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Show Coffee Drinkers Preferred Page 91 of 307 Packing finished, I popped over to my neighbors The Joneses. Brother Jones was a retired Psysics teacher from BYU who spent most of his time retreating into his cellar to admire and organize his food storage. When he wasn't doing this, he was mowing or watering his lawn. I think he wanted his lawn in perfect condition for the end of the world, which he anticipated any second. He was hand watering some dry spot just as I walked up, "Hello Brother Jones." "Hello Brother Allred." He gave me a hearty handshake. I know this picture makes us seem as formal as the Ahmish but the thing is, I only knew Brother Jones from church. That was how I was introduced to him. I have never actually heard anyone use his first name with him unless it is Doctor. He's a Ph.D. and I have heard him referred to this way when he is not around, but I've only ever known him as Brother Jones. The Church That Shall Not Be Named keeps our interactions focused on the spiritual by encouraging us to address each other like this at church. In the 1850s, when this town was little more than a stone fort, everyone called everyone else Brother and Sister all the time. "How's all this heat treating you?" I asked. Nonabrasive Nephi knows how conversations are started in Mount Pleasant at this time of year. "It's bound to get hotter in August." Brother Jones smiled. |
