It appears I’ve been accused, several times, of being “hard to follow.” Fair enough. Here’s what happened. Levi accepted a new job and quit his old one. We went to Florida and Guatemala in between jobs, and then moved to Virginia where Levi is being trained.

The adventure continues. On Friday, we’re going to a ceremony called “Flag Day,” where Levi, his classmates, and their nervous family members find out where in the world they’ll be living for the next two years.  Apparently, they say your name, they say the name of a city, and everyone claps while you walk up to the front of  the room and get a little flag. I’ve been warned that no matter what, I will cry.

Levi will then spend the next little while learning a new language and getting trained, and I’ll spend the next little while figuring out things like whether or not you can get brown sugar in that country and if not, how much brown sugar does one need for two years?

Of course, the prospect terrifies me, but I’m trying to take a Dorothy approach to the whole thing.

“Where is Kansas?” asked the man, in surprise.

“I don’t know,” replied Dorothy, sorrowfully; “but it is my home, and I’m sure it’s somewhere.”

“Very likely.”

Ulaanbaatar? Nouakchott? Cotonou? I’m sure they’re somewhere.

What’s your guess? Five points to anyone who can guess where (no matter how gray or flat or prone to tornadoes) the Smylies will start to call home.