Tossing, Turning, Worrying

Last night I made what I consider a successful Polish meal. We had gołąbki, pierogi z serem, ogórki z śmietaną, deser z gruszkimi i jabłkowy i sok jabłkowy pić. It pleased me that the missionaries (and some of my other friends who wandered into the kitchen) seemed to enjoy it. I love spreading the love of the Motherland. God Bless Our Poland. You know, Poland is shaped like a heart on the political map. You might think this is a bit of a stretch, but a former T.A. told me that, and I never forgot it.

So on my way to work every day, there's this big cottonwood tree I call the Poland Tree, because its bare branches also resemble a heart, but maybe only as much as the map does. Still, I've seen this tree all my life-- from the school bus, on my way to my uncle's house, and now to work and back home. Even when the branches are lush with leaves, this knotted tree reminds me of things and people I love.

I drove by the yesterday morning and noticed something sad, though. Someone had cut off the branches of my tree, like a heart ripped in half. I suppose it was to keep branches clear of power lines or something. Can't let the heart get in the way of energy and power. It bothers me.

Last night, I couldn't sleep. I won't pretend it was because I'm so poetic and broken up over "my" tree. I was mostly worried that my delicious food might have given people indigestion like I had. Still, I think it's more likely that the other things I'm worried about kept me up, and my tummy always hurts when I don't sleep well.