Springtime, Tulips, and My NAME

Preface to this week's email: Huge congratulations are in order to my cousin Chelsea and her husband Ricky on the arrival today of their new baby boy Mason Riley Eanes. (Kind of disappointed that they didn't end up naming him "Daberkashawn," but I'll find a way to forgive them.) Give the boy loves for me!!

This week was so backwards and forwards and going a hundred miles a minute that I feel you need a play-by-play to sort it out. Here goes:

~ A woman, living in a house built by Communist hippies, tells me and Sister Alberts she's going to adopt us so we can inherit her mountain of antiques. Thank you? Also, there are "little green men" and a six-foot bear living on/around her property.
~ Another woman tells us some 'hey, girl,' too much information details about her and her common-law husband. Somehow I feel like this missionary nametag reads "Licensed Relationship Counselor" to all who see it. I am not. But I'm willing to listen. And sometimes that's really all people want. Plus, talking to the missionaries is free. Like my life motto says: "If it's free, it's for me!"
~ Built a huge bonfire in someone's backyard. And I got to use a blowtorch for the first time! Sister A is persuaded towards pyromania. She's slowly turning me to the dark side. Yes, mom, I'm being safe. Sidenote: there was a snake in the unmowed grass where we were building the fire. Nearly sent me out of my skin. I'll hold giant tarantulas, but I still don't trust animals without arms or legs. Sickening.
~ Oh! Sister Hone came here for an exchange on Saturday. As she'd say, pure bliss. We went to the baptism of a man we started teaching in Granite Falls back in February. Joy #2: He was baptized by a man who was less-active until fairly recently. Now the two are chums. I loved every second of it.
~ I just want to insert a comment here about how beautiful tulips in Washington are in the springtime. EVERYONE has them in their yard. Of all colors and sizes. Sometimes I like to pretend I'm serving in Holland and we're about to encounter someone wearing wooden shoes. Too much? Probably.
~ Comments about my last name run rampant on my mission -- you can probably guess why -- but I've been thinking. Since all of my ingenious comebacks have been leaking out of my brain since I began this mission, I need your help. Ideas for responses to any of the following would be greatly appreciated:

1. "GOODPASTER? Looks like you're in the perfect job for that name!"
2. "Goodpaster? Is that really your name?"
3. "Where is 'Goodpaster' from?"

Seriously, I'm going to just start making things up, like:
1. "Actually, Goodpaster is a terrible name for this job because we worship saltine crackers, and pastors aren't a part of our doctrine."
2. "No, Goodpaster is the alias I'm working under ever since I strangled that cockatiel."
3. "'Goodpaster' derives from the North Cambodian coast, where my ancestors were the world's first patchouli farmers."

See? I need your help.

Anyway, in serious news, I love my companion. I love the people in this area. And I love that I never have to feel like I'm selling vacuums. The Gospel of Jesus Christ either jives with your heart or it doesn't. If it doesn't, I still get the opportunity to meet and love those people, too. Everybody wins.

Be good to yourselves and one another. I love you all.

Love,
Sister Goodpaster

P.S. I go home a year from yesterday. Hello, surreal realization.
P.P.S. The new spicy guacamole chicken sandwich from Wendy's is the cat's pajamas. Do yourself a favor and buy one today.