the (oh so enjoyable) weekend.

Here, on the other side of the world, it is Monday morning, which means my weekend is officially over. It was fun while it lasted.

Fun began in the form of laundry, my first attempt since being here, at the house of Houston, where a cup of coffee greeted my arrival.

This was followed closely by a waffle in a paper sleeve, and a bus ticket to Seoul, which would be my first passenger train ride since being alive.

Arriving in Seoul, we took a taxi in search of Mexican food, found in the burrito form, filled with chicken and avocado, from a place called Dos Dacos. Funny fact: There was a Texas License plate on the wall, but instead of Latin tunes, our ears were graced with rap for a good portion of our meal.

Greeting us at Dos Tacos for a taco was Min, a friend of a friend, that lives in Seoul, and so a drop by his house, to see the view, and hear his mad guitar licks, was our next step before continuing on...

To the part of the city that would be considered the mecca of electronics, tents with ripped off DVD's, flea market type buildings with booths housing every camera of every color, speed, mega-pixel, and size...fans, music, massive televisions, washing machines...and every other electronic gadget or essential one could think of.
I bought some RAM, for Baxter, so that he could move a little faster.

We took another taxi to another place, and wandered the streets for a while. I tried on some dresses that didn't make the cut, and then requested the attempted consumption of coffee.

It was acquired at a cafe, where the bread and coffee are free, the ice cream is delicious, and if you like and pay, you can sit your feet in a tub of water for ten minutes and let these crazy little fish eat the dead skin off. I did, and it was frightening, and tickling, and relaxing all at the same time. And, my feet are seriously softer.

Post feet eating fish was a subway ride to the train station, and the purchase of five dollar tickets that allow us to board the bus, without taking a seat.

The ride back to Cheonan was made from varying stair wells, my bottom sitting comfortably on the greasy steps, moving and readjusting each time the train stopped, to let more passengers enter or exit.

Back in the city where I live, we arrived down town in hopes of finding a great little Indian dive, with good friends and good hookah. A walk in the rain brought us to the place that mostly did not disappoint. That part of the evening turned out to be oh so enjoyable, with great lighting, a seat on the floor, getting to know interesting people, in the midst of interesting conversation, and enjoyable drinks.

As all of the above happened in one day, by the time I found rest, it was already the next. When I woke up, I just rested some more. To say it was a lazy Sunday would be an understatement.

In contrast to a morning of isolation, the afternoon held a social visit to an art gallery down town, featuring Chinese artist Qiu Jie, an active artist who currently resides in Switzerland. The show was small, and a few of his pieces were not finished, but the viewing of his work was to me exceptionally enjoyable. Much of the matter being the contrast of social classes, with overlapping worlds crossing in overlapping perspective drawn in multiple layers, with intense attention to detail, but acceptance of imperfection. The canvases were the size of the wall in my apartment, and all of it done WITH A PENCIL.

We followed art with cheap, satisfying food, at which point I began to want ice cream.

A trip back to the house that housed my clean laundry, and the computer doctor who installed Baxter's new speed, was followed by a slow walk home, on a breezy cool evening, with ice cream still on my brain.

Arrival into the little four walled air conditioned box that most of my hours are spent meant the dropping off of clothes and computer, and a reversal turn out of my door, in the direction of Sun Mart, to purchase this mind consuming ice cream. I paced for a good ten minutes, as they didn't have the one I wanted. I settled with some crunch something or other, tore it open, and ate.

Arrival back at home meant the putting away of laundry with one hand, and ice cream in the other. I finished the sweet frozen crunchy milky concoction with no regrets, and wandered into the bathroom to put away my clean wash cloths. Glancing up, I catch a glimpse of my face, with a messy and sweet child-like chocolate ring trimming the lines of my mouth.

fulfillment.

Some things of interest.

I woke today missing coffee...I miss the feel of a warm cup in my hand, during the lull of a slow morning...the aroma, the intricacies of flavor, the feeling of satisfaction when good tasting coffee passes over the flavor sensors of my mouth.

I ate something with tentacles at lunch today. I pretended that the grayish slippery slimy stringy things that were being lifted into my mouth with chopsticks were mushrooms, something I am accustomed to tolerating.

Whatever it was that I ate didn't go over well in my stomach, and during a long solo walk into down town, it threatened to come out. I stand out enough anyway. I began to imagine how much more a tall goofy smiling foreigner would stand out with a mess in her pants. I did not like the image.

I made it to a familiar place before disaster struck: Starbucks. And then I got some coffee.

I had Sulawesi, an Asia Pacific coffee. Asia Pacific (or Indonesian) coffees are known for their earthy aroma, bold flavor, with little to no acidity. This coffee pairs well with cheeses, and pears, and also a greatly relieved me.

picture time.

chris came to bid be farewell, oh so early, at the airport. good friend.



my parents.



this is my look of excitement and anticipation, as I am about to leave Atlanta, turning my cell phone off for the last time.



this is what I look like after being lost, and stumbling through the streets looking for my apartment, that happens to look a lot like all of the other apartments.



these are tomatoes. I would like to be growing some of my own right now. instead, I will live vicariously through all of the magnificent gardens here.





my bed. the flower prints have been toned down thanks to some neutral sheets loaned to me by my friend.



me, in my house, looking in the bathroom mirror, with my bed and the outside window in the background.



my first attempt at cooking.



my dishes cannot get too out of hand, as these are all that I have.



this is cedric the gnome. he is visiting me on my travels, and will accompany my roommates on theirs. he is sitting in the window of a bus in Korea.



this is a rose garden I pass on the way to where I buy things. I haven't any idea what it says.



I was trying to not be obvious while taking this picture, but I couldn't resist.



this is an underground tunnel I sometimes walk through to get from one side of the street to another.



this was the sun setting last night. I passed it on my way to the bus stop. I accomplished my first solo attempt at using public transportation in a foreign country last night. woot woot.



and this is me, in Korea, with buildings in the background covered in words that I do not understand.

enough time.

In a few hours, I will have hit my one week anniversary.

So many people live a life scattered with the statement, "there just isn't enough time!" or "I wish I could add more hours to my day!".

My days here are filled with time. I cannot accurately make that statement. During the seasons of my life when I could, there were always things I said I would do if, in fact, I had more time. I would cook more, which I have been doing a little since being here. I would run more. I just finished a thirty minute run. And I would read more. Today, I finished reading, "Things Fall Apart," by Chinua Achebe. It's an appropriate read, delving into the history and tradition of cultures, and what happens when cultures overlap, and sometimes clash. It talks about the arrogance of the people that see one way of doing things, and haphazardly and carelessly crush those traditions that they don't understand, and are a little afraid of.

When I am home, the culture of my house is open. We are welcomers of all kinds of people. We like to create space for people to be themselves. We like find reasons to gather people together. My favorite passage in this book hit on this idea, and its importance. In the book, an elder is making the statement to one of the younger men in the tribe, encouraging him to keep this custom alive.

"A man who calls his kinsmen to a feast does not do so to save them from starving. They all have food in their own homes. When we gather together in the moonlit village it is not because of the moon. Every man can see it on his own compound. We come together because it is good for kinsmen to do so."

My entire family is at my house right now, including my brothers and their children. On Sunday my mom had everyone important, their kinsmen, over to the house to celebrate my brother being home, and his twenty-eighth birthday. I could not make it, as the trip would have been a little inconvenient. But even though I was not there, I find great joy in the fact that the people in my life make time to come together, because it is good to do so.

a list of some things.

I have spent many years apologizing too much. I am learning to do that less by not apologizing when I bump into someone here. They do not apologize or move out of the way, not because of their rudeness, but because they are not bothered by being bumped into.

I have started flossing again.

My apartment floor that is attempting the appearance of wood, but is actually so sort of plastic material, is the perfect surface for the practicing of push-ups.

I made eggs for the first time, possibly ever, without the use of salt and pepper a few days past.

After neglecting to use the air conditioning in my large Oklahoma house prior to arrival here, the air conditioning of a one room apartment is absolutely, insanely cold. It is free to me, though I find little use in its use.

Black bean milk is quite delicious.

This place is also referred to as "The Land of the Morning Calm". My life is fittingly very calm here, most times of the day.

The children I teach have guessed that I am from Australia, Mexico, and Canada. They seem a little disappointed when I draw the map of the US, and show them the state of Oklahoma.

I miss my oven. I googled a recipe for stove-top brownies, and came up with only one possibility, requiring the use of a cast iron skillet. I have neither an oven or a cast iron skillet. I am out of brownie luck.

The culture does not promote the use of a "bless you" after a sneeze. When I sneeze, I am left to deal with that tingling feeling in my nose all alone.

Words from music, gifted to me as well as purchased digitally, including Belle and Sebastian, The Shins, Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes, and David Gray, have temporarily replaced the voices of my roommates living in my house with the pro-conversation front porch, envied by many neighbors.

I have access to the roof of my apartment, and it's a lovely place to visit on a breezy June evening.

I am glad I came.

sea lion woman.

Much has happened that I want to write about since the last time I blogged. Therefor, this post will hold stories from multiple days, possibly out of order in both days and events. If you can keep up and follow, may God be smiling upon you.

I just finished a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to fill that which was lost after my first official run in Korea. I have walked much, going somewhere to somewhere else, but this morning I adventured out on my first exploratory run that ended in bliss. A special thanks to a racing mind, sunshine, lush green vegetation and motion inducing music in the form of Feist, helpful elements to a really fantastic run. While following the line of roads on the way out of town, which mean less buildings and more trees, I stumbled upon a hill and got excited. Running up the hill, while matching all of my steps to the guitar strings being strung in Sea Lion Woman, I found the rush I was looking for, and also felt a little silly upon remembering I was in a public place.

There is a man that drives around the streets of Cheonan with watermelon in the back of his truck, speaking in Korean, loudly and passionately, something along the lines of, “Come, buy my watermelon!”.

Saturday was a good day. While standing outside the movie theater after watching “Get Smart”, I was alone waiting for my movie buddy, and I realized, in the midst of so many people, that I was really in the minority. I fear that sounds arrogant, but it’s not a place I have often found myself in, and it was eye opening. This overwhelming feeling was followed by the consumption of krispy kreme donuts, which will bring most anyone, including myself, back down to a comfortable level. Sitting there, I recognized and acknowledged two things: I love donuts, and men in Korea carry purses for their wives and girlfriends. This is almost as perplexing to me as the watermelon truck guy. I thought just one of the men was crazy in love and felt a need to do anything to help his companion, and then I looked around and saw men carrying plaid colorful bags, Louis Vuitton, white bags with ornate buckles and ornate straps in one hand, and their companion’s actual hand in the other. I was in awe. I tried to picture my dad gladly carrying my mom’s purse for her, and laughed a little out loud.

A few highlights without going into too much detail: Lunch on Saturday was Samgyeopsal. And it was so very delicious. Fresh. Spicy. Vegetables. We cooked the meat on a grill in front of us, added garlic, onion, some salty concoction that was the perfect balance of flavor, with kimchi and a spicy salsa like dip...wrapped it all in lettuce and shoved it in our mouths. My reaction was a little over the top, to some, but it was overwhelmingly tasty...and easy...and fresh...and cheap.

I also played some surprisingly fun ping pong with potential new friends, and had my first encounter with Korean beer, which wasn’t as awful as everyone has made it out to be.

Yesterday was by far the most difficult day since I have been here. Don’t worry mom, I am fine. But it was that slap in the face that I will inevitably spend a lot of time alone. I had a conversation with Mary about it before I left, that this reality was the one thing I was concerned about, and while in my apartment for hours, having not uttered a word the entire day to anyone, I realized I was in the midst of what we had been talking about...what I wanted to be aware of. I am ok being alone. There have been many seasons of my life where that was the case. But never in a foreign country, where I cannot communicate well with anyone around me. I was able to pull it together, get some essentials at the grocery, including a mug with which I can drink tea and instant coffee (gasp!) from. And then I called Houston, and walked there to see a familiar face, and finished the evening with a lovely walk and conversation with my new barely-known but much-liked friend Hyerin. And then I started to breath well again.

A conversation with family, and the hearing of the nephews voices can scatter light into even the darkest of days. And smiles from strangers are very helpful, instead of looks of awe and confusion at the foreigner.

I also had some ice cream that was, honestly, helpful.

Here is an excerpt from an email I sent to a friend today. I don’t have the mental energy to re-write it, so make sense of it if you can. Also, this is one of those parts that’s out of order, so apologies to all of my orderly readers.

“I managed to pry myself out of bed around two in the afternoon, and I got ready for the day, still with a sick, dissatisfied feeling in the deep of my gut. I put on a bright yellow shirt, and skinny jeans and red shoes, and ventured to the lote-mart to get a mug to make tea in, and a usb chord to upload some pics onto the internet. I stood in the food court, contemplating getting something for dinner, and there is someone yelling out something in Korean, touting all of the benefits of the vegetables you are looking at, prodding people to buy. There are so many people in there, and I can tell if what I am looking at are massive carrots or sweet potatoes, and I begin to feel completely overwhelmed, my mind is racing in fear and confusion and I just want to put down my basket I am holding and run. So I stand there for a minute, and pull myself together, and decide I am not going to let the produce department win. I put a massive carrot in a bag, and point to some fresh garlic so that a woman can help me get it, and some potatoes and tofu, found the salt and pepper and olive oil, and then decide it's ok to go. I walk out and open the bottle I thought would be water and take a swig of some clear flavored energy drink, and laugh.”

teacher! teacher!

With all of the walking preparation I did prior to arrival, I failed to picture myself carrying heavy items. So now, though my legs and arse feel like normal, shins and ankles...not so much. But forearms should look quite nice by the time I leave.

When envisioning what my teaching job would look like before arriving, I had seen two days of training, a weekend to process, and then dive into it Monday afternoon. After arriving and the lifting of the delusional veil, I discovered it would be more like...a few hours of training on Thursday, followed by an unexpected six hours of teaching on Friday, as someone had to leave early, and there was no one else. I volunteered to teach on Friday, as I am the new girl and I didn't want to look like a wimp. And I also had a little help from the a seasoned teacher on the side before embarking. But around four in the afternoon yesterday, thirty minutes before class, I was nervous-about-to-vomit-intimidated-by-small-Korean-children-may-be-losing-my-mind scared.

It's funny. I am not used to feeling that way. I could get up and give a speech to strangers, no problem. Or fly across an ocean to a foreign place, with nerves in check. Move to another state and find a job, with nothing but a degree and a smile. But the thought of myself in a room with a lesson plan and twelve small kids, and sanity and ease are nowhere to be found.

And then, something happened. A funny little boy came in and sat his bag down at the very back desk, farthest from me, and ran. Then a crazy kid hopping with one shoe on and one shoe off stumbled into his seat, put his other shoe on, and left the room. The first female student arrived, and asked me my name. I replied, "Meredith" and then sighed in relief. I remembered how wonderful children are, even the bratty ones. And that they may be a little afraid of me too. And the ones that aren't afraid are kind. They arrive, in their fear and kindness, sit, and then speak in Korean so that I have no idea what they are saying about me. I laugh, and joke with them, and accept the ease that I now feel.

My second class was more like a tutoring session. I went from twelve small children in my first class to two junior high students, a boy and a girl. Boy was tired of studying, and is probably sitting across from me simply because his wealthy parents make him. Girl loves studying, because studying means tests, and tests show "how great you are". Dedicated is not the correct word. Obsessive, rather. After announcing to me each time she finished something, I watched her flip to the back of the book to work on next weeks homework. She is also my new hero.

She wants to be a doctor of psychology, and study in the states. In Korea, Psychology, she said, is not really accepted. It usually means you are crazy, when in reality, you may just be "stressed". But that's not the way most people see it. She went to a therapist when she was small, and it helped her, and she wants people to see that it can help them too. She wants to try and help foster a changed perspective in her culture about something she believes in. And she is in the eighth grade.

a full day.

From one apartment to another, it's about a thirty minute walk with nothing in one's hands.

With two hands full of clothes and a computer and cleaning supplies that will hopefully make apartment #2 inhabitable, it's longer.

With two hands full of said stuff, and upon nearing one's arrival to said apartment, getting all turned around (a kind way of saying lost) because all of the damn apartment buildings look the same to you, and because the only other time you saw it was after being awake for an extended amount of time due to a fly over the ocean, the walk becomes more of a journey.

My walk today was a journey, and it was funny and frustrating and practically tear inducing and fantastic. I called my friend after steeling someone's internet in order to down load skype so that I could make the call before Baxter began to nap. I found the school, then a teacher, who helped me find my previous mentioned-at-the-time-bedless-apartment. And then I at a sandwich and drank about four gallons of water and sat down, and smiled.

The Lote-Mart was a much easier find, but the confidence I had during my walk vanished when I began to wander the isles. Choosing tea has never been so difficult, as the description was (fittingly and appropriately) in Korean. I was afraid to separate the bananas from their bushel, and temporarily contemplated purchasing fifteen. Then I realized that was silly and used gestures to ask permission. Help arrived from the produce weigher that puts a little sticker on all of your weighable purchases. Finding wheat bread was like trying to find vegetarian friendly fare in a hole-in-the-wall barbeque joint known for it's ribs. But as the vegetarians find the french fries, I found a straggling loaf in the midst of all the bright white bread. I looked like a lost puppy dog, but I did it, and now I have food, and a rug to set outside my bathroom so as to not track water all over my clean floor, and some adventurous looking milk made from black beans.

The highlight of the day was a hot, healthy, cheap Korean meal, eaten in good company with the use chop-sticks when appropriate...followed by a surprisingly delicious green tea ice cream cone, and shortly, sleep on the bed that arrived today, with a different flower print on every linen. A photo, for your viewing pleasure:




Writer's note: Hope you enoy reading, because every time something crazy or contrastingly mundane happens, I think to myself, "I can write about this!" So there you go...a possibility of frequent notes for you about what I look like in this place.

my temporary residence.

I made it.

Currently, I sit on my friend Houston's bed, the bed I was able to sleep in, while he graciously slumbered on the floor. I have seen what will be my home for the next five weeks, but a bed has yet to arrive.

My heart got giddy when I heard the planes wheels being let down before landing. I think it was as much excitement over the freaking long plane ride being over as anything else. Walking off of the plane I wandered through the airport like some confused foreigner who didn't know what to do next. Perhaps because I was (and am) one. So I followed everyone else, as if I did know what I was doing, and I laughed at myself and the entertainment brought forth from my cultural stupidity.

There are tall buildings and vegetable gardens on corner lots in the middle of a city and crazy drivers and bright florescent lights lighting the overcrowded sidewalks from the overcrowded stores crammed with merchandise meant to preserve image, as I am told that is an important part of the society I find myself in.

My first adventure of the day shall be a visit to the Lote Mart, to purchase some food to fill my fridge so that I will not starve. There are actually ventilated cages at this fine Wal-Mart like establishment for those interested in bringing their pets to the grocery store. I will also purchase some incredibly beautiful fresh raspberries that I passed on the sidewalk last night, in the midst of that my-body-may-shut-down-at-any-moment feeling, due to the nature of time, and the fact that it was nine in the evening here, but seven in the morning where my body knew it should be.

Right now, my heart is thankful for a friend to show me the ropes, and the fact that there are not coffee timers going off about every thirty minutes reminding me to re-brew, and also the challenge of having to figure a few things out on my own.

almost there.

And so I sit, surrounded by plastic bags of travel goodness and wrapping remnants from a splurge of purchased music that I am currently downloading onto Baxter so as to be synced with recently purchased, not yet named, IPod. I thought of a name while running on Friday but it must have been fleeting, because now, I cannot remember.

In my room are organized piles of goods and necessities I am hoping to sustain me during my time in Asia. I call myself, from time to time, a minimalist. It's these moments in life where this theory is put to the test.

In a little over sixteen hours I will be boarding a plane that will take me to the place that has the plane that will take me across the ocean. I am giddy, excited and also, a little bit sad, to be leaving behind faithful goodness in the form of friends and an enviable porch and hopeful possibilities. But to these things I shall return, so right now, I am mostly just giddy and excited about the goodness I am going to.

My coworkers and friends have showered gifts and kindness upon me, letting me know that they will "miss" me, and to have "a great time" and "be careful". This kind of behavior perplexes me. I often get on my own nerves. I can't really feasibly understand being missed. I often feel selfish and bossy and obnoxious. I would think their sentiments toward me would be something near the opposite. But alas, I will not complain, as it's humbling, and kind, and much appreciated. The travel kit from Lori was much appreciated, as well as the ITunes gift card from Heather that I used to purchase a David Gray album, that has become my official packing soundtrack.

Speaking of packing, I must finish. The next time I am heard from by the readers of this page, I will be sitting at my computer at a desk in an apartment in South Korea. Until then.

a corner of porch time.

very. cloudy.

Brooding mood is how I would describe my state today. Many acts of disappointment filtered throughout. Hungry most of the time. Agitated. Annoyed. Not enough.

I came home to a warm and toasty house, as we are queens of conservation and have stood against the gods of air conditioning. I walked into this warmth post excessive bouts of disappointment, meaning the heat added greatly to the agitated state.

Then I fell asleep, because that's all I could do.

And then I woke up, and attempted to shut the mind off by acts domestication in the form of laundry. And then I decided to go for my walk. As I wander into the living room to put something away, I see the rain pouring down outside. The warm, spring rain. Warming up my house and inhibiting me from taking my leisurely afternoon walk. Disappointment abounds.

Instead, I clean more. And then my roommate gets home, and I share with her why I am in a brooding mood. And then the other living mate arrives, and she hands me the roll of paper towels, and I throw it at the spinning ceiling fan. If you read often, you will remember why.

I am still hungry.

So I order food, because I don't want to cook in my house that's cooking itself. And I pick it up, sit on the porch with two of my best friends, and contemplate the consumption of too much alcohol. I drink one vodka based beverage, with my pacific coast fish tacos, and dream of beginning another. And then it hits me, with the cool of the post rain evening breeze: my soul needs no more vodka, but rather, a walk, to help me breathe in and then out, and then in again, and so on.

And so in I go, to take off my summer dress and put on my walking shoes. In all honesty, I didn't notice much the majority of the time. Not many simple subtle stories filtered throughout my steps. I was mostly inside of my own head, which was ok, as that was the motivator, the reality that pushed me out of our patio furniture and on the the pavement.

I talked to myself, God, etc. I was happy and frustrated. Not equally. More frustrated. Less happy. Usually annoyed. Thankful for the steps I was taking, and the relief that comes with focusing on placing one foot in front of the other. It's lessens the excessive confusion.

Toward the end of my journey, past the park and kids and ever present tightie whities, and through TU and the breathing in of academia and fraternity row, off to the business of Harvard, the street that indicates the end, I thoughtlessly looked up to my left and the setting of the sun that indicated the end of my disappointing day, and the damn cloud that took up the majority of the sky had an obnoxious, explicit, unmistakable silver lining.

a little something.

I recently learned that a very important walk I will be making will last somewhere around thirty-six minutes. Consequently, that was the aim of today's walk.

As I am about to go and eat some protein in form of beef, post workout, I shall make it brief.

I went further down on the street that leads to the park today, which means I passed by the front of the sky blue house on steroids instead of the back. There is definitely still a Christmas wreath on their front door.

I have looked at two yellow fire hydrants post darling discovery, and neither have that word carved in their surface.

I noticed an old house with those metal awnings over their windows, likely present since the building of the house. There were worn out "S's" on the front of each of the worn out awnings, and I thought it would be funny if the home's inhabitants last name was actually Thompson.

The end.

Burger time.

water.

I thought much about rising early this morning to walk before work, letting the darkness of the pre-sunrise be the source of today’s walking adventure. And then I changed my mind.


Instead, I went for a walk after work, in the center of the afternoon sun. There is something in me that loves that. I like a challenge. That is why I have always had running as a semi-regular-depending-on-the-season-and-state-of-mind part of my life. And the challenge of pushing through when it’s really hot and it’s all in your hands - you can quit at any time - is fun for me. In light of that, I ran more than usual, past the shirtless young men hitting baseballs, and the random pair of tightie-whitie’s laying atop a patch of contrasting green grass. And then I walked some, eventually receiving the urge to run up stairs. I love the elevated heart rate and shortness of breath that is difficult to attain with a walk, and sometimes even a run. I found the stairs, in the alley, leading to the fire escape, along the back of the aged and worn Orthodox Christian Church. They were rusty and also exactly what I needed.

On the way home, I went back through the park, staying a little longer to play, in the water that comes out of the ground that had NO age appropriate sign posted. I ditched the shoes, pushed the magic button, and ran around for a while through cool water bliss, without care. I have found a new favorite spot in this city. The center of the universe is a letdown. The sprinkler system in the center of Kendall Wittier park is not.

In addition to preparing for the walking that I anticipate will be a big part of my time in Asia, I have also had the notion that I should prepare myself mentally for the time I will be spending alone. Tonight, my roommates are gone to the going away gathering of a friend we do not share. I called another dear friend to see if she wanted to to nothing together, and she had to do something with someone else. After hanging up the phone with her, I thought to myself it was probably for the best. Tonight I will enjoy the evening in solitude, on my front porch, with the breeze and the swaying trees, possibly a beer, and a book titled “Things Fall Apart”. It’s true. They do. Though I am enjoying this season, where things seem to be staying together.