On His Way Home

No, this is not another hundred year old photograph finding its way home, but it is about a stage being set for a picture-perfect reunion. As I've mentioned before, sometimes while we're so busy writing about the history of family long gone, we neglect telling the story of family as it is currently unfolding. Sometimes, we recoil from telling that story because the event is too painful to record. But this time, the event is joyful, something that can't simply be contained.

Ever since the post I wrote on "Not Finding Alta"—the Barnes daughter from Oklahoma whose set of five photographs I still haven't been able to return to family—there's been something different about my own everyday family life: if I want to talk to my husband, I first have to do some mental calculations on the time difference that separates us. You see, if I call him in the middle of my day, I would wake him up in the middle of his night. As he likes to joke, he is in my future.

But not any more. Today, after teaching at a college in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia for the past five weeks, he is beginning the long trip back home.

I couldn't be more excited.

Of course, if he is in a place which is eleven hours ahead of me, that means the return trip won't happen in the blink of an eye. That would be in my future. Between early airport arrivals and flight connections with long layovers, the journey is one of nearly thirty hours, door to door.

There isn't much which can tear me away from my pet genealogical research projects, but I assure you, this is one of those rare exceptions. I won't be thinking much of family history for those thirty hours.

I think you'll understand.