"I bought you a fried fish!"

Last night was full of firefly moments- moments I wanted to catch in a jar and keep because they let off light I'm desperate to hold onto. But if I keep them closed in they'll die. So I'll let them out here, let them fly and breath, and let myself keep moving too.

Fireflies: The moment mom laughed and threw her arms around me when I asked how she met dad. The quiet span of time spent fingers-intertwined with her as we walked back in the dark from buying sugar and bread. Song and prayer every night with mom and dad in the sitting room, when mom closes her eyes and does motions with her hands to "Go tell it on the mountain." Last night dad after the song spoke of how the day has "come to end," and we must be thankful for the moments that will never come again.

After dinner, before song time, I asked dad what his first impression of mom was. He said she "advised" him- he admired and respected her. They have never "quarreled." When one offends the other, they go into the bedroom, say so quietly, apologize, and move on. "We never quarrel." Do you realize how dynamically counter-cultural that is here? Men pay for their brides, a "bride-price." They are often encouraged to hit their wives- people believe it shows they truly love them. Yet these temporary parents of mine advise one another and discuss their offenses.

There are some moments I am ready to leave behind before they even come though, often occurring at supper time. Two nights ago Dad got home and pulled out a small black plastic bag, the same size as that in which he carried home a chocolate bar for me on my first day of classes this week. But this time when he handed it to me, I did not feel a cool hard square of milk chocolate. I felt the hot, slimy exterior of a freshly fried whole fish. "I bought you a fried fish!" Mom put it on a plate in the middle of our table and ripped off a side with her hands to place in front of me. Scales and all. Its open mouth gapped in my direction while I ate its side and my sister Flavia sucked on its tail. I woke up the next morning still tasting fish, still burping fish. Last night he came home, yippee!, with four chicken legs. I ate a leg of chicken and my stomach gurgled to sleep angrily. I keep having the slimy mental image of chicken in my hands and my mouth. Oh, but Stevie and Danny will be proud. And it shouldn't take that long for me to adjust back to ingesting animals, right?