It Started With Donetsk

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A lot is happening in the world.  Attacks, war, attacks, lost trust, attacks, and more.

I left the USA just as things began to heat up (unintentional on my part).

Now, I sit in England, not far from more attacks and war–France, Ukraine, and, because my idea of distance is different than other people’s, the Middle East and Africa….and all I want to do is talk about it, write about it, bring light to the truth of what is happening.  However, in order to do that I must be there.  I must talk with people.  There is a story, many stories, that need to be shared.  I rack my mind, thinking of ways to write truth into a world of lies.  While anonymous officials make anonymous statements, REAL people are dying.  Artillery is being fired.

People don’t stop living because their surroundings are in turmoil.

I read a brief interview transcript from NPR’s Corey Flintoff in which he shared the environment of Donetsk, Ukraine.  Shelling, spurts of artillery going off—and I asked myself how it would change me to experience that.

Why are we all not asking ourselves that question?

Perhaps if we attempted to place ourselves in the shoes of those who are accustomed to guns constantly exploding in the near distance and where the death count is more than a number–it’s family, friends, the neighborhood grocer–we might work harder, and with more passion, for justice, truth, and ending the war(s).

*Photo of painting taken in summer 2014 at the Mint Museum in Charlotte, NC

Growing Up: An International Move

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Apparently I’m living in a new country.

Don’t worry, I wasn’t abducted by anyone. I’ve had the plan in the works for some time.
It’s only my first move as an adult.
Approximately 3,825 miles.
NBD.

I’m back in London.
My “other home.”
Adjustment is still required.

After arriving Tuesday afternoon, I’ve lounged around, visited my uncle’s and aunt’s house for dinner, and visited a cafe in the park.

Considering the past two months (or more) of craziness, I’m relishing the relaxation. Next week, I’ll kick back into gear.

Until then, this evening shall consist of: tea, Skype, and ice cream.

Mhmm. Sounds perfect, right?

Grass Never Looked So Good

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Photo By K.L.R.

One day!

One day until my favorite grand slam of the year appears on the television.

One day until Andy Murray walks onto the grass courts at the All England Lawn Tennis Club to defend his title.

If you want to know the fastest way to make me cry–show me last year’s Men’s Final.
I’ll lose it every time.
Andy Murray won on 7/7 (incidentally, my birthday) after 77 years without a British man winning Wimbledon.
(Did I mention I was there, in Centre Court?  Oh, I was.)

It was, in a word, magnificent.
In another word, beautiful.

Here’s to another two weeks of tennis; the best two weeks of tennis!