Journal November 12-13, 1961
Also got a haircut: terrific! The guy (barbers are coiffeurs here – they care for men’s and women’s hair in the same shop) spent more than ¾ of an hour on me. He trimmed the edges with scissors and then made a coupe à rasoir – cut my hair with a straight razor. Shaved around the edges and down my neck and then spent ten minutes shaping what was left. Total cost: 80¢, including a 20¢ tip. Our barbers should take lessons from these types. They’re really cool.

Back to business tomorrow.

11-11 Our Algerians are out of town for the week; so we’ll have to wait a while to baptize them.

Had a good meeting with Mme. Daniel and her son; she’s got a few unusual problems with the commandments, but she seems to be nicely on the way
to repentance.

11-12 Meetings inspirational as always. J.F.V. gave a petit discours on the subject of baptism for the dead. Next thing he’ll come up with will be blood atonement, we’re sure.

[30] Had a special problem with a young family from out of town. They have three tiny ones, and he got hurt in an industrial accident some time ago and has to have an operation. Meanwhile, the family’s in pretty desperate shape. Looks like the Relief Society’s going to find her a job. Too bad there’s no welfare plan in the missions.

11-13 Bike troubles – two punctures in the same tire. Since we lack a pump and nothing’s open on Mondays, this sort of cramped, Elder Higley’s a little bit under the weather.
It was at this point, less than a month after arriving in France, that I decided to start writing my journal in French, for reasons I discuss therein. Valerie, bless her gizzard, continued to transcribe it from my letters into the book, despite her limited understanding of the language. Already, she was an incomparable treasure. Marvelously patient with my weirdness.

No, it‘s worse than that, but it’s taken me 47 years to tumble to my gross culpability. Valerie (a truthful lady) says that both she and Mammy objected in writing to this transition, arguing that it would deprive my descendants of access to the details of this pivotal piece of my history. She says I replied, breezily, that if they wanted to read my journal, it’d do them good to learn French. I have no memory of the exchange; but, as I say, Valerie doesn’t lie, and there’s a lot I don’t remember, this long afterward…
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