Perfectly unplanned...

Three weeks after departure I find myself drinking peppermint tea beside my father and brother, recuperating from an absolutely epic Thanksgiving dinner.  Yes, I am home . . . not in Europe.  Surprisingly, however, I can say that with absolute contentment.
After three weeks of history, foreign friends, food, airplanes and architecture I was able to make it back for one of the most reliable days of the year: Thanksgiving Day.  Thanks to my ability to sleep on Que, I acclimated back to east coast time quite nicely.  Matthew, Dad and I kicked the day off by buying the best coconut pie in Wilkes county, and yes, devoured it... at Biscuitville before they brought our breakfast out.  We learned that the restaurant actually buys the pies from an eighty-year-old woman which explains its excellence.  It was great preparation for the yummy goodness that awaited us in Grandmas kitchen. 
There was only five of us gathered: Grandma, Grandma Swaim (great grandma, 100!), Dad, Matthew and myself, making the whole day feel so intimate. After eating the stories began, we recited poems, and shortly switched over to singing old gospel songs with Grandma Swaim.  A few words into every song, and she was already singing along, slowly clapping her hands, and left foot tapping down by her mini heater.  She must have asked Grandma four times tonight when the man was supposed to come and fix the furnace. 
Grandma and I ran to town for a newspaper so we could plot out our black Friday shopping route and it turned out to be an adventure.  We went to the nearest grocer and found nothing.  The next two gas stations were both dry, also.  Last hope: the actual newspaper office downtown.  Grandma was certain we would find nothing and deemed the Thanksgiving day print the biggest one of the year.  All you could hear when we pulled up was the faint sound of passing cars suddenly broken by a roar of laughter when we saw one paper waiting for us in the dispenser. We road home with perfect grins and Grandma began the hour long venture of clipping coupons.
Matthew was enjoying story time with Grandma Swaim when we walked in the door. A hundred years under ones belt should make you great, but I still am astounded by how unbelievably witty she is.  It's absolutely arguable who was having more fun out of the two of them. Both glowing, Matthew was capturing her stories on video, each divided with a sweet smile and silence.
Somehow I switched Matthew seats.  He moved to the living room joining Grandma sifting through newspapers, and Dad steadfast asleep on the couch. Grandma Swaim and I played two rounds of clubfist ending in a score of two: zip. Her favor, of course.  I've actually never beat her.  Yes, I've tried.  Only my siblings would understand fully, but to gain empathy... the game ends by announcing that the first person to simply grin or show teeth gets nine pinches.  To anyone who has seen a hundred-year-old put on their "serious face"; it's in my top ten mental photo bank of images that instantly make you laugh.  God knows I love loosing to her. 
After half an hour of Grandma insisting we eat more food she announced her hunger and came back to the kitchen.  Horrified at the prospect of having to oblige her by consuming even more food, we silently and unanimously decided to leave. Dad and I were giving Grandma a group hug when we were hushed by an amplified Grandma Swaim's voice with the announcement of Matthew offering a prayer.
Suddenly there was an overwhelming sense of peace, the prayer ended, and Grandma Swaim was crying. The reverence subsided as we exchanged hugs and confirmed plans for tomorrow in our normal voices: loud. 
As always, I stepped through Grandma's big blue door and turned around to an absolutely perfect picture:  Grandma seeing us out, excited, and Grandma Swaim in her little brown rocking chair, blue cushion, faded peach hair knit, and sweater over her lap.  I watched her faded blue eyes follow our dark silhouettes dissolve into the distance. I knew she couldn't see or hear us, but her eyes smiled, and I wished for a second that I could see the world through her eyes. Her world where "beauty is as beauty does."
We made it back just in time.
I'm so thankful for family.

Step One!

  The phone rings with exciting news of an approaching American adventure quickly followed by the opposing offer of accompaniment on a re-routed euro-trip. Months of preparation and the day of departure is finally here. Funny how a life altering adventure begins with a simple idea soon to be solidified by the quote: Our lives are defined by opportunities; even the one's we miss.
For years I have  sat watching friends travel to worlds full of life, love and culture I have only dreamt about  with the reassurance that I am getting ahead and building a foundation for my future.  I suddenly lapsed back to a paper I had written my first semester of college in which I made the word time into an acronym: Today I'll Mean Everything.
My elementary diagram of heartfelt principle was lost to order and buried between stacks of essays I had allowed to represent a grade rather than the meaning  I  shared in attaining its passing approval.   I had wished for myself that every word and step throughout my life would be preformed with absolute conviction and certainty, that each action would be a choice and not hazy road of pre-defined gray expectancy. Now, three years later I'm practicing my own sermon.
An unexpected delay induced by the ever so reliable weather held us in Boston for a night leaving us with forty days and forty nights to be enveloped by the european way of life.  The six week endeavor to seek experience and enlightenment in a world outside my own is but six hours away. It just may head more life shaping thoughts than anything i might conjure up behind the doors of a lecture hall -- A naive shadow of myself reflects in my mind represented by the spirit of freedom and fascination for knowledge, while the wiser version I am grins by the contradicting thoughts: maybe I had more figured out than what i gave myself credit for and how lucky am I to have waited for a time where I deeply appreciate my experiences that are enabling me to embrace every step into my future with excitement. The only english word I hope to remember over my duration of travel is Perspective. For years I've been reading books about countries and culture, forming conclusions and inevitable bias's.  That pallet has been cleaned so I can simply find people with enough passion to share their appreciation and help write my story.  Shared joy is double joy. The countdown begins!