Susan LaffertySpecific names. Or initials. Scribbled in ink. Indelible. On lined paper in plastic-bound journals bought at the local bazaar.
Thirty years later I’m reading the pages. Details about our encounters with them.
Conversations. Situations.
Prayer requests recorded. Hospitalizations. Heartaches. Crises. Losses. Spiritual confusion.
Back in the day we studied our stress by listing losses. Marking life experiences.
All the cross-cultural moves. Illnesses. Births. Deaths. Evacuations.
Added up, the numbers were telling.
Stress levels confirmed.
Favorite flavors and dishes multiply in the cross-cultural life. Leading to this, that, or the other taste of home.
Our grocery cart is often a wild mix. With differing ingredients for the week’s menus.
One day, I buy okra and chickpeas for Indian curry. Snow peas, lemongrass and baby bok choy for a Chinese stir-fry dish. And Japanese mochi. An afternoon snack or dessert.
Each cuisine serves up memories as well.
