Hello internet. It has been a while – life has been stressful, there is a side project, and some gatherings of family and friends have required some fun planning. If all works out, I will tell you about the side project within a few weeks. But today, I want to celebrate friends and fall leaves.

Last year I waited and waited to bag the carpet of leaves that fell from the trees in my yard. You can read abut me carrying what seemed like endless bags on my head up a rather long lawn here. The experience made me think about the grand irony that I love big, old trees and the deep, varied colors of fall, and yet the raking and bagging of leaves made me want to live in an apartment surrounded by cement sidewalks.

This year I had grand plans to attack a piece of the yard each weekend until it was done. (Yes, if I had true perseverance, I could work hard and finish it in a weekend. But I don’t.) And so two weekends ago I did about a half of my front lawn. 12 bags and I was impressed with myself. The next Saturday, Elizabeth and Joel volunteered their help. In three and a half hours we had raked the rest of the front and all of the back yard, took a break for smoothies, bagged 25 bags of leaves, and somehow managed to fit 33 bags of leaves into 3 cars, and empty the bags at the city compost. And the rest of the evening was filled with Trader Joe’s Chinese food, Blokus, Scrabble, and laughter.

And that is the power of friendship. Three strangers might have been able to accomplish the same task, but there would not have been laughter. There would not have been camaraderie, and there would not be hearts full from having worked alongside friends. This was one of those afternoons in life that lived up to the cliche expression, “many hands make light work.” Thank you dear friends for teaching me how I can continue to love those big old trees and fall colors.

A while back I made a smart ass sign to try and get people to load their dishes into the dishwasher at work. A few days ago a lawyer with whom we share the building asked for one of similar tone about washing of hands given that it is flu season. I hope this makes him happy.

I am an aunt. On Thursday, September 24, my little little brother Chris and his lovely wife Esther had their first child. Little little brother you ask? Well, yes. I have two younger brothers and he is the younger of the two, so he is little little brother. The fact that he is by far the tallest of the three siblings just makes me smile EVERY time I say it.

Since we found out Esther was pregnant 8 months ago, I have been saying, “The kids are having kids.” You see, Chris and Esther knew what they wanted and got married 2.75 years ago. Crazy. Insane. At 21 & 22 years of age they knew what they wanted and were willing to commit to it. COMMIT – a shocking word in this day and age. And so I have jokingly called them the kids ever since. For the past 8 months Esther’s belly has grown and somehow it kind-of-maybe seemed real that there was about to be another addition to the Crane family, but it was surreal.

On Thursday surreal became real when Liam Hussein arrived 2.5 weeks early at a healthy 6 lbs 13 oz. He is going to be the only tall skinny white kid with Irish and Arab names in any school he attends (middle name after the late King Hussein of Jordan). The labor was without drugs, feeding is breast milk, and the diapers cloth. Yep, the kids are having kids. I am so proud of them and maybe, just maybe, when I grow up I can be like them.

Awesome (said in a sarcastic tone). I kid you not. My first night in Lira, I was tired, so took a nap after dinner. Then I got up somewhat refreshed and did a bit of computer work – on my bed of course. (It might not seem so, but location and object here are critical to the story.) A while later, I convinced myself to find out if there really was hot water in the shower as it looked like there should be. I say this because I have long since learned that a hot water faucet is not a guaranteed correlation to there actually being hot water. Half way through washing my hair hot water appeared and I nearly did a happy dance in the shower. Flossed my teeth, brushed my teeth, and put my pjs on. This last part is critical. Pjs on. The same thin cotton pajama pants that I taken on these trips and worn in the summer for quite a while… ok… probably a good 4 years. The mosquito net here had to be maneuvered a bit – at first look, I thought it was a great design. But then I was kneeling on my double bed in an attempt to arrange the net above me. Mid-air, about to put that knee down in a new spot, I realized I was about to kneel on my laptop, and so do some sort of awkward movement of the leg in order to avoid the most precious laptop: riiiip. A nice long, unrepairable rip is now down the left leg of my pj pants. Not only do I love these, until now, faithful pants, but they are the only ones I brought with me. Yes, that image in your head of me standing in my hotel room looking down at my tattered pants is exactly as funny as you think it is. And as I broke out in laughter I thought, “I saved the computer.” Awesome.

Time is such a beautiful and odd thing. As I write this I am sitting with at a bar in the Salt Lake City airport drinking a local amber. (Yes, I love the irony of drinking local brew in Mormon country.) When I land in Nashville in a few hours I will have 19 hours from touchdown to take off for Africa. 19 hours to do laundry, the final bits of packing, sleep, have a pile of meetings, set up some more electronics, recharge a few batteries, and get on the next flight. 19 hours in which I will get much accomplished, test the theories of multi-tasking, and hopefully enjoy one last soak in my tub while watching a tv show on the trusty mac.

The last five days were spent in Montana pulling up childhood memories. I spent two nights at a cabin my grandfather built in Essex, which is basically across the highway from Glacier National Park. He died of old age and strokes while I was in college, but the cabin remains. Grandpa has no time left, but the cabin remains not quite frozen in time. Walks in cool mountain air, huckleberries and raspberries on wild bushes, and the trains not far away crossing the Continental Divide.

Then two nights in Cut Bank, the small town where my mom grew up which appears as a cluster of homes and trees surrounded by endless wheat fields and dry prairie grass. At night here the constellations still grace the night sky; this state is not called Big Sky for nothing. Grandma still lives in the home my mom grew up in – the one where we made more s’mores in the backyard and pinned on superman capes that were really towels as kids. Grandma is old and wrinkly, but still grandma, and she is still holding onto life. My other Grandpa lives down the street from grandma and is starting to fall to Alzheimer’s. Stories are repeated more than normal and there is much amazement that clothes can come out of the dryer completely dry – if you know how to use it. Here time is regressing and moving forward all in one. Somehow it seems appropriate that in this town with insanely wide streets that few people reach the 25 mph speed limit.

Before long my 19 hours in Nashville will begin, and I am working on getting my brain up to speed as it seems to have been put in the cruise control mom now uses to not speed in Cut Bank. I am headed from no cell reception or email to a life dictated by my iphone. From slow time to fast forward – all just a plane ride away in this nation that we call the United States of America.

This is the sign now hanging above the sink at work as a reminder that there is, in fact, not a fairy who moves dirty dishes from the sink to the dishwasher. Who would have guessed? LH and I rather proud of it.

As I sit to write this, I feel rich because of the camping trips I have had this season. Not because they were to the most exotic places imaginable, but because they were trips made with friends and lasting memories were created. There were 2 trips in Tennessee, 1 in Kentucky, 1 in North Carolina, and 1 in Washington. On 2 of the trips people came from 4 different cities to join in on the fun. We hiked, told stories, played games, cooked food, had deep conversations, burned wood (and other things), and laughed much. Friends plus nature is so beautiful and good for the soul. Here are some of the people, some of the laughter, from those trips. (One trip has no photo documentation due to much rain… so here are pictures from four trips.)

Four friends from college days reunited.

Marriage is good.

So is falling in love.

“Come on Pam… I’ll help you make it over the barbed wire fence.” On this hike, I was the only person under 6 feet tall. And yes, with help, I did make it.

I told you there was laughter.

For mother and daughter, fantasy stories fill the hours.

“Aren’t you impressed with my packing?”

Getting ready to hike a beach on the Pacific Ocean to find a campsite.

Down there is where we camped listening to the ocean through the night. Just like camping when I was a kid – except a lot colder.

That mustache is the source of endless conversations. That look… well… what is family for but to document such things?!

My beautiful mom.

This was course one of dinner that night. Yes, we are all diving into the pot with spoons so as to avoiding doing dishes as much as possible.

Just to demonstrate that I do in fact believe in eating well while camping.

The brothers use creative measures when no ladder is available.

“L come over here and help out.” “What?” “You are so much lighter than M.” I love the expressions on their faces.

No, he is not an invalid. Yes, there was laughter.

I love listening to the rain. Not a huge fan of overcast, but the sound of rain I love. Light rain or thunderous, pounding rain – every bit of it is fantastic. It is soothing and peaceful and wonderful.

I am that person who turns off the ac and fans at night because it means I can hear the rain, the birds, the crickets, and the trains. It is far too easy when inside insulated structures to forget that we are not alone here on planet earth.

I also think that not wearing much clothing is fantastic. I love wearing wraps. Sarongs. Boombas. Kangas. Kikoys. They are bathrobes and skirts and dresses and table clothes and shawls all in one – always full of color. They do nothing for one’s figure and they are the essence of comfort. And now I have a traditional American bathrobe made of orange and purple Tanzanian kikoys. Fabulous. And now when I blow dry my hair I will no longer have to adjust my wrap to make sure it stays on.

There is something fabulous about eating food out of the pots they were made in and drinking beer out of a can. Tapioca pudding – made at home, never store bought. Some people don’t like the texture, but I find the whole equation to be simply divine. Smooth creaminess, some texture, milk in large doses, and Dominican vanilla. Trader Joe’s Simple Time beer… simple and unassuming, it belongs on a porch in the rain.

And so that is me. Right now. Dressed in my orange Tanzanian/American robe, sitting on my porch with the ac and fans off inside, hearing and feeling the rain, empty pot of tapioca pudding and nearly empty beer sitting beside me. Life has been busy and full. Full of fun and deep conversation. And I needed a night just for me – just to breathe. Maybe another day you will here about the fun and thinking that has been had. For now, this is simply perfect.

I have not been reading as much as I should and have a few books that have been stalled in their last chapters, but I have been reading. What I have not been doing is posting on the books I have been reading. I have been a slacker. I’m going to try and get caught up before long. Here are a few of them. 

This blog began as a place to share with loved ones a piece of my life as it happened in a village in West Africa every summer. It became a year-round blog after my final summer in village when I decided that taking time to write about life was a good practice. It was good because it forced me to see my daily happenings in a good light – to see my coffee shops and research and writing as the beautiful things of my daily living. 

Recently I have struggled with the question of what to share in this space  and what boundaries I should or should not keep. On other people’s websites I enjoy reading humorous and deep anecdotes of friends and strangers alike. I become lost in thought and I laugh out loud. But this provides no insight into what I do here, and so I take this site one step at a time. 

Thus far, each step of this blog has added a piece of what finds its way through my mind on a regular basis. Several things that I have recently been encouraged in will be finding their way onto this space in various shapes and forms in the near future. The first of these is photography, a continual side hobby of mine. Some of my favorite images captured on digital will make their way to the new page I have added. Maybe someday this will become something more. 

Beyond my photos, I will be adding two blog categories: memories and spirituality. How often am I sent back through time to my childhood as I prepare for a camping trip, smell certain foods, prepare to travel, or have one ‘too’ many staying at my house? I love the rich images, smells, and locations these bring through my mind in an instant. Maybe you have seen my eyes daze off as my mind wanders–these will be some of the cause of that. 

Just as memories slip through my mind, so do thoughts on spirituality that start in a wide array of places: magazine articles, books, the Bible, sermons, conversations, and people’s actions. Sometimes they are clear, cohesive thoughts, and sometimes they are scattered and disjointed. Often there is a continual growing of thoughts as patterns emerge and ideas become stronger and more formed over time. Rarely is anything conclusive, awe-inspiring, or life-altering. But, they are a piece of my journey. 

If you are sarcastically wondering when I will get around to these things, time will tell. I plan to return to the practice of writing at least once week as the practice of recorded reflection is good, and one I have missed. I hope that you enjoy these additions and I that they spark thought and conversation with you. 

One of the joys of returning to Tanzania, beyond time with the parentals, was reconnecting with friends made last year. Not least of these is a young friend who, with her mom and sister, took an 8 hour bus trip from up-country to visit for a few days. BR is my birthday buddy – we share a birthday 22 years apart. A random highlight of this visit: teaching BR the American pronunciation of a few words. While it is funny to take away the posh, Birtish sing-songy pleasant pronunciation of such words as water, bath, and beer, it is “No” that seems most appropriate when said in a harsh American accent. This was just one of the causes for many smiles and much laughter last weekend.