Friday, March 13

For almost thirty years, Aaron’s handwriting has been making my heart speed up. A person’s scrawl is as unique as their fingerprint, which is why I love handwritten recipes and old notes full of loopy ink written by people I love (and I have a big stash of both).

During the translation committee workshop, two young ladies from Karumalun brought back a bucket that I sent over full of popcorn. They giggled and pointed inside to show me the folded piece of notebook paper, but they had no idea that those few lines of communication were more precious to me than a Shakespeare sonnet.