Extended terms of intensity tend to leave effects on a person, whether it is military, prison, or serving a two-year proselyting mission. The sights, smells, schedule, and unique experiences change a person. The veteran of such an experience will never be the same; like a new river coursing through terrain, the fresh channels built will change all future flows. Sometimes these new life tendencies are unexpected.
I have only been through one of the above-mentioned periods of intensity. Among the most noticeable remnants that has come home to civilian life is the tendency to reminisce about “the mish.” Other than this, I thought myself pretty normal. That is, until two weeks ago.
It was a sunny Sunday afternoon, a perfect time to go out with my Elder's Quorum President on some presidency visits. This afternoon we were visiting some neighbors in my little trailer court; this was an opportunity for me to get to know the people I never see due to my school schedule. We were a suit-clad pair knocking on flimsy trailer doors; the disembodied voice calling “come in!” Sent me on an instant flashback to happy tracting days in Rapid City trailer courts. The difference, of course, is that here in Utah we are the majority instead of the occult minority.
We stepped into a dimly lit but fairly tidy living room and found our host sprawled out over a long couch. Now, the moment on the porch had brought images to my mind; but stepping into the front room introduced awakened something much deeper. It wasn't the two of us in suits or the Sunday-afternoon TV programming running interference that sparked it, although they probably contributed; it was the strong smell of a fresh-extinguished cigarette.
They say that some war veterans come back sensitive to loud noises, which can send them ducking for cover. Others will react with military violence to little provocations. It wasn't violence that rose in me; it was the tobacco-aroused desire to see teach the gospel and see this family at church. I found myself recalling the recent speech of our Bishop; he had explained that if we don't smell cigarettes in the chapel, we aren't doing our job. I also found myself appreciating what it must be like as a hound that catches the scent.
I am beginning to appreciate some of the symptoms of
RMS, which may include:
- Episodes of Nostalgia
- Extensive inside-joking and conversation with fellow veterans
- The habit of using pass-along cards as book marks and business cards.
- Outbursts of proselyting zeal in reaction to certain scents.
