what springs from mac and cheese

Two days ago, I went to the Bute Street post office to pick up a package from my sister containing popcorn, hot chocolate, macaroni and cheese, snacks, socks and drawings from my niece and nephew.

The first thing I did after work was make macaroni and cheese with carrots and tomatoes, with hot chocolate to wash down my typical artery-clogging American meal. Then I taped up my niece's and nephew's drawings on my closet and sat on my bed, staring at them.

It's not that I miss home, per se; I am very happy here. I just miss the people who are at home.

I sat there on my bed, staring at those drawings, imagining I could hug my niece's and nephew's tiny little bodies and kiss their blond heads, smelling that blend of bath and sweat and growing life that emanates from them.

I closed my eyes and reviewed a memory; a snapshot of my family: my sister Tina and her husband Mike, my niece and nephew, my sister Heidi, my grandparents, my dad and my mom.

Then I tried to remember what my mom's voice sounds like; everyone tells me it sounds just like mine, but I know that's not true. Mom's voice has more depth to it than mine; it's like an echo in a forest of warm brown trees, filtered with sunlight and the wisdom of owls. She also has the hint of mint, of magic, of legend.

And Dad's voice? His voice, his non-stern voice, is the voice of reason and memory mixed. When he speaks, people from all points of the globe speak, too, for they have shaped his life. He is a storyteller, a historian, a recorder of lives and memories and experiences. When I think of his voice, I think of him whistling while I danced on his shoes, looking up at his blue eyes.

It's funny how a little blue box filled with noodles and powdered cheese can open up a world an ocean -and years- apart.

I haven't spoken with my family- to whom I am very close and who is facing some difficult times- since I arrived here in Wales, really. Sitting on my couch, eating an entire box of Kraft macaroni and cheese and drinking Swiss Miss hot cocoa, I felt a little closer to everyone. I felt less cut off.

I could just imagine my best friends making a macaroni and cheese lunch at precisely the same time I was eating my dinner. I could see them laughing, a respite from the crease lines of stress on their faces; I could see them realizing what time it was and getting that knot in their stomachs because they knew they'd be late for class.

I felt closer to everyone, but I also felt more depressed.

Curiosity grasps me now from my messy little desk in a sunny room on the second floor of the Assembly at Cardiff Bay: family, friends, where are you and what are you doing?