Risk Party

How can we say possibly goodbye to so many people that we love? And how can we be brave enough to actually get on that plane and move to Morocco for two years?

With your help, we have been trying to do those things. Between Christmas and New Year's Eve, we invited a bunch of family and friends to a farewell party so that we could gather lots of dear ones in one place. And instead of just eating chips and guacamole and lots of Mexican food (which we did, and it was awesome), we also invited people to bring us a story about a time in their life when they took a risk. A lot of people shared some really terrific stories. And even more people came and cheered for us and hugged us and wished us well. There were a lot of tears. And laughs. And stories. And hugs. It was a Risk Party.

For those of you that shared a story, either in person or by email, thank you. We hope to recall these stories on hard days (and we already have). And for those of you that continue to love us and support us even when we decide to up and move thousands of miles away, thank you. Thank you for helping us grow into braver, more adventurous people. Thank you for trusting us even when we sound mad, mad, mad. Thank you all for your words of encouragement, your travel advice, and the time you've taken to show your support in so many ways.

We get on a plane tomorrow morning. See you in Morocco.

They don't tell you how hard it is

To pack up your home for two years, both physically and emotionally. We have almost moved all of our stuff into storage. That was not fun. That was really hard. Plus we are tying up a ton of loose ends: getting property insurance, selling our car and lots of other things on Craigslist, saying goodbyes. These few weeks have been stressful and busy, and they aren't what first comes to mind when you think, "Yes! I'll join the Peace Corps!" I'm saying it because it simply needs to be said: it's really hard.

Regardless, we are grateful. We are grateful for the friends and family that are supporting us in so may ways: feeding us, helping us move, providing emotional support, loving us. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Here's a few photos of what we've been up to. Mostly moving:








Becoming a certified Master Naturalist:





Being a rock star:





And feeling sad about how much we are going to miss you.

What were you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?

We were enjoying our visitors. Kate, Mike and Jack were down from Worcester, and our good friend Drew visited from Colorado. We went for a hike insofar as that's possible in Arlington, TX; decorated Christmas cookies, ate way too much and all struggled to stay up until midnight. Here are some pictures of Drew, who has a special, special knack for unusual poses.

And Britt and Drew were able to take one last jumping picture before Morocco.

Taken early in the morning before Drew left for his flight. He can barely lift his feet off the ground for the grief of parting.

season of hope

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!  A LOT has been happening for us over the past few weeks.  We have been incredibly lucky to spend time with so many people that we love over Christmas and New Year, and we're thankful for the generosity and hospitality that everyone has shown us.

As part of my role at TCU, I had the opportunity to write a short Advent Devotional for the Office of Religious and Spiritual Life (shout out TCU RSL!).  I'll share that with you here, plus some photos from Christmas.  More to come!

“The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof.”  
- Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams

I’m not very good at living in the present.  I like to linger in the past, holding on to fond memories and twisting them through my fingers to remind myself over and over again of how good life can be.  Or how terribly sad.  And when I’m not doing that, I’m day-dreaming about the future: bright days and silver nights and endless possibilities of what might be.  The present seems too anxiety-ridden, too busy, too, too, too.  That’s why I like this quote from Barbara Kingsolver so much.   Hope seems like a lofty, future-focused thing, hard to pin down, but Kingsolver demands that we touch it and hold it and settle down with it right now at our kitchen table.

In a few short weeks, my husband and I will be moving to Morocco to serve as Peace Corps volunteers.   Joining the Peace Corps has been a goal of mine for many years, and so I’ve spent countless hours day-dreaming about what it might be like to live and serve in a new community.  It’s auspicious that this move is preceded by Advent, a season of preparation, anticipation, and hope.  Each week as we light another Advent candle, more and more of our time will be spent embracing those that we love instead of working long hours.   More and more of our belongings will make their way to local charities.  Vaccinations and paperwork replace trips to the mall and time lost on the internet.  This next step in our lives is something we have hoped for and imagined for years, and we’ve finally invited it under our roof.

As we live into this adventure that we’ve hoped for for so long, I have to constantly remind myself to try and stay focused on the present.   It’s easy to think about Christmases past: how tricky it is to navigate my divorced family, how much I wish my grandfather was still here to make divinity and creamy fudge.  And it’s exciting to imagine Christmases of the future: how will we celebrate in a Muslim country, and what new traditions will we embrace?  But, right now, I have this Advent, this Christmas.  These hands to hold, these people to hug, these candles to light.

bye bye biggie

I can almost guarantee that this won't be the last post about how much we love and are going to miss our little dog, Big.  There have been tears.  Many.  He will be moving in with my sister, and she's going to be a great momma to him.  But we are still sad.  I mean, look at this little guy:

I've read that dogs take on the characteristics of their owners.  Which is great because it means that Biggie is perfectly content taking long afternoon naps, watching television, and going on walks.  He is 12 pounds of snuggling and cuddling, and we're going to miss him.  A lot.

goodbye louisiana

My favorite thing about being in Louisiana is spending time in Granny's house.  Every room is full of memories: the living room is where all the cousins slept on the floor together on Christmas eve, the recliner is where I sat and watched Cool Runnings over and over that one summer, the kitchen is where granny stirs gumbo and pop crafted fudge.  It is a very good place.

Pete and I made a quick trip down to Lafayette to spend some quality time with granny before our big move.  It's really nice to be in a community where you know someone everywhere you go.  

It's also good to visit a state that makes beignets and makes them well.  That way, when you are sad about leaving, you can make a last minute detour to the Coffee Depot and smother your sadness in powdered sugar.

Goodbye MA, ME, VT, NY, CT

The goodbye tour officially kicked off after Thanksgiving with a long trip to New England to see Kate and Mike and Jack and so many more well-wishers. You couldn't throw a stone in the Northeast without hitting someone we visited.

We saw my Aunt Mary and cousins in Portland and Westfield and my pseudo-in-laws in Boston.

Old colleagues and stomping grounds in Vermont.

Professors in upstate New York.

And farm-friends in Connecticut.

All the way through people were outrageously good to us. We ate like kings and enjoyed their warm, beautiful homes and got good and puffed up by their words of love and encouragement.

We also took the opportunity to rehearse for Peace Corps.

Did a little English teaching.

And we practiced living out of suitcases and wearing the same clothes over and over again. Plus, while we were up there, a very sweet Peace Corps Morocco representative called us and said, "You need to think Alaska, not Africa." So we practiced dressing warm.

And being cold. The weather helped us out by giving us one perfect snowy day.

Kate and Mike introduced us to the Chipyard in Boston (started by Mitchell Hurwitz! I never knew!) and Britt found an amazing 15-inch pancake at Papa Pete's in Bennington Vermont.

And we worked out some of our leaving-America grief by going to Dunkin' Donuts every day. I can't say enough about the lovely places and people we saw.  It was a great trip -one that will burn warm in our memories when we're freezing our extremities off in Anchorage, Morocco.