Random thoughts for a Sunday evening in December

The kids are finally in bed. They are staying up later as they grow older, and I'm losing (and missing!) quiet time in the evening. We do have different conversations in the evenings though, I find there is more opportunity for openness, for questions, for revelations. A bit more closeness. Tonight, a conversation about how sometimes meaning gets lost in translation.

This week I am going to Haiti for the first time. I am excited and daunted. My grandfather Marcos had planned to take me there, almost exactly 21 years ago. He wanted to show me, freshly out of grad school with my International Development Studies diploma, what development was really about. We had already been to shanty towns in Puerto Rico, where we had lunch with a man who lived in a shack on stilts. He and my grandmother also took me to Venezuela. I remember the mountains and coffee plantations, and getting stuck in a traffic jam for 9 hours. We cancelled the trip to Haiti because of political instability at the time. It was just after American Thanksgiving, the last time I was in Puerto Rico together with my mother.

Lasagna and chili batch-cooked for the week ahead. It makes me feel better about going, knowing a few meals are tucked away. I had to pull out summer clothes to pack, all while hearing there will be snow here tomorrow.

Second Sunday of Advent. A few decorations in place. The Christmas lights aren't up yet, but this year I am focusing on candles. The flickering light. The warm smell of melting wax. The heat emanating from light.