Phnom Penh Pals: Team Helm in Cambodia

Most women spend a good deal of time thinking and planning the circumstances under which a ring will be placed on a certain left hand finger. We spend far less time thinking about the circumstances under such we will take off such a ring. Circumstances such as a breakup. Or death. Or travel to a developing nation. Four years ago tomorrow, a man I love madly put my grandma's diamond on my finger. We prayed. We celebrated. We ate Pakistani food. It was a good day. Tomorrow, I will take off that same ring. Not only because wearing the equivalent of several years' salary around Cameroon may be risky, but also because it seems unfair. Can I ask people to take seriously my concern for their malnutrition and inability to afford medical treatments while I wave in their faces a luxury they will likely never know? Not at this point. I will miss the little sparkle on my left hand, which reminds me so much of my grandpa's devotion to his wife. But I am grateful that I am not takin

My wife has taken ownership of our newsletter.  She says I need to be pithy. I don't know what that means.  She says it means I am allowed ten words per sentence (11 ARGH!). I am allowed no more than three paragraphs per newsletter.  Each paragraph can contain four sentences.   She must approve the topic.  She says this is the good for our readership.  She told me that I am to avoid hyperbole.  I'm the most hyperbolic person ever.  Hyperbole is not pithy.  This concludes my newsletter.