Post scripts and reflections (and dissolving title creativity)

I know I used this idea last week when I reflected on driving to Luhomero 4 times-- that rap about 4 being not too few and not too many, being that sweet spot, the curve on the bat. 

Maybe that's the goal? End up on a path in your life where the trees and curves in the road and the hilly parts and even some of the people you pass look familiar. But on that same path, make sure there are still new things to notice. And notice them. 

Don't go soft or stale. 

Am I making myself clear? No? It's okay. I'm just flirting with the idea of this forum becoming Inspiration Central (C). 

Let's see (drum ring, middle, and pointer). Oh yes. I'm recalling the intent of this florid first stanza. 

Two months in a given place -in mine, Malawi- is an equally interesting amount of time. Arriving here feels like yesterday, and yet the familiarity and comfort of my surroundings is uncanny. Maybe I got ridiculously lucky because Malawi is a crazy unbelievable place, but it wasn't hard to ease into routine here. Though every day we smile and laugh and even at times get cold and serious with regard to the new realities we're observing when it comes to the developing world, this place (this country... this village...) feels like home. 

(It's an amazing thing that happens when you're head isn't so full to the brim with the goings ons that you have time to reflect on things like this. AKA: NYC, I love you, but this break has been refreshing.)

Alright. It's Sunday morning and let's review the line-up: church, tea-time, a second tea-time, and then we're going to climb this nearby small mountain that offers a sweeping view of the surroundings. Emily's worried because I do not have proper climbing shoes, apparently, but I'm anticipating no issues. 

Have a good Sunday,

Rebecca

PS: lots of laughs over the last handful of nights brought to us by The Bachelorette, which was recorded for us and arrived in Malawi with my parents a few weeks back. We've been watching with the girls from Northern Ireland, who are staying in the Guest House too-- the four of us have a conjoined bathroom, if that makes sense. Emily and my door to the mutual bathroom is basically broken (shocking) so every time we open it it makes a sound equivalent to a gunshot. It's pleasant. 

PPS: I forgot how much I love post-scripts. A few nights ago I was attacked by a spider and have a track of red enlargements from my knuckles to my wrist to my elbows. Joint distribution. 

PPPS: At the moment, one of the British girls (do you know people from Northern Ireland go by 'British') is playing guitar (we hear it through the bathroom). It has prompted a conversation between Emily and me about our past musical pursuits. It is 7am.