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Dallas and I share a great love for the written word.  We both greatly enjoy reading (though we tend to enjoy very different types of books, there have been a few we’ve agreed on and have sat and discussed) and express ourselves much better through writing than through speaking.

He also understands that he’s on the trip of a lifetime.  At some point in the past, he started sending his parents postcards from new places he was going, because after he graduated from Auburn, most places he’s gone are places they’ve never been (and in most cases, wouldn’t have any real reason to visit).  For most of the last 21 months, I’ve been the one scouring postcard racks alongside him for “the perfect one” when we’ve been someplace new.  Even though I’m not around to point out this postcard or that one now that he’s in Europe, I knew he would find postcards to send to his parents.

We talk on Facebook Chat and on Skype when he’s got access to the internet, and he’s probably typed thousands of words describing what he’s seeing and experiencing so I can get a little taste of what his days are like.  He’s also sent me postcards.  I’ve received four so far, with beautiful pictures on one side and short, sweet love notes (sometimes in Romanian or German) on the other.  The translation is keeping my mind sharp (side note: I want to thank Mr. Dutcher and Dr. Smith for putting up with my less-than-stellar work ethic in Latin classes of the distant past; translating Romanian has shown me that I actually retained a little of what I learned!), the pictures are fun to look at, it warms my heart to think of him seeing a card and knowing I’d love it, and someday in the very distant future I’ll be able to show them to our grandkids and explain that yes, Grandpa used to have girly handwriting (because I think you’re supposed to magically get “doctor handwriting” when you finish your doctorate, or maybe he’ll have given up on wanting his writing to be readable by then).

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