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I couldn’t write a Slice of Life yesterday. I did try many, many times, though, to write a slice about this and that…a slice about our classroom holiday party (chaotic fun), holiday feasts around the dinner table (nothing like family love around the table), and long walks with the dog (peaceful winter solitude)…but none felt “right”. I felt as though I was just writing to write, and that none of those slices rang true. Perhaps there was added pressure, this being the last slice of the year and all, and I felt that I needed to say something “important”. So, I spent the day writing, deleting, and then escaping into 12 episodes of the Serial podcasts as I dashed about doing errands and tidying up the post-Christmas house.
Then, late in the evening, these arrived via Facebook:
…pictures from London of my mother, brother, and niece. All day, on Slice of Life Tuesday, I was thinking about these three beloved people, reuniting in London where my parents live. I was imagining them around the dinner table, in the conservatory looking out at the garden, strolling through the festively decorated London streets. I was imagining their conversations, listening for their laughter, and sharing from across the Atlantic their joy at being together for just a little while. I was wishing that family was close by, and loving them all the more for the vast distance that makes any time with family all the more precious, and longed for.
That is the slice I was waiting for, the slice worth writing about…even if it is a day late.