Wednesday, March 12, 2008


One year ago today, J, my in-laws, and I sat in our packed Brooklyn apartment waiting for the movers. They were fifteen minutes late. I called. The person who answered the phone told me we weren’t on the calendar. There had been some sort of mix-up. But the movers got a crew together and arrived within the hour. J and I swept out the empty apartment, showered and walked down to the very end of Smith Street for lunch, just to kill some time. Back home, we sat on our luggage until it was time to go to the airport, the apartment now loud and echo-y with nothing in it to absorb the sound. That night we boarded a plane bound for Amsterdam, then later another one bound for Entebbe. One year later, here we still are.

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