Generations

This is partly a trip connecting to the past.

When my uncle died, my Aunt Libby retired from  teaching in her 60s and joined the Peace Corps serving in Morocco. I greatly admired that partly because it came at a time when I was feeling the weight of work and family and particularly hemmed in. "One day..." I said, although I could not possibly see that future or lay any plans.

Regrettably many pictures and mementos from her trip have been lost as has most of her awareness now, but I am packing for a trip I have lived a long time in my dreams.

And the reason it is all possible is my wonderful husband, Bob. He was the perfect clergy spouse and now understands that a call to serve does not end at the church door. He does not come on these trips because he sees I must do them alone, that much of the adventure and the accomplishment is to land in an airport with no signs in English and find my luggage. To take bucket showers and use squat toilets and walk dusty roads in the heat. To live in a community and be a fringe part of it for long enough to glimpse the realty of life beyond the headlines. Does he worry? Probably. But he takes me to the airport and picks me up on the other end. Thanks, again, Bob.