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Homeward Bound...

I thought this was fitting, as I feel that Haiti is my other home. 

Homeward bound, I wish I was homeward bound. Home where my thought's escaping, Home where my thought's escaping, home where my music's playing. Home where my love likes waiting silently for me. - Homeward Bound; Simon and Garfunkel 


This year I decided to go to Haiti to ring in the new year with my family.  My wifi was spotty so I didn’t post as much as I thought I would, though I did do some writing. My friend Jack has told me he thinks my entries are too long so I’ve broken them up. I had a great time and my trip was pretty eventful.

Traveling with Mother: 

Traveling with my mother is something that I either never want to do again or need to do every time she goes to Haiti—in order to try and keep her in check.  She is NOT a good traveler.  Generally speaking, I think that my mother has a lot of anxiety.  Some of the anxiety trickles into travel. The problem with that is when I travel with her, her anxiety becomes my anxiety. 

Last year my brother traveled with my parents and had a melt down at the airport. They had pushed him to edge. So I knew this might be an issue. However, there are somethings you need to witness for yourself.  So now you’re wondering what exactly is it that she does that makes me want to take up hard liquor or maybe even hard drugs? Its actually hard to explain.  She seems scattered, unorganized and easily frustrated. She is also, a bad, horrible, not good, terrible packer. Now, full disclosure—I inherited the bad packing gene. I’m an over packer. I’m the what-if-I-get-there-and-find-that-I need-this-beaded-ball-gown packer. Mom seems to over AND under pack at the same time. She also likes to bring food.  Now listen. I know what you think you know about Haiti. And while some of that is true, let me tell you that my family is VERY lucky. We live, not only comfortably, but very well indeed. There is NO reason for my mother to bring the bagged brussel sprout salad from Costco. Sure it’s tasty. I like it myself, but we don’t need to bring it with us. We can have, I dunno, maybe a different type salad? Sorry. (#sorrynotsorry) I’m not bringing SALAD to Haiti. Furthermore my father—a man who missed his calling and really should have been a gentleman farmer has a vegetable garden that it epic. He’s got something there that will make a nice salad. I have flat out refused to be the person who brings in a loin of pork or a fillet mignon in my carry on. Why do I mention those particular items? Because, dear friends, more then once, next to the wedge of brie, I’ve had to wrap the meat in my favorite pair of jeans. 

She also is one of those people who needs to get the airport real early. Because she’s anxious about getting there on time, what she may or may not have forgotten and just flying in general, she’s yelling, and rushing me to move faster. I think 2 hours is more then sufficient. I loathe waiting at the gate. But when traveling with with mother, I wait at the gate.  


Stay tuned for more… 

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