The rain persisted all day yesterday; it does have a way of dampening the mood after a while. And while I love good storms, and even the occasional rainy afternoons, the past few days of deluge have made me feel heavy and tired. Or perhaps that's just sadness and saying goodbye; perhaps it's a grief concert played by nature and self. I had tickets to hear NPR's Michel Martin interview Malala Yousafzai and her father, Ziauddin, at the Sidwell Friends Meeting House last night. A house dedicated to peace, contemplation and communion was the perfect venue in which to hear this poised, brave, inspiring young woman and her wonderful, equally brave father, tell their story. This week marked the one year anniversary of Malala being shot by the Taliban, and as you might know, she was recently nominated for tr Nobel Peace Prize, the youngest nominee ever. She didn't win but feels she did in a way. I'm looking forward to reading her book.
Jack and I are at DCA now, soon to board our first flight towards home. I am so glad he's coming with me, and he is happy too. His school nurse and librarian sent us off with three wonderful, age-appropriate books about death and life cycles, so we'll read those and some more Harry Potter during the next few hours. I was sad to leave T and Ol, clad in his Cinderella dress/slippers/gloves behind but this will be a good trip for Jack and me, and I know my mom will draw strength from our presence.