Back in France, ah France, I used to insert lots of descriptive setting info into my posts: The sun is melting, golden and syrupy, into the distant hillside, the leaves are dancing, like twirling acrobats, on the balmy breeze, the air smells of Pixie Stix. Remember that? I don’t either.
Life is in overdrive today. I'm leaving for Guatemala tomorrow for my Save the Children trip. I would be totally excited if I could see past my nose, or past the huge pile of recycling I need to take to Fort Dumpster before I leave. Loose ends.
I'm in the weeds. And the way I can tell is because I can’t seem to find the time to
A: Even acknowledge the weather or my surroundings,
and B: I no longer write down all the profound things my kids say to me. I hear, practically see, these gems fall out of their mouths, I register that little heart squeeze that happens to all moms who get such surges of love, mixed with pride, mixed with the sadness that these children are not really ours to keep, and the moment passes. And I’m back to figuring out my health care premium, and working out an installment plan for paying our 2010 taxes, and reading, with crossed eyes, the 4-page PDF document, written in incomprehensible govermentese, sent from the National Visa Center, regarding the status of my alien husband, Ian, who is still not allowed to come back to the United States even for a visit.
They want me to register an agent for him, and pay them some more money, and fill out another half dozen forms, and secure him a financial sponsor, before they will consider giving him back. I am now, officially my husband’s agent, not just his wife.
Ah bureaucracy. It's getting stale. It's starting to stink.
And C: I know I'm in the weeds when I forget to take pictures.
I will, however, be taking as many pictures as I can get away with in Guatemala. They are sure to be colorful and rich with grainy humanity.