My parents and aunt and uncle visited Washington DC this past week. One of my favorite parts was hearing old and new stories from my dad and aunt about them growing up and about their mother, my grandma. Stories like…
When we travel someplace where a language barrier exists, I often find that the experience of that place is explained to me by my surroundings. We are guided by the bustle of unspeaking commuters, we’re told how a culture emotes by their architecture, and learn what they love by what they promote to prominence. Then there’s Paris…
Last year my husband’s parents presented the idea of going on a trip to the Holy Land, and they asked if we would go with them.
February brought us on this journey.
The final leg of our leave-Africa-stop-in-Europe-home-for-the-holidays tour was Minnesota. All of the Heglunds gathered for the first time since our wedding.
The Payne parents requested that the whole family come together for Christmas as the final celebration of their 50th anniversary year, so all 14 of us gathered in South Carolina.
There’s nothing quite like Europe at Christmastime, I’ve decided. After 3.5 years spent mostly in Asia and Africa, with no snowy winters or walkable cities, I was craving European charm.
I’ve started this post a half dozen times from this stiff airport “lounge” chair. This was our first home – a launching point for a continent of adventure – a place to be together – and a place where we were very much alone.
Just a shade over two-thousand-one-hundred.
In this digital age that’s how many photos you carry back from a dusty, whirlwind anniversary trip.
“A man’s work is from sun to sun, but a woman’s work is never finished.”