We haven’t gotten post in a while, which is depressing. It being Christmas and all, it’s nearly unbearable. The pilot who was stationed in Loki and who took a special interest in getting our mail tucked into underloaded planes first from Nairobi to Loki, then from Loki to here has gone home on furlough. And with him, it seems, have gone the days of mail dropped by parachute when he was flying by or a special delivery of fresh vegetables from his wife. Oh, Jon and Ginny, we miss you.
Whatever the case, my mom has become a champ at sending packages. She’s amazing. The last one I got was quite impressive—a decorated shoebox that even had a typed-out inventory list inside. Eat that, corrupt Kenyan customs officers! Mwauhaha. Mom’s still working on the whole sending some kind of note or letter inside thing, but I know she’ll come around. I’ve got enough cute pictures and notes from the Canales to decorate my walls. (Lara is also mastering the postal system.) Mark has me stocked with blank camcorder tapes. And Joy blessed the Husa house with two very precious DVDs—my only two—which will be watched time and again on our trips out of the bush.
Oh, I love mail. It’s so painful, knowing my love-filled packages from the states are either stuck with customs or in the AIM AIR hangar in Nairobi , with no one to get excited about them. There are three planes flying somewhere in the area now (or so the kids tell me), which is torture for my heart! The kids run and tell us when they hear a plane—this is always well before we do. Then they just point emphatically at some tiny spec in the sky and yell, “The plane, the plane!” which always threatens to throw me into fits of laughter because of a certain, small television character. It’s too bad they don’t get that one—they’d realize how hilarious they are.
Nope, the planes aren’t coming here. *sigh* Another day!
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