I have always been a storyteller.
At ten years old I coerced my brothers and cousins to dress in costumes and I directed mini plays with this small cast of characters. About that same time I began scribbling thoughts and poems in my diary.
My mother gave me an appreciation for the history of our family recipes that have been been passed down for generations. I loved to lean close and hear the story of how my grandmother made dinner at noon for the farmhands. Antiques and vintage linens were always present in my home and I saw their weathered parts as pieces of a beautiful tapestry.
I began viewing the world as a place full of possibilities and promise.
Even scratches, scars, rips and tears told a story worth pondering. They whispered bit of history.
Everywhere I go I still look for stories. In eyes of those I meet, in the intricate patterns of the summer leaves, in the hands of women that I work alongside.
I returned from my first trip to Haiti more than a month ago… (read the rest of the post over at Kate’s place)