For several weeks now, I have held on to this broken and empty plastic container.
The container used to hold dental floss. In fact, it held a lot of dental floss. Enough for me to floss my teeth every day that we traveled for 6 months around the world, including the occasional time that I shared its limited cargo with other members of my family. Also including about 8 weeks of daily flossing once we returned to Ontario. And also including that time when I went to pull out a piece of floss and the lid to the container accidentally popped open and the entire spool of floss fell on the bathroom floor and so I just unwound a whole bunch of floss from the spool, telling myself that I was removing the outer layers that had come in contact with the floor and that the remaining inner layers of floss would be just fine for my teeth. I think that happened in Malaysia. I don’t recall. I just remember feeling upset that I had dropped it and hoping I wouldn’t have to buy more as a result of the mistake. And now the floss is all gone. Totally and completely depleted. The container useless and destined for landfill. And my teeth still in need of flossing.
On the long list of things that I miss about traveling the world, writing frequently on this blog ranks somewhere after spending everyday with Hil, Charlotte, Ruby and Arden and before Tuk-tuk rides – which never really got old – but which also could be harrowing. And while I don’t think that life is any less fascinating now than it was while we were traveling, it certainly is a lot more routine. The result being that, much like my floss, my drive to write about my daily lived experience has also become depleted. I take fewer pictures. I spend less time contemplating the next best decision for my family and instead choose to live day to day far more complicit – in a default stance that assumes that the routines, structures and habits selected to compose our new daily existence are good choices that do not be evaluated on a moment by moment basis with the same circumspection I would allocate to a train ride or visiting the hawker stalls for diner or whether the next place we were staying had mosquito nets over the beds. We traveled much as we live – day to day – and yet the nature of that day to day living is, I guess by definition, worlds apart.
Nothing about my current life circumstances feels depleted. Quite the opposite in fact – life feels quite full. My family is thriving in a new community. My career is on a new, intellectually stimulating and rewarding path. And the future contains possibilities that I never would have considered before stepping beyond the borders of Canada to witness life in other places. And I walk around each day filled with a rich store of memories from a unique and precious time with my family doing something that relatively few others will ever experience – and all the love and closeness and bonding that comes with those memories. But I also walk around with the knowledge that the spool of dental floss has been completely unwound. Unwound and used for good. Unwound with purpose and intention and gratitude. Unwound for all the right reasons. Unwound with no possibility of winding it back up again. And sometimes that makes me sad.
* * *
First visit to the storage unit post trip in search of mattresses, winter boots, and the pressure cooker.
Ruby evaluating her Halloween take
Charlotte’s 11th birthday party sleepover with new friends. Long live late night ice cream sundaes.
The recently installed electric vehicle charging station on the side of my in laws house. 
Arden on Halloween testing out the veracity of some neighbourhood Halloween decorations.
One of Hil’s most recent culinary achievements: chicken paprikash. A celebrated dish from both of our childhoods. Made in the pressure cooker, I might add.
3 Ginger Snaps 