Continuation of last Friday's letter home from Spain--photo taken at the dinner table the night before returning to Spain for a visit at 17, goofing around with ribbon from a bon voyage gift:
Sometimes I get flooded with memories so strong…not big things but the little memories of what our house smells like. And the wood-burning stoves and little things I used to do with you. And especially dinner. The smell of food, all sitting together, saying grace, talking about our day, and then if it was Friday watching a movie and eating popcorn and how Dad could always predict correctly what would happen next.