On the Road Again

It was only two hours into the road trip and due to poor decisions, both Arie and Sam were curled up in the middle row, snoring and sound asleep.  If Mom and Dad weren’t here, I’d consider drawing on their faces in permanent marker. But Mom and Dad sat in the front, talking about what music to play and what we were going to do when we got there.  The only thing I cared about in their entire conversation was the topic of lunch. Breakfast had been nothing more than bagels.

Taking on Taiwan: A Change of Heart

Vividly, I can recall, the various mornings I’d rise early, go to my notebook, and sit by the window.  After about five or so minutes of staring out to the lake daydreaming, I would put my pen to the paper and write.  I couldn’t tell you how long I would write for, because I’d get lost in my fantasies.  Every time I write–even now–I forget all sense of time.  An hour or so later, I’d be ten pages deep into my scribbling and ranting.  Someone from my family would inform me it was time for breakfast and I’d leave my imaginary world, knowing I’d return to it shortly.  That, then and even now, is one of my favorite times in the day: writing time.