I'm going to write something today.

I just got into work at noon, and I was feeling a little bit down, but mostly neutral. The air was really nice out, but I forgot my hat in the car last night and Sabs drove the car off to work before I was up this morning so I got a little bit hot in the head walking in from the Metro.

Anyway, I'm feeling even more introspective than usual, and I have that urge to WRITE. So I think there will be a new entry in the Memory Box later today or tomorrow.

I wish I had my family's photo albums here. There's images I'd like to scan, that would be a good complement to what I feel like saying. But the albums are all in Pennsylvania at Mom & Dad's place, very far from the nearest scanner.

What I need to expound upon has to do with my childhood in Europe. I'm what the cross-cultural trainer my mother worked for, for a while calls a "Third Culture Kid". Someone who grew up divided among two or more cultures, someone who is at the same time, at home in both and in neither.

I may not have lived abroad as long as some, nor have moved around as much as many army and diplomat families, but where we went when I was younger has changed my outlook and has become instrinsically a part of who I am.