Todd will be the first to tell you I’m a terrible unpacker.

I traveled a lot this Fall, and more often than not, my suitcase sat by my bed untouched until I was preparing to leave again. I would take out a few things and put a few more in, but the suitcase was never empty in between.

As a child I used to watch my father fold his business clothes neatly, one shirt on another, breathing in the smell of his aftershave as the zipper wound around the edges. While I hated the fact that he was leaving, I loved the way it was packed. It was so organized and simple. It narrowed a complicated life into sections and pockets, and it was so manageable that way.

There’s something to be said about a freshly packed suitcase.

But there’s always the mess of coming home. Trying to make your life fit back on the hangers and realizing it isn’t as easy as reaching in and tucking away. There’s washing and ironing and folding to be done, and the closet already seems full. It’s so much work to make it all right again, and it makes me imagine life looking like it did a few days ago.

It’ll never be the same, I think.

I’m tempted to leave it alone and let the memories steep a little longer.

Continue reading at Bring The Rain »

Happy Thanksgiving 2012!

We’re home!

(Translation: I made it through 3 of the 4 flights, but chickened out on the last one and we drove home from Houston!)

And speaking of things I’m afraid of…

Last week was jam packed with ‘em. Planes, pills, and unfamiliar places, chock full of scraggly stray dogs. But there’s nothing like being surrounded by a group of talented/healthy/unafraid people to make you want to keep trying when you’re right there in the thick of it.

(My biggest fear now is that they all think I’m more wacko than they might have before- ha!)

But enough about me and my phobias. I want to share some more about the trip…

Our group leader, Shaun, warned us that re-entry would be hard, but we had no idea just how completely overwhelming adjusting to even the most familiar of blessings would be this Thanksgiving. The blue, and green, and orange ones…the twinkly, fragrant, warm ones.

Continue reading at The Lettered Cottage »

“Is this hard work?” I ask. He shrugs and grunts the way ten year-old boys do. And I don’t need a translator.

He presses the chunk of carrot against the grater and it becomes a blur. Lifts the grater and reveals a pile of orange, smiling at this magic trick.

“Your wife will be very happy some day that you know how to cook.”

The translator makes quick work of my sentence and it sounds so much better turned into Spanish. Like carrots into cake.

Under the brown of his cheeks there must be red. He wriggles and smirks without making eye contact.

“He isn’t married yet?”

She translates and he shows teeth for the first time. Always working.

Continue reading at ShaunGroves.com »

Continue reading at Balancing Beauty And Bedlam »

I swing the curtains wide open and pull the most annoying stunt known to children.

“WAKE UP! IT’S GOING TO BE AN AMAZING DAY!”

They are less than thrilled.

A few minutes later we stand in a row, all watching our toothbrushes move in the mirror.

“Where are we going today?” Abby asks.

“Today is the day we get to meet Fernanda!” I’m substantially over-emoting, but we’re a little road-weary and I think if I act as tired as I feel we might be in trouble.

Ellie spits out her toothpaste, wipes her mouth, and leaves the bathroom without saying a word.

A few minutes later I ask her what’s going on and she tells me she doesn’t really want to meet Fernanda.” I can tell she’s nervous.

“You know, I think you’re going to have a really special connection with her.” I say, rubbing her back while she stares at her hands.

“Well, then you’re going to be disappointed.” She answers.

Continue reading at Bring The Rain »