Cheating. Write or Wrong...

I've been cheating on you. Or the blog it self. You are not a blog. Nor are you a blob. Well, I am, but... that has no bearing on this short post.

You see- I've been writing. In other places. And in fact I have 2 more "writes" to add to the queue.

Yes the store wrap was still on it at this point....although many pages were already full

In Ethiopia, I started journaling about my experiences there.  When I got home, it was a means to chronicle events, struggles and milestones my son and I were living. But--- it was hard--- and felt--- not fruitful.  As I looked into the future of what I wanted my son to have--- this wasn't really it.


So that book. That book continues with Letters to our family in Ethiopia. Why not start a new one? It was with us. Both. Together. In that room. It is as much for them as it is for me. Lord only knows if and or when they will ever be able to read/have them. But they do give purpose and direction in my writing. I strongly suspect these letters, to Ethiopia, will assist greatly in my upcoming writing projects. 

There it is. In my hand along with a tissue pack.

For my son. For my son, I've started another handwritten journal. The paper is strong and hopefully durable. The pen is archival quality. I've purchased photo squares that are supposed to be acid free (I'm assuming this means it won't eat through the paper over time?).

I write, free hand. I write to the adult. To the young adult. I write to the young man who knows his mother loves him and all she could share- but holds questions and suspicious back, that aren't age appropriate to share- if ever.  That perhaps only have value when placed in a broader perspective that only time can provide. I write honestly. Opening up my questions about details and bits we may never know the answers to. I write of days past. Of children he knew. Children and families that held eachother together. I write of where they are now, and try to update when I have more info. I wonder if one day, he may want to find some of his old friends. One never knows the questions one will carry or the connections he'll crave for a lifetime.

I write of this first year. Of our time together. Of our experiences. Bonding. Fun. Laughter. Travels. Therapy. Friends. This year. This year of our life. THE year of my life - I suspect.

I write only, on one side of the open pages of this journal. I leave the opposing side blank- That space is for a photo. A photo related or representing the written word next to it.

I always struggle to motivate myself to write in this journal- but once I do- it flows so fast. I run out of time before words.

Two more writing assignments. Soon- Our first required annual report will be written by me and sent to Ethiopia (via Minnesota). About that same time- I will also be writing a more personal letter to our Ethiopian family. I suspect- given their physical distance from Hosanna, that sending both at the same time- gives them both a better shot at being delivered in a more timely manner.

Special. Carefully. Chosen. Words. With care for Translation. Big. Heavy. Stuff. As burdened as I sometimes feel, to write something that -- "HAS" to be done right... I'm excited for these two. I don't know why. But I am. I think everything will be easier- flow out of my brain smoother, once I can purge of all that those 2 entail. I want so much to write more than I'll ever be allowed. And yet- I wait with baited breath- anticipating the envelopes detailing instructions for submitting these "extra special letters".