Letters from Lisa

          Excitement bubbles in my stomach as my brother and I race down the stairs. The classic Christmas story of seeing what Santa had brought the night before. We’d search the presents for our names, marveling at the different tags he used, covered in glitter and colors. Of course we had to guess what was in them as well, poking them to see what they might be. Then we’d race up the stairs to wake my parents up and beg them to come downstairs to open up presents.  Leading up to this moment, I was going crazy. As the days got closer, I just couldn’t wait. I almost hated the feeling. The anticipation of just wanting it to be there already. It’s painful and miserable. Instead of focusing on the present, all you can think of is the future. Of that which occupies your mind always. Knowing that it’s not here yet but wishing with all your might that it would be.  The same thing happens on my birthday. Or when I have something coming in the mail. O...

               A challenge. A strategy. Logic. Sorting. A puzzle. These things have always been there to connect my family. The struggle of mismatched pieces and the joy of bringing them together has always been a central pastime in my family.  My dad introduced my younger brother and I to wooden puzzles at a young age. I remember sitting down on my knees so my small arms could reach the pieces that were spread everywhere on our old round kitchen table. My excitement was bubbling. We had the whole day just for this. My dad got out the wood glue, and I remember feeling so cool because I got to use special glue. We had to hold the pieces in place while the glue dried or fell apart, making us glue it again. I had so much fun with my family and would ask for these wooden puzzles every birthday or Christmas. We made models of houses, castles, music box pianos, and more. I love these memories, so I still have the models displayed on my bookshe...