Random Purse Story Number 1:
One day in Buchanan, Liberia, when I was about, oh, maybe 7 (I don't think I had a baby sister yet), my mom and brother and I got in our Peugeot 504 station wagon to go into town. R. and I sat in the back seat. My mom forgot something, so she ran back into the house to get it, after firmly warning my brother and I to watch her purse lest a rogue should steal it out of the front seat. Rogues were common at the time. "Okay," we nodded, and as soon as she left, I took her purse and hid it in the back seat on the floor. "Mom!" I said when she got back, "Mom! A rogue came by and he just grabbed your purse and ran!"
Sneaky little bugger, wasn't I?
...
Random Purse Story Number 2:
About the same time, also in Liberia, my dad and all the missionary men he worked with went to conference up-country. At some point during this conference, they ate some poo. I mean, they ate some food that was contaminated with poo. Not the poo itself. Not straight, plain poo. One by one, they fell dramatically ill with what appeared to be Hepatitis A (but was NOT, as would become clear only this last summer when one of these same missionary men went back to Liberia, unvaccinated because he thought he had already had Hepatitis A, and came down with Hepatitis A and typhoid at the same time and almost died because what treats one poisons the liver, leading to the current hypothesis that what they all had in 1987 was Hepatitis E or Q or Something). Anyway, in 1987 they all came down with Hepatitis Something. My dad conveniently came down with Hepatitis Something while at still another conference in Nairobi, Kenya. The good news is that they have good hospitals in Nairobi. The bad news is that he was unable to go out and shop for the Kenyan purses that were all the rage amongst missionaries in Liberia at the time. He had to send someone else to do the shopping, and that person failed to buy a kid-sized version of the Kenyan purses that were all the rage amongst missionaries in Liberia at the time. I was devastated.
One day in Buchanan, Liberia, when I was about, oh, maybe 7 (I don't think I had a baby sister yet), my mom and brother and I got in our Peugeot 504 station wagon to go into town. R. and I sat in the back seat. My mom forgot something, so she ran back into the house to get it, after firmly warning my brother and I to watch her purse lest a rogue should steal it out of the front seat. Rogues were common at the time. "Okay," we nodded, and as soon as she left, I took her purse and hid it in the back seat on the floor. "Mom!" I said when she got back, "Mom! A rogue came by and he just grabbed your purse and ran!"
Sneaky little bugger, wasn't I?
...
Random Purse Story Number 2:
About the same time, also in Liberia, my dad and all the missionary men he worked with went to conference up-country. At some point during this conference, they ate some poo. I mean, they ate some food that was contaminated with poo. Not the poo itself. Not straight, plain poo. One by one, they fell dramatically ill with what appeared to be Hepatitis A (but was NOT, as would become clear only this last summer when one of these same missionary men went back to Liberia, unvaccinated because he thought he had already had Hepatitis A, and came down with Hepatitis A and typhoid at the same time and almost died because what treats one poisons the liver, leading to the current hypothesis that what they all had in 1987 was Hepatitis E or Q or Something). Anyway, in 1987 they all came down with Hepatitis Something. My dad conveniently came down with Hepatitis Something while at still another conference in Nairobi, Kenya. The good news is that they have good hospitals in Nairobi. The bad news is that he was unable to go out and shop for the Kenyan purses that were all the rage amongst missionaries in Liberia at the time. He had to send someone else to do the shopping, and that person failed to buy a kid-sized version of the Kenyan purses that were all the rage amongst missionaries in Liberia at the time. I was devastated.
The funny thing is that when I went back to Kenya in 2000, I didn't even particularly like those purses. I still have yet to own one, despite numerous opportunities.
...
I got a flu shot today and in the silly little conversation with the nurse, I said, "I love vaccines."
"You LOVE them?" she asked, stabbing me with a needle.
"Yes," I said, "they have saved me from so very many diseases."
By her humorless laugh, I doubt she realizes just how true this is in my life. I take every vaccine they will throw my way. Meningitis? Typhoid? Hep A? Flu? Bring it on. The only ones I've been offered and don't have are cholera (my travel nurse says only effective 50% of the time against one strain; not worth it) and rabies (I wanted it, but toooo expensive and you still only have something like 72 hours to get the rest of the post-bite shots).
...
I got a flu shot today and in the silly little conversation with the nurse, I said, "I love vaccines."
"You LOVE them?" she asked, stabbing me with a needle.
"Yes," I said, "they have saved me from so very many diseases."
By her humorless laugh, I doubt she realizes just how true this is in my life. I take every vaccine they will throw my way. Meningitis? Typhoid? Hep A? Flu? Bring it on. The only ones I've been offered and don't have are cholera (my travel nurse says only effective 50% of the time against one strain; not worth it) and rabies (I wanted it, but toooo expensive and you still only have something like 72 hours to get the rest of the post-bite shots).
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