-at present, my father is playing guitar in a smokeless room with a small fire...in the fireplace. do allow me to expand. last night we had burnt lentils. it was an event highly charged with frivolity and thrillingly negative descriptors. our family's recent inability to master our gas lit oven has been a source of much humor. tonight, as a special treat (conducted in a riiiidiculously  ridiculous french accent) we ate something non-cajun. 'vwhat eh pleeasahnt serpreeese!' then about halfway through our uncharred meal my mom got up, in a domestic passion, to turn on the oven for cookies. BOOM. it sort of exploded, everyone was ok, and as often happens after a scare there was some nervous twitterings. then  a little bit later my father put his mind to the task. conclusion; he placed a lit candle on the middle rack, closed the oven door, and turning the gas up a notch, evacuated the kitchen. so at this point, from our seats at the table, seeing him crouching behind the doorway in the main room mom and i got up and found similarily (secure?) locations. i kept alternating between the bathroom and bedroom, my mom went straight to the main exit, our front door. about to pee my pants (or more accurately my skirt because outback kenya does not smile upon leg shape or knee) from a the somewhat painfully explosive mirth forcing itself out of my abdomen, i decided to run out and join her position of wheezing laughter (see mary poppins for example, fans, you know the scene) behind the treehouse tree in front of the apartment complex. we could see dad through the window in crouching position. we tried to shout warnings and advice and admonishment, but unfortunately were laughing much too hard and stumbling over eachother in our doubled over positions, in the dark, to really be helpful. tick. tick. tick. BOOM. i believe at this moment mom is trying to cook these holy grail cookies in a pan.

-in a reflection of the day, hospital side the highlights included a knife wound to the neck (more dramatic in title than in reality, although the wound was in tiger country) and a colostomy which underwent a game plan to analplasty. incredible. absolutely incredible. still getting over it. medecine is incredible, but surgery most especially has such vitality.

-the analplasty was performed on a three day old little boy. the delicacy of an infant, its frilty, has never been so apparant to me as when one is resting on  surgery table. it is beyond incredible that in our human hands resides the knowledge, tools, and technique to go inside these little bodies; hurting to heal.

-humorous note; while walking by the a surgery theatre with an ortho case going i heard a song playing, some brassy piano with the lyrics 'You'll never die! You'll never die! You'll live forever!' (motivational? not so subtle sublimal messaging for the unconscience paient?) -just looked up the song, it is Soften Your Heart by Keith Green.

-the kid commune of this mission community is a thriving metropolis. while sitting outside i witnessed a near collision of a two year old pushing one of those orange and yellow kid plastic cars at full speed towards an unaware one year old in a stroller entangled with some other plastic toy. myself and two others ran towards the impending crash in what felt like cinematicly slow motion agony, however abbey, all smiles turned off the path at the last moment. breathless, panting-laughing, we adult figures just looked at eachother and had a hearty laugh. there was an especially charming one little guy named shadrack who came by on multiple occasions during lunch. rather cat-like he always managed to get onto my lap. we 'read' together, or tried too, he was a bit too liberal with the page turning.

-last night here in Tenweck. i decided to cut the afternoon a bit early and took on of my BAF (best authors forever) Alcott down to the falls with a small picnic of ginger juice and almonds. I read the last eight chapters of Little Women on the hillside, with charming interludes of inquisitive children saying all in one breath 'how-are-you-fne!' to me as a greeting as they headed towards the bridge on their way from school. being white in this non-tourist portion of kenya places one at a celebraty status level with children. they are either disabled by laughter, in awe, desperately curious to touch my hair, or horrified. thankfully the last is only with a few infants i had to weigh.