Dear Garrett,

Last night as I watched the Relief Society broadcast (on the internet...I love the internet), and listened to the frequent mention of our divine roles as women to be mothers, I couldn't help but recall how this was also frequently mentioned at last year's Relief Society broadcast. And I couldn't help but recall how difficult that was for me then to hear so repeatedly. At this time last year, Dad and I had been trying to begin our family for several months, sadly without success. I remember how, after the meeting was over, a friend of mine and I cried a little together in the hallway of our church building at how badly we wanted children added to our families. That was 12 months ago. Today you are 3 months old. You do the math and tell me a prayer wasn't answered only a short time later.

Garrett, I can't tell you how truly blessed I am to have you in my life! You add a bright light to my days and fill a void that was in my heart. I am the luckiest mama in the world to have you as my precious baby.

You are getting so big, and are learning new tricks almost every day. You now easily and quickly recognize your dad and I and burst into the most adorable grins when you see us. My heart melts every time you look at me and smile, your mouth sweet and toothless, your tongue nearly always hanging happily.

You've started talking, too! Your darling sighs and coos and gurggles tell me that you have a lot to say. I'm not sure what exactly you are saying, but my best guess is that you're telling me what you've noticed and learned while we were out on one of our walks. You love to look around and let this exciting and beautiful world soak through you.

Or maybe you're telling me about all the people you've met, the passers by we meet as we walk through the neighborhood who remark at how adorable you are. Some of them even mistake you for a little doll! I don't blame them, my little doll baby -- you pretty much are the cutest baby I've ever met!

Or maybe you're simply telling me that you love me. Thank you, Garrett. I love you, too.

Love,
Mama

All right, guys. I can't make up my mind. So I'm going to enlist your help. Tomorrow is Saturday. (Hallelujah!) Because this ward, for some reason, believes it is unrighteous to do home and visiting teaching on Sundays, we're getting home taught tomorrow morning at 9:00, and I'm headed to the General Relief Society broadcast and stake-sponsored pre-broadcast dinner tomorrow evening at 6:30. That leaves us with, oh, a nice chunk of the day to explore the city. But, what, exactly, should we do with that nice chunk? FYI, the weather tomorrow is supposed to be gorgeous.

Here are our options:

Option A: Prospect Park

Prospect Park is Brooklyn's version of Manhattan's Central Park. In fact, it was designed by the same guy, and, according to him, it's a better park than Central. Housed in or near the park are such things as the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens (which has free hours on Saturdays), the Prospect Park Zoo, and I think the main Brooklyn Public Library is up there.

Option B: Coney Island

Granted, since the season is over, the amusement parks will be closed, but we can always go to the beach. Also, there's supposed to be a rather large Russian settlement down there -- with fabulous bakeries.

Option C: Ragamuffin Parade /3rd Avenue Festival

The Ragamuffin Parade is your basic local Let Your Kids Show Off Their Halloween Costumes Parade. It's a part of the annual 3rd Avenue Festival (the main festival actually is on Sunday), and since 3rd Avenue is about five steps from our apartment, we wouldn't have to go far to enjoy it. (We'd only watch, though....I'm really not up to parading Garrett the Carrot just yet, even though he is pretty darn adorable in his costume.)

Option D: Insert Your Fabulous Idea Here:

______________________________________

So what should we do?

*Disclaimer: Because I did not initially discuss this with Blake, we are not legally bound to listen to the majority. Or minority, for that matter. It's our Saturday, after all. But still cast your vote, just the same, if only to exercise your right. And because it's fun.

I'm not sure why it took me so long, seeing as it's been on my list of Brooklyn survival items pretty much since we moved here, but two days ago I finally bought myself a cart. It's red, and, in case you want to get one for yourself, I picked mine up at the local hardware store. Anyway, I used it for the first time this morning to haul my laundry to the laundromat and oh. my. word. -- so much easier! I totally deserve a big kick in the pants for not getting one sooner.

Also, I just want you to know that while, yes, it takes guts to let someone new cut your hair, it takes even more guts to let someone who speaks a language I like to call Mostly-Chinese-with-a-Sprinkling-of-English cut your hair. But, that said, the ladies at May's Hair Salon did a fabulous job giving me a much needed trim. And the shampoo that was part of the packaged haircut deal? Pretty much the best thing ever! I don't think that I can even fairly call it a shampoo because really, it was more like a professional head-and-neck massage. Yeah, I think I'll be going back there in 6-8 weeks when my hair starts to get straggly again.

Garrett is fascinated by our camera. But then, why wouldn't he be? It's quite frequently hovering over his face in an almost desperate effort to catch his grins on film. Unfortunately, that fascination usually translates into instead our catching his blank, dumbfounded stares on film...faces not too unlike this one (which, while adorable, aren't quite what we were aiming for):


But this morning, while he was happy and pleasant, I must have caught him by surprise:


[Update]

But wait! There's more! This kid's on a roll this morning:

Either you learned it from your high school history teacher, or you’re good at paying attention to They Might Be Giants lyrics, but many of you know that Old New York was once New Amsterdam, and that it was settled by Dutch immigrants in the middle of the 17^th century. But many of you might not know that Brooklyn, also settled by Dutch immigrants, was once called Breukelen, named for, I assume, someone’s beloved home town in the Netherlands. And what’s more, you are probably not aware that the my neighborhood was originally known as Yellow Hook because those oh-so-observant Dutch settlers thought that the yellowish soil found here was pretty neat. (Or something.)

But even though some people can’t say why they changed New Amsterdam to New York and Breukelen to Brooklyn, I can tell you why my neighborhood is no longer known as Yellow Hook -- and it wasn't because people just liked it better that way.

My neighborhood is not called Yellow Hook anymore because in 1853, after a yellow fever epidemic swept through the area, a group of Concerned Citizens, thought that residents might not like living in a place called Yellow Hook, a name eerily similar to that horribly disgusting and utterly devastating disease, yellow fever, and so they picked a different geographical feature to name the place after: the steep ridge that overlooks the Upper New York Bay.

Now wasn't that thoughtful?

here are two of my favorites:


Because You Asked about the Line between Prose and Poetry

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.

There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.

--Howard Nemerov

Man Writes Poem

This just in a man has begun writing a poem
in a small room in Brooklyn. His curtains
are apparently blowing in the breeze. We go now
to our man Harry on the scene, what's

the story down there Harry? "Well Chuck
he has begun the second stanza and seems
to be doing fine, he's using a blue pen, most
poets these days use blue or black ink so blue

is a fine choice. His curtains are indeed blowing
in a breeze of some kind and what's more his radiator
is 'whistling' somewhat. No metaphors have been written yet,
but I'm sure he's rummaging around down there

in the tin cans of his soul and will turn up something
for us soon. Hang on—just breaking news here Chuck,
there are 'birds singing' outside his window, and a car
with a bad muffler has just gone by. Yes ... definitely

a confirmation on the singing birds." Excuse me Harry
but the poem seems to be taking on a very auditory quality
at this point wouldn't you say? "Yes Chuck, you're right,
but after years of experience I would hesitate to predict

exactly where this poem is going to go. Why I remember
being on the scene with Frost in '47, and with Stevens in '53,
and if there's one thing about poems these days it's that
hang on, something's happening here, he's just compared the curtains

to his mother, and he's described the radiator as 'Roaring deep
with the red walrus of History.' Now that's a key line,
especially appearing here, somewhat late in the poem,
when all of the similes are about to go home. In fact he seems

a bit knocked out with the effort of writing that line,
and who wouldn't be? Looks like ... yes, he's put down his pen
and has gone to brush his teeth. Back to you Chuck." Well
thanks Harry. Wow, the life of the artist. That's it for now,

but we'll keep you informed of more details as they arise.

--Jay Leeming

As I guess you might expect, those members of our ward who aren't native to Brooklyn (or who didn't emigrate from a foreign country to settle in Brooklyn) are transplants from the West. Like us, they've uprooted themselves from sprawling communities and suburbs in Utah or California or Idaho (or Indiana) to come to New York City for school or an internship or a new job. So Blake and I are very much not alone in our efforts to adapt to a completely new urban lifestyle. At any ward gathering -- church on Sunday or playgroup, for example -- I am asked by quite a few people about how well we are adjusting. So far my answers to them all sound the same: "Oh, there are good days and there are hard days." And then everyone nods sagely in empathetic agreement; they've all been there, done that.

Some things are starting to become second nature to me. Things like packing Garrett in the Snugli and walking down to the supermarket where I squeeze my baby-bulky self through the teeny-tiny aisles to pick up our groceries for the week, and which I awkwardly carry home. Or like lifting an unbelievably heavy bag of dirty clothes down three blocks to the laundromat, again with Garrett strapped to my front, where I part with my ever-shrinking collection of quarters to wash our linens in industrial strength washers and dryers alongside my Chinese, Russian, and Italian neighbors. Or planning for the extra time and leg-strength it will take me to walk the countless blocks to the park, the library, the bakery, the bank, the pharmacy, or the department store. I don't think twice anymore about these activities. And in that way I feel like I'm adjusting quite well to my new life here.

But some things aren't as easy to get used to. You'd think that with all the practice I'm getting, it would get easier to carry Garrett in his stroller up the three flights of narrow stairs in our apartment building when I'm worn out and sweaty from all the walking around the neighborhood that I just finished. But apparently it doesn't. It's still heavy and awkward.

One of the things I'm having the most difficult time adjusting to, though, are the long days. A typical workday in NYC (and I think, actually, all along the East Coast) lasts from 9:00 to 6:00, rather than from 8:00 to 5:00, in order that business with California can still be relatively easily conducted even with the three hour time zone difference. With an hour commute into and back from the city and crowds to wade through, Blake has to leave the apartment at 7:30 in order to get to work on time, and he usually doesn't get home until 7:00 or 7:30, depending on how fast or slow the trains happen to be running during the evening rush hour. If you don't count the times when he has to get into work early and/or stay late, like he had to yesterday, that's a 12 hour day! And if you do count the deadlines that require extra hours, we're looking at more like 15 hour days. I won't lie: it's hard. It's hard to have dinner ready for my hungry husband on those days when my baby won't let me put him down. It's hard when the schedule Garrett's fallen into requires me to be feeding, bathing, and putting him to bed at the same time Dad comes home, which means that I have to decide what's more important: Garrett spending a bit of quality time with Dad and going to bed late, causing him to not sleep as well and to wake up cranky the next morning or a good night's sleep and a pleasant tomorrow for Mama. (Usually we alternate nights.) It's hard to find time when I'm not run-down and exhausted to spend time with my husband.

But, you do what you have to do, I guess, and we're learning to get used to it. It's a good life, but like any good life, no matter where you live, it's sprinkled with with good days and hard days. Thank heavens, though, for weekends! Just because I don't spend my daylight hours in an office anymore, it doesn't mean I don't pine for the companionship and rest that the weekend brings.

Because we here at our house are all about saving a few bucks each month, and apparently because we’re also easily fed up with obnoxious phone companies, a few days ago we tacked a second cell phone onto our plan (so Blake could feel like a true New Yorker, gabbing on his cell phone to his lovely significant other as he commuted back and forth to work and so I could I could do the same as I hung out at the grocery store), said goodbye to our land line -- and with it our DSL internet -- and installed cable internet. So, now that my connection with the rest of world has been restored, I can fill you in on what's been happening the last little while in our little world:

- Blake and I spoke in church on Sunday. AND we were called to be the Nursery leaders. AND we did it all with a kicking, screaming baby. You may commence your pity on us. (Just kidding about the pity. We all survived, and now our Sundays will involve snack time, play time, and blowing bubbles, so no deprivation here.)

- I made (and won!) my first bid on eBay. And now my baby boy gets to parade around as Garrett the Carrot on Halloween:



- I (finally) started working on Garrett's baby book. And then I started getting dissatisfied with how it was going. And then I decided (for some strange reason) that it would be better if I created my own baby book/journal for him. We'll see how this little project goes.

- I made lasagna for the first time ever. Okay, I take that back. I've made lasagna before in a crock pot, but it never really turned out all that great. So this was my first attempt at lasagna in a traditional 9x13 pan. And reports given by those who ate it lead me to believe that it was a success. So, yay.

- Garrett and I trekked again to Manhattan yesterday to meet Blake after work. While in the city we ran a few errands and, on my aunt's recommendation, stopped by Gr eeley Square to check out the statue of Horace Greeley. I'm pretty sure that only those as addicted to Newsies as I was back in the day will truly appreciate the significance of personally witnessing said statue. (And yes, I resisted the temptation to climb up into his lap and take a nap.)



- After having several people recommend I read it, and after surviving the move that prevented me from getting it sooner, I was finally able to get my hands on a copy of The Happiest Baby on the Block to see what Dr. Harvey Karp had to say about soothing colicky babies. Though I'm still trying to perfect his technique, I'm already eager to shout this man's praises. Or maybe it's just working because Garrett's starting to come out this phase on his own. Either way, generally speaking, we have a happier baby at our house these days. Which makes ALL of us happier. In a nutshell, his "colic cure" technique revolves around the idea that babies from birth to 3-4 months are essentially experiencing a "4th trimester" and therefore need to live in a world as womb-like as possible in order to stay calm. In practice it involves what he calls "the 5 S's": tight swaddling, letting the baby lay on his side or stomach, loud shhhing, vigorous swinging, and sucking, all done quickly together in order to turn on the baby's calming reflex. So far, Garrett's quite the fan:



- And speaking of Garrett (again), we got our insurance cards in the mail and I was able to make him an appointment for a wellness check-up with his new doctor. The soonest I was able to get him in is October 15th (we're still waiting for the insurance to begin), so essentially his 2-month appointment that we missed because we were in transit and insurance-less will happen at 3 1/2 months. But, better late than never, right? Yeah, I thought so, too.

- Okay, last tidbit of business before I sign off. I just wanted to let you all see, because I'm getting quite the kick out of it, that Garrett has discovered his hands. And with that he has also discovered that they taste pretty darn good:

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We found him. He was at church.

Garrett, aged 2 1/2 months, was last seen fussing and crying Friday evening during his bedtime feeding. His mother put him down for the night at 8:30 and, nine hours later (yes, you heard that correctly: nine hours later), a happy, smiley child woke up in the crib in his place. After the 5:30 a.m. feeding of said Mystery Baby (which, mind you, involved no kicking, screaming, or spitting), he fell back asleep and slept until 8:30. When he awoke, he was happy and pleasant, and has been so ever since (we're going on, like, eight daylight hours with nearly no crying).

Again, have you seen this baby? The one that cries for several hours every day? Either way, if not claimed in the next 24 hours, the current caregivers of the Mystery Baby will be more than happy to keep him.

We had an adventurous evening: Garrett and I took the subway into Manhattan and met Blake up after he finished with work. And then we braved the Babies R Us in Union Square. Babies R Us by itself requires guts, in my opinion, but add Union Square to the equation and you know we're completely nuts to even walk in the vicinity of that pregnancy hormone-driven establishment.

Actually, it wasn't all that bad. And now Garrett has a bumper pad for his crib, which means that now I can feel safe about his learning to roll over, whenever that happens.

Okay, I'm going to bed now, but before I do, I'll leave you with a photo of my little tummy time-loving, head-supporting, push-up champ:

It's a pretty somber day here in New York. And it doesn't help that we woke up to overcast skies and periodic rain showers.

I was at school in Idaho in 2001, the first time September 11th fell on a Tuesday. I never thought that the second time it fell on a Tuesday, I'd be living in New York. I suppose you could say, like the news anchors broadcasting the 9/11 ceremony in Lower Manhattan this morning said, we've kind of come full circle.

It's been interesting to see how New Yorkers react to the anniversary. Some of them are superstitious and will, among other things, refuse to ride the subways today. At first that struck me as funny, but the more I thought about it, and the more I discussed it with others, I realized that nearly every citizen of this huge city was personally affected by the terrorist attacks in one way or another, so I suppose you can't really blame them for their superstitious tendencies. To me, today nearly all New Yorkers seem especially reflective and united, as if they have decided to make a renewed and concerted effort to step outside of themselves and their own busy worlds for the day in order to reach out to those friends, neighbors, and strangers around them. And that is a beautiful thing to see.

I, along with one of the speakers at the ceremony this morning whose speech I caught a moment of as I got Garrett and myself ready for the day (because it was seriously broadcast on every channel!), think that John Donne summed up well the general opinion held by New Yorkers in the years since 2001:

"No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were. Any man's death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind; and therefore send not to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

But I can't let the memory of a sad event take over my whole day, so once I finished getting Garrett and myself ready, my Aunt Colleen, who was in the city down from her home in Massachusetts, came to see us in Brooklyn. We had a lovely time visiting while we waited for the rain to let up enough for us to take a walk to the bay. We made it to the bay, but not before it started to pour, so we hid under the bridge for a while waiting for it to let up. The sky was too threatening to enjoy walking along the bay, so we headed back to the neighborhood for lunch at a nice, little Italian place Blake and I tried once called Peppinos. (Their menu is a lot like Grimaldi's, that tourist trap under the Brooklyn Bridge, only I think the food here tastes better.) While we ate the rain got decidedly worse, and it didn't let up quite like we hoped it would by the time Garrett started getting antsy and needing to go home. So we got a little wet.

But here's something truly spectacular. On our way back to the apartment, we stopped in the grocery store for a quick errand, and I learned that this place will deliver your groceries -- for FREE! So, basically, I could go in, pick up the food I need, pay for it, and ask for it to be delivered, and really all it would cost me is a couple bucks in tips for the delivery guy. So this, along with the option of a full pick-up-and-deliver laundry service (which, of course, I'd totally pay for, so I think I'll save this option for when it truly becomes necessary), solves the mental dilemma that's crossed my mind a time or two as to how in the world anyone in this city with more than one child, their stroller, and a week's worth of groceries/laundry/whathaveyou gets up and down the stairs in their pre-war walk-up apartment. I mean, you pay for these services one way or another, but in the end, it just might be worth it.

Anyway, so it's been a good day, even with the rain and the somber mood New Yorkers have been in. It's fun having visitors stop by. So, who's next to come see us? :)

What my sweet husband said to me as we wrapped up our long walk along the Upper New York Bay Shore Promenade and around the neighborhood yesterday afternoon:

"You know, if you're out running errands and going on walks every day in the sun like this, you just might get tan. Well, you might not get tan, but at least you'd be off-white or something."

But, to be safe, I don't think I will. After all, it could have been a fluke caused by either the physically draining muggy heat we had yesterday, or perhaps the fact that maybe my baby has caught a touch of the end-of-summer cold I came down with a few days ago (but if the latter, his only symptom has been sleepiness -- no fever or mucous). Or maybe, just maybe, his poor little digestive track has developed enough to let him sleep for more than ten minutes at a stretch.

But at any rate, Garrett slept through the night! We put him to bed at 9:00 and he started happily stirring (note that it was a "happy stir," and not a "starving scream for food") at 5:00. That's 8 hours!! The natural alarm clock my body has set itself to over the last few months still woke me up several times last night expecting to hear crying coming from the other room, but every time I'd go check on Garrett, I'd only find him comfortably sound asleep, his arms spread eagle. When he finally did wake up, he happily chugged the extra ounce or so of formula I put in his bottle (under the assumption that after 8 hours he was really hungry), and then he was back in bed, falling sweetly asleep, by 5:30. What the --?

I'm not sure if I should be concerned or simply delighted. Right now I'm a little bit of both.

I haven't been able to get Garrett to smile for the camera yet. I've tried, oh believe me, I've tried. He'll give me an incredible grin, so I'll run for the camera, but by the time that annoying silver box is pointed at his face, he's decided that he's through. Soon, though, hopefully; every day he smiles more than he did the day before. But my photographic efforts have not been totally fruitless -- just because he can't say "cheese" yet, doesn't meant he can't still be cute for the camera. Here are some of the better shots (i.e. the ones where he's either almost smiling or being otherwise adorable):

So, as I type this, I'm listening to my landlord (or "super," as in "superintendent of the building," which I understand now to be the correct term here for landlord) and two maintenance guys yak up a storm in Polish. They're here in my apartment to replace the three windows that were cracked when we moved in, as well as fix one of the locks on our front door. It's absolutely fascinating to listen to them. After spending 7-ish years studying it in school, I can pick out fairly well words and phrases spoken in French, as well as a bit of Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese. I can understand a bit of German occasionally just because it's a lot like English. But I absolutely cannot pick out a lick of Polish. One of the maintenance guys knocked on the door a bit ago and started rattling off in Polish what I assume was something along the lines of, "I'm here to take measurements on your broken windows," and all I could say back was something along the lines of, "I have no idea what you just said." Maybe after being exposed to it frequently like I am, I'll eventually learn a few words and phrases in Polish. That could be cool.

This morning I did something I'd never done before: I went to playgroup. I walked down four blocks to a small park, met up with 3 other women in the ward, along with their children, and sat and talked with them in the cool breeze for nearly three hours. It was nice being able to get to know some of the other young mothers in the ward. I was able to ask them a few of my harbored questions about the neighborhood, and they were able to give me some pointers and advice on how to get around here. I really enjoyed myself -- it's a refreshing boost to be starting to make friends here. But I have to say it: there's nothing quite like being welcomed into the playgroup that makes you feel like a mother.

And speaking of being a mother... Garrett is smiling!!! He mostly does it when I play with the corners of his mouth, but once or twice he's done it on his own. I haven't been able to capture his adorable grins on camera yet, but as soon as I do, you will know. It's such a relief to have evidence that even though he cries a lot, Garrett can be a happy, smiley baby. His neck is also getting really strong, and he's starting to do pretty well at holding his head up. Call me a proud mama, but I'm pretty pleased! I'm pretty pleased, too, at the fact that stripping him down to his diaper and wrapping him in the silky side of one of his blankets cures him of a screaming episode. I suppose that there's nothing quite like being naked and enveloped in synthetic silk to make you believe that all really is right with the world.

And now, since all of our worldly possessions have finally found a home in our new place AND since our apartment is clean, here is the photo tour I promised you all:

Until yesterday I'd only almost been to Manhattan, but I'd almost been there several times: Once, when I was about 15 and was taken to see the Statue of Liberty with my friend, Sarah, and her family; a second time last week when Blake, Garrett and I almost walked all the way across the Brooklyn Bridge (we figured we'd seen the best of it by the time we were 3/4 of the way across, and you just might have too if your feet were worn out from walking and it was hot outside); and I'm not sure exactly how you count living in Brooklyn, just a few blocks away from a view of the Manhattan skyline, but I'd certainly say it's only almost going into the city itself. So yesterday our little family hopped on the subway for a day-trip excursion into the city because, good heavens -- almost is only going to take me so far.

We got off the subway at Madison Square Park and walked a few blocks to see where Blake spends his days at work:


His office is on the 12th floor and, to save you from having to count, yes, that is the top. Top floors are nice for views of the Empire State Building, not too unlike this one:


Pretty cool, huh? Blake told me that during one part of his interview, he was sitting in the office of one of the company higher-ups. At one point during the conversation he stood up by his window, pointed to the Empire State Building, and said to Blake, "What do you think of this?" Kind of iconic, don't you think? Like a Hollywood film just landed in Blake's lap.

After that we wandered over to some incredibly crowded touristy parts of town. We saw the New York Public Library, nearby Bryant Park, and a striking view of the Chrysler Building, as well as did a little snooping around in Macy's. At Grand Central Station we hopped on the subway again and headed up to Central Park. Good grief, that park is huge! We entered near the Met after realizing that it wouldn't be so much of a good idea to take a cranky baby into the echo-y galleries of the museum (however, we didn't deny ourselves a little gift shop browsing). After we walked so much our feet were ready to be replaced, we got back on the subway and trekked home. Blake and I enjoyed ourselves, but I'm not so sure about Garrett:


So there you go. No more almost going into New York City for me. Now I can really say that I've been there. It's a crazy city, though. It's dirty, it's loud, it's crowded, but at the same time it's also exhilarating and beautiful. It'll be fun to go back...only I think I'll wait for a day when Garrett's not so cranky. (Oh, we did take more pictures than this of our excursion into the city. Click here to see more.)

Today we went to church. Getting to church has proved to be quite the adventure. The building is about 3 miles away and, since we have no car, we have to rely totally on public transportation. We found a bus line that drops us off a few blocks from the building, which we took today. It worked pretty well: walk about 10 minutes from our apartment to the bus stop, ride 20ish minutes on the bus, then walk another 10 minutes or so from the bus stop to the church. However, it's transformed church from a 3 hour affair into more of a 5 hour one. Oh well, it's worth it, right?

I like our ward. And I like how the church is the same no matter where you go. It's the same, but there's always a different sort of flavor. Brooklyn's flavor is keeping me on my toes -- or maybe I should say my ears. Our ward is very ethnically diverse, with people hailing from China, Hong Kong, Hawaii and other Polynesian islands, Ukraine, Mexico, and many others. Most of the members don't speak English as their first language, so between listening to heavily accented versions of English and thick Brooklyn accents, I have to always be sure I'm listening hard so that I don't completely misunderstand what someone is telling me. Despite a plethora of potential communication barriers, the people in this ward couldn't be more welcoming. They've sucked us right into the crowd and have made us feel right at home.

Even though we're living in a city that is building UP rather than OUT, the meetinghouse looks pretty much the same as any other around the world, only it's a lot smaller. Its perimeter's are heavily fenced and gated, which is probably a good thing, seeing as it sits in the middle of a busy thoroughfare. An elevated line of the subway runs above the busy street, the sounds of which, as the train rumbles by, adds a different sort of twist to a usually very quiet Relief Society meeting. I kinda like it.

And there you have it. Church in Brooklyn. Hopefully that answers some of the questions that I'm guessing were floating around about what church is like here. And if not, well, maybe you should just come see us so we can take you to church so that you can get them answered first-hand. Hint hint. (Seriously, though, we'd love to see any of you if you ever find yourselves in the city!)

And now if you'll excuse me, I need to go put my feet up and get ready for a much more relaxing Labor Day holiday. Ciao!