"Welcome."

A couple of days ago Facebook Memories kicked out a post that I made eight years ago (there's no getting around that double 'ago').  It was a photo of Henry, a photo of a stormy rainbow, and a long explanation of how- this is not a joke- we would be moving to Norway.  You see, I used to do things with some aplomb and not a little sense of drama.  

Scrolling to capture to the beauty...
and the bullshit. 

There are a few times throughout the year when my Memories just sucker punch me.  One of those times is now-ish.  The Easter/Spring holiday timeframe.  In Norway it usually heralded some sort of major (or minor) excursion for my husband and I.  One year it was Amsterdam, one year Wales.. another year it was Svalbard.  NATO would go quiet and we would escape. 

Since moving back to the States, things work a little differently.  Holidays are spent with us still- together and grateful- just differently.  Yet Facebook never fails to remind me that I have been places and done things.  

And that I was once a burgeoning Photographer (capital P).  

And that I could write.  

And that Wales remains the most perfect place on earth.*

But- as I am wont to do- I digress.  This moment in time that Facebook reminded me of felt a lot like a nudge.  A not-so-subtle shove back toward my own/old self.  Slinking away like a thief in the night has never been my MO.  Not really.  Yet here I am, eight years later, not really talking to anyone about the fact that we have started the process of relocating to Portugal.  Lawyers have been hired, documents sent back and forth.  And yet I don't talk about it.  I tell myself it is because nothing is firm yet, we don't have a house yet, we haven't filed for the visa yet. 

But we are going to.  We, my husband, son, and two impossible dogs, are going to firm things up.  We will find a house.  We will file the paperwork, in person at the consulate, and wait until they tell us "Bem-vindo".  

"Welcome." 

And then we will work hard at making our house a home, at creating a community, at discovering all the best places for gelato and the finest spots for fresh carrots and tomatoes.  We will welcome others and all.  We will create and be good and bad and happy and sad and feel everything and feel it on foreign soil.  Only it won't be foreign forever- nor will we be foreigners forever.   

Bem-vindo a casa- welcome home.  

*To me.