to cyndi. spinning in spain. "excuse me, are you americans. Happy Thanksgiving to you."

26 November 2008
Dear Cyndi, I write to you (these words were written a few days ago)
You sip coffee while spinning in Spain. But I am on a green cot, with a warm blanket, and Rwandan ginger tea, writing in pencil pages and pages of my blue journal. and yesterday was most beautiful.
I had a grand mood dancing around. Why? Thoughts of you. Thoughts of home, thoughts of those who I miss. And through the love that you send me, through our connection, through your time in Ronda, Spain, and my moment in Rwanda, East Africa, our souls hop about in joy and I'm able to love those within my proximity.

Let me tell you of my yesterday:
1. A surprise for Sarah's 22nd birthday. Our group has been a bit tense lately. The 13 of us traveling place to place, wishing we had a more permanent home. Each thinking of his or her loved ones back in the States, while Mbish also thinks of those he connects with in Kenya. I had a nice conversation beneath warm sunrays with Mbish the other day. Comparing romantic truths of Kenya with those of America. Through two cultures, we tried to define love. And this last week has been exhausting. We have been venturing back into villages, this time that of the Cyeza area, and I am struck by the green hued beauty of this land of a thousand hills. And by the children wearing rags. But still smiling.
so we threw Sarah a party. and because we prepared this for her, putting together whatever supplies we could find in our little guest house, we felt a unity. and a happiness.
2. Elizabeth, Kati, and I took an hour drive with Ernest to a pottery place. and then we had to walk a bit. but it was a beautiful hike. and i sat watching a potter at the wheel. and I was inspired. I think without words, my Cyn, you know why.

27 November 2008
Dear Cyndi, I think of you again.
Because today is thanksgiving and we are both far from home. Maybe you are crying; I know that I am a bit teary eyed. Because this is a thanksgiving away from those we love, away from tradition, away from comfort. I talked to Mom, Dad, and Cindy last night. And I wished them a good day. I hope that you were able to hear from your mom, or at least feel her love.

And Cyndi, only 7 weeks til we live in the same home. 7 weeks til we combine our Spanish and East African colors and fabrics and stories. 7 weeks til we are able to join, and just be. To rant, to rave, to love, to laugh. Because Cyndi, On thanksgiving I must give thanks.
I am thankful for professors who sacrifice time to aid us with our dreams.
I am thankful for family, sending love endlessly.
I am thankful for art and free expression. Theatre. Studio. Music.
I am thankful for these 4 months away. Struggling. Loving. Learning.
I am thankful for you. For friends like you. But you. I love your habits. I love when you are so honest and blunt. I love your sunglasses no matter how often you wear them. I love your style and your fearless expression. I love your addiction to coffee and the beatles. Your smile. Your natural pout. Your beautiful curly hair that conquers the world. Your authenticity no matter where. Your truthful mannerisms. Your angry morning moments. Your loud alarms. Your everything. There is nothing that you have that I don't love. Because truly I've been blessed with a sister of the spirit. And no words are able to tell you of my grateful sense of who you are. I MUST give thanks for you.

And today you are lonely. I am sure. As I feel a bit off, too, being in a land away from what I know. But you are nearly away from Spain. And embrace this moment. Soon we will be home. Soon we will see America in a different light. And SO soon can we laugh and cry together.

I am sitting again in a coffee shop while Norah Jones is playing overhead. It is beautiful. And I had an iced latte. And tonight we will celebrate thanksgiving with our family here. A nice feeling.

But as my two friends and I sat here on wonderful couches surrounded by African artwork and Rwandan scented coffee beans, a Rwandan man walked up. He asked if we needed anything, and then began to walk away. Only a few moments, though, and he turns back.

"Excuse me, are you Americans? Happy thanksgiving to you."

Sometimes angels linger near. And I think this angel meant to reach you, as well, dear Cyn.

So I give thanks for breath, for life, and for the ability to share pain and smiles across cultures. And across continents. 15 days until I fly home. And absence makes the heart grow fonder.