect me tuh swaller that stuff, do ya?”

      “That religion of yourn won’ let a man do nuthin!”

      “Weeeengs comin’ out of his wiiiiiiithers!”

      “We’ll take good care of her, George.”

      Although an incomplete list (even ignoring the songs), the above, I hope, gives you some idea of how delightful the show was to watch over and over and over and over again, until we became fully programmed Rendezvous psychofans.  I understand Rent has a similar effect on people.  Also, Rocky Horror Picture Show.  But I have seen neither of these.

      That night was, arguably, the best show ever.  We loved it.  Granted, it was undoubtedly enhanced by our happily deathbed attitude and a larger and more involved audience than we were used to, but the missionaries were in top form.  Afterwards, we hung outside the Cultural Hall in the cold and snapped pictures and said goodbye and all those goofy little things people do.  The Rossiters, the Johnsons (“Andersons”), the Majors, the Isaacs, the Rheids, Sister Thornton . . . .  All friends.  None of whom I have since seen.  It was, don’t mistake, the very last show.

The River

      Post-show, I walked down to the River with Sarah, Jaime and Heather and sat down and dangled our feet.  Sarah didn’t stay long—I don’t think she was afraid of missing the bus again, but I can’t be sure.  I don’t know why else she would have left.  But no matter the reason, she certainly missed out.  The River was alive.

      We sat and listened to the lapping and waxed transcendental.  I think we made as much (if not more) progress with nature that night than dumb old Thoreau ever managed.  We sat quiet for long minutes, then discussed whatever came to us before lapsing into silence again.  We were far enough away from any other people that the stars seemed to flicker audibly as they flashed their cheery message to Earth from an age older, perhaps, than the planet they spoke to.  Casually friendly mayfly-like insects darted about us, getting into our hair and other points of interest, but for the moment, we were Gaia, and it didn’t matter.

      Breaking the rhythmical smoothness of the water was an otter, a creature famed for its lighthearted attitude.  We watched the otter disappear under the water and then reappear elsewhere again and again.  When he finally left, we felt that permission had been given us to leave also.  We heavily picked ourselves up, wished the River adieu, and began the slow walk back to the Academy building.

Spring-Colored Blue Filling

      I cannot think of any naturally occurring food that is certainly and absolutely blue.  Surely there is such a thing, but I don’t know of it.  And yet, I have to admit that blue food is very attractive to me.  Isn’t that strange?  After all, nature surely didn’t program me to desire artificially colored foods, and I can’t see why anyone higher up would have either.  It’s a mystery.

      When we arrived at the Academy, Oreos were being eaten in honor of one of our birthday girls.  I was a little hungry, so I supplemented the Oreos with some Lucky Charms (something else evolution didn’t prepare us for).  As I imagine myself eating cereal and listening to the revelry, I realize that a great landmark occurred on this day that I have neglected to tell you about.  You may remember that my sole goal all these months had been to contaminate Brother Dahl’s cup with vinegar, yet I had settled for mere beta testing on other students.  Well!  Today was the day I finally succeeded!  Using my fancy wisdom teeth syringe, I squirted a stream of vinegar into his cup without him noticing.  In fact, he did not notice so efficiently, that, after sipping, he immediately assumed by the “deviant glint” in my eye that in order to get him I had contaminated the entire box of syrup, and so owed the school twenty-five bucks.  Sister Dahl thought it was funny, but as I mentioned above, I think Brother Dahl was getting desperate for some peace and quiet (ie, no Theric).

      That time was rapidly approaching.