I was a lot of different people. A traveler by someone else's design. A writer by genetics. A dancer by my mother's past. A speaker of Castillian Spanish and Colombian Spanish and Italian and French. A foreigner in America. An American abroad. A kid with her family overseas and her roots seeking they not knew what.
Two months ago today, my husband, Ray, and I flew home to Florida from Amsterdam, where I'd become critical ill during a vacation.
Susie has always had to share her day with New Year's Eve at the worn out tail end of the Thanksgiving-Christmas holidays. By then, the idea of giving more, and getting more, seems unnecessary.