IGM Settling IN

Inter-Galactic Memo

To: All Personnel

Fr: W. Leavitt

Re: Settling In

8-3-2010




Nita and I took a walk today. I may have mentioned to some of you that Aubrey (and now we) lives a ten-minute walk from the Palmyra Temple. I estimated that from looking at Google Earth, but I missed by a little. We walked to the Temple this morning and it took 25 minutes . . . but it was a pretty country road with so much green it hurt the eyes, and wonderfully old and quaint homes lining the lane—which is actually a state highway, but you can’t tell to walk along it.
The Temple is beautiful. Small, compared to many others, but set on a grassy hill, with the usual immaculate grounds full of dazzling flowers. A Nita paradise.
And since the Joseph Smith farm was a few hundred feet away, which meant the Sacred Grove was right around the corner as well, we walked over there and into the forest to meander the paths and see if we could feel some residual spirit still lingering from the Visitation. Maybe. How would I know?
We walked around the grove for an hour, and at some point the spirit backed-off in order to let sweaty exhaustion take center stage. By the time we found our way out, I was so tired I called Aubrey and asked her to come rescue us—which she did. Good girl, Aub.
I have been chastised for not mentioning how beautiful it is here—and it is, truly. But I am not recovered yet from my marathon trip, nor am I acclimated to the elevation, humidity, and flora-induced claustrophobia, so my appreciation is lackluster at best. Maybe it will improve this fall. I’m not optimistic though—everyone knows I have a huge, raging bias against all things eastern.
We’re supposed to be here though. I have no doubt of that. Now I just have to figure out why.
Our cottage is wonderful. Aubrey and Greg took it down to the floorboards and studs and fixed, upgraded, or replaced everything. Way too much work and money spent, but we love it. Small, but cozy. And we live ten feet from them, connected by an enclosed “breezeway,” and their house is big and old—1870 I’m told. The light in their house is buttery, and their kitchen-dining area is the kind one envisions for the Celestial Kingdom; all about family and love and modern conveniences. And they have a new dog—Meggie—a Australian Shepherd, and she is wondrously alive and happy. Newell, you would love her.
So I guess we’re really here. I know we’re supposed to be, but I wish I knew why.