;)
Late this afternoon, as I drove home from the coffee shop drinking my cup and carrying another for Margie, I saw some Mormon missionaries walking down the side of the road ahead of me. It was a very warm day, 30 degrees.
Even so, I felt sympathy for them and decided to offer them a ride.
;)
"No, thank you," the tall one, Elder Bjorkman from Emmett, Idaho, told me. "We're working, visiting people who live around here." I told him that my family originated in Southern Idaho, and I mentioned Malad, where Mom was born.
He said that he had a close relative who came from there. I think it was an uncle, but maybe it was his dad; my memory failed to hold the information. I spent a summer working on my aunt and uncle's cattle ranch, just outside of Malad.
I don't ever recall hearing the name, Bjorkman, which was the name of his relative.
The short one, Elder Moala, is from Tonga.
Different kind of climate there. Maybe he will wind up in Barrow before he returns home. There is a noteworthy Tongan community in Barrow.
I told Elder Moala just a tiny bit about my own history involving Mormon missionaries from Tonga, Samoa and Hawaii.
;)
I drove on, sipping my coffee. I did not even think to look into my rearview mirror, until I had gone aways. This is what I saw when I did. They were growing smaller and smaller. Soon, they disappeared altogether from my sight.
And yet, they never disappear, altogether.
Never.
One day, I will explain.
Notwithstanding the good parts - and there were many - it is a painful history and all the conclusions that it has drawn to have been painful.
For now, it is enough to know that on this day, I spotted two Mormon missionaries, walking through a warm snow, right here, in Wasilla, Alaska.