Tendrils
Okay, so Dash is back at school, B is gone to work, Mabel is taking an early nap (because she was up at 4.15am - thank you, time difference), and I have a cup of tea. I suppose I'm meant to get back to blogging every day or something.
But I can't bake anything until the fridge is fixed, and the man to look at it is only coming now in a few minutes or two hours depending on where in his window he deigns to arrive, and I've just finished the last of the delicious homemade choc-chip oatmeal cookies that my lovely friend brought to help ease in the transition back to being USAians, and I don't know what you want me to talk about.
Way back three weeks or so ago, I had nothing to blog about. Now my brain is full of this and that, deep thoughts and shallow, and I'm not sure yet how - or if - I want to corral them into segments to talk about here.
Three of my friends have announced pregnancies in the past month or so. I'm absolutely delighted for them, and there's nothing more reassuring or lovlier to hear about when you're dealing with death than the prospect of tiny new thrilling life. I don't feel the urge to join in, mind you.
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Readjustment is quick. The no-man's-land of being between homes is confusing to the soul, when each feels like the only possible reality and perhaps we have both and perhaps we have neither. Coming back to a cold, slightly musty house, with rooms that are too big and do not embrace you with your own history is disorienting. Leaving the soft air of Ireland to find torrential rain on the other side of the Atlantic is not welcoming. It's hard to turn your back on the comforting phalanx of elders, people who will stand behind you and look after you and feed you dinner - because you are the babies of the family, after all - and come home to stand on your own feet, a small (but perfectly formed) team of two functioning independently for your own babies, fixing your own damn fridge, making the world go round, again.
It will take a few days for the rambling threads of my consciousness to follow me back over the ocean and make sense of who I am, again.
Labels: ex-pat, random thoughts, waxing lyrical
posted by Maud @ 11:25 AM
5 Comments
5 Comments:
I know that feeling of adjustment (from the other direction, mind you. but I think it's almost the same, minus the children. and husband! o.k., so maybe not at all the same.) but all that is to say, I'm sorry it's there, and I wish I could ease it for you! I hope the fridge man comes very soon, and you can kick the oven into high-gear. nothing says home like baking bread. xx
I imagine it must be hard here that so much of your history is so far away.
Speaking for myself, I never noticed that I missed that I'm not from DC until after I had lived here for 20 years and re-found the comfort of college friends who knew me as I was then, when I was still becoming who I am now. Now I can imagine the discomfort of having to start over someplace new and not having a history there. But to return to someplace, I think that would be lovely.
You mentioned about people taking care of you . . . One of the hardest things i feel t things about getting older is that there is great number of parental figures to take care of people as there were when we we're children. Thank goodness for friends.
I'm tearing up reading this. I'm only ever half a continent away from my hometown (though mind you, it's a pretty big continent) and even though I love all the places I've lived over the years, when I'm back in Omaha visiting family and friends who've known me my whole life, driving around streets that are so familiar even after 20 years away that I never, ever need a map or a GPS or directions...it just feels like home in a completely different way than anyplace else we've ever lived. I really miss that sometimes.
A good friend of mine who still lives in my hometown recently said one of the things she loves most about Omaha is that no matter where she goes, she never feels lost. She always knows exactly where she is. I miss that.
Millions came before us who never got the chance to go back at all.
Very true, Therese.
I'm always a bit morose when we get back - blame it on the jet lag.
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