One thing led to another

It started out with a bright idea for a little treat for breakfast this morning as we picked up the moving truck.

Which became lunch.

Which became dinner.

Which became embarrassing.

And, quite frankly, Jacob isn't even home yet, so who knows where it will stop.

Here we were, there we are, away we go

Once again, we find ourselves surrounded by our lives - all packed up.

The laundry is done, suitcases are packed and boxes stacked. As I sit here surrounded by it, I'm struck how cluttered a place can be when its entirely packed up.

So, Jacob has made us all proud with his devoted and strong finish to this semester, not to mention this tremendous offer and opportunity for work. I have made us proud by rolling (mostly - only a couple of meltdowns) with the punches to get us all organized, arranged, domiciled and scheduled, with the notable help of two fabulous moms who broke all the "in-" laws to take a road trip through five states and spend a couple of days with their kiddos doing manual labor, aka packing (joys of family!).

Tomorrow we pick up the moving truck again (frequent flier discount anyone?) and head back to Kentucky to start our new era (our eras, in case you haven't noticed, tend to be pretty short, but hey it keeps things interesting), and even though there's so much change and uncertainty and insecurity in a way, I know that we're doing it together. We've changed everything up so many times in the last two years, but Jacob has been my constant, my partner, my gift from God. And for that I'm thankful. I know no matter where we go, how many times we pack, move, change, shift or drift, he'll be there.

It also happens that as we approach this Christmas season, we approach our anniversary, so here's to my husband. A little memory of us when we didn't know what it was like to live in wedded bliss in a dorm room with the bathroom down the hall, to be sick for entire months at a time, to be uncontrollably cold at all hours of the day and night, to learn Arabic only to be stuck attempting French, to revel in the discovery of french fries, to enjoy the security of American fast food in a way never imagined, to live without a toilet seat, to live constantly with sand, in short, to live in adventure - together.

Away we go! Photo by Michelle Young, Endearing Studios (the best photographer ever)

In vagabondary and stability

Our vows didn't actually say anything about vagabondary and, as a bit of a grammarian, I have to admit that it's not a word (vagabondage is, though...), but I have packed and unpacked various amounts and contents of our belongings 10 times in our just-shy-of-two-years marriage. Tonight starts lucky number 11.  Eleven out of at least 14 by the time June rolls around

And that means that right about now, six and two half-boxes in, there's only one box I'm really thinking about: the box of wine on top of the fridge.

But, as much as this task ahead of me is making me feel a little desperate and overwhelmed - and I do - tonight I choose to be thankful: that we have a home and belongings that make our lives comfortable, that I have a wonderful, intelligent husband who excels at his studies and business ventures, that we are blessed beyond all measure in so many things.

Oh, and thankful for some hot chili (mom's recipe)

And thankful for both of our sweet moms, who are headed down to help me pack this week while Jacob works on finals.

Help on packing? Now that's love.

Peeling Carrots

I still peel carrots the way that Layla - the housekeeper and chef-in-residence in our house in Morocco - taught us. Without a sleek, swift, clean tool to strip off in even curls the outer skins of root vegetables. With just a paring knife, dragging and pressing it at angles to shear off the dermis, leaving cleaner rough edges on the carrots and a layer of orangey-sweet beta-carotine mist on my face and arms.

Layla and lentils (addis) in the villa kitchen in Morocco

Tonight I'm pre-preparing for dinner tomorrow night - a slow-cooked venison roast to serve Jacob and the roommate I displaced, Matthew; and courtesy of the Squires family, who shared of their recent take. It makes me think of our time abroad when we were so alone, but bonded with those around us because of the simple fact of our common lives and locales.

Now, as we look toward home again, I'm thinking of all those we missed and still miss, but who we hopefully will see soon, who we will re-integrate into our schedules and hopefully be marked into theirs.

Layla used to spend one or two evenings a week hosting cooking classes with us at the villa in addition to her regular work days. She shared her talents, comfort cooking and recipes with us and I always remember how she seemed to have a certain joy in the process of preparation and sharing with others. That, I think, is hospitality. Joy in such mundane things that, at their sum, are so much more than mundane because they serve and host others.

And that's why I still think of Layla while I'm peeling carrots.