The Washington Post
Feels Like Home
When I joined the Foreign Service, a friend gave me a drawing titled “Home Is Where the State Department Sends You.” It hung over the glider in which I made my first tentative attempts at breast-feeding in Florida. It held my son and me as we struggled to overcome jet lag in Hong Kong. Now in Virginia, that glider is our favorite place to read my childhood copy of “Make Way for Ducklings.” Our family is leaving next month for New Delhi, and I’ve had to carefully sort through all our possessions. My husband, logically enough, says the chair is too old, too big, too heavy. But if home is where the State Department sends us, it needs to come, too.