My sweet octogenarian neighbor called me today while I was at the hospital with Eloise. She said, "I've been thinking about you the last few days. Are you doing alright?" I told her what has been going on - strep, colds, ear infections, Eloise being placed in isolation for her virus. After a minute, she responded, "Well...can I bring you some Jello?"
True to her word, she came over in the rain this evening to deliver some pink Jello in a tupperware, along with some home-made whipped cream. My girls were thrilled because she also brought some new coloring books.
There is so much about this that I love. I love living in a small town, I love quirks of Mormon culture. I love that I have a friendship with my elderly neighbor. If it weren't for church, I may not even know her.
This came at a good moment, because just last night, I dreamt that President Obama called me. He wanted me to point out all the good parts of the Affordable Care Act to every single Republican in my state. I told him I would. He is the president, after all. But the task was difficult to the point of absurdity. Every person I started talking to would respond with these loud, arbitrary statements, like "We need the country back!" and "We fight for freedom!" or just, "Liberty!" Not a one listened to what I had actually said. Then I awoke.
This was a not-so-subtle subconscious outlet for my political feelings of late. There have been moments in the past week when I've wondered why I don't live somewhere with a more, *ahem,* diverse political demography. But then Lucille brought me Jello, and I fell in love with the state once more.