I answered the door. The neighbor girl beamed up at me, her fuzzy pigtails sticking straight out from her head: a North African Pippi Longstocking. Adorable. Continue reading A different world: another quick update
I felt more at home with the worn travelers and scruffy men bumming cigarettes than I had browsing a mall full of things I didn’t need and lounging in Pad Thai Wok after my pad thai was gone and all I had left was C.S. Lewis. Continue reading Along the coast
Restrictions descended upon us one by one. I was always still adjusting to the previous restriction and was never pleased with the new one.
Immigrantville inhabitants grew more careful as time went on. On Wednesday evening last week, I marched into an odds and ends store to find a plastic wall protecting the workers behind the counter. Continue reading There is a lion in the streets: lockdown in Spain
We were both pleased by the prospect of a promising future for the little family, but also stunned that this moment was a last. Continue reading Another goodbye
I love being at home. But sometimes there is an accompanying trapped feeling. Trapped within my own honey-do list. Seemingly endless people to contact and visit, groceries to buy, food to cook, laundry to soak, languages to study, paperwork to stress over.
Right now, I had only my Kindle. Continue reading His Presence in the waves
One of the childhood memories I treasure the most is the summer evening I found an injured lightning bug. Its wings were bent and useless.
Heartbroken by this poor creature’s dilemma, I carried it to where Mom was working in the flowerbed behind the garage. I cried as I showed her the bent bug. Continue reading The lightning bug prayer
I wanted to hold on to some of those moments. I tried to savor them while they lasted, but when I look back, their ghostly flavor still lingers in my mind, proof that I never finished tasting them. Continue reading When in North Africa- Part 2
Last year, a fellow immigrant in Spain asked me to visit her when she went back to her country for the summer. I didn’t.
But this year I did. Continue reading When in North Africa- Part 1
One minute too late. I watched the bus roaring away, atypically on time.
Where could I have gained that missing minute? Continue reading One minute too late
Her tearless story was like too many stories I’ve heard. Another rocky marriage. And she barely in her twenties. She refused to tell her mother because it would make her worry. Continue reading Only God can redeem a broken life
