The kids have been out of their minds with excitement to be back “in our regular house,” as Oz put it. Illyria grabbed the butterfly wings she wears and hugged them and kissed them saying “I missed you soooo much!” Our indoor herb garden is out of control and the guinea pigs are still alive and kicking.
Two months away felt like a really long time, but went by all too quickly. I am ping-ponging between gladness to be back in our space, inhaling the sights and smells of our neighborhood, and wondering how in the world we are going to last another two years here. It’s hard to pinpoint the source of my ennui but I think it actually has a lot to do with the profusion of friends we have in the US, and the dearth here.
There is no font that can imbue that word – friends – with the full weight of meaning I want to give it.
Warm soup on a snowy night, balls of sock yarn, evening rituals of chamomile tea and carrot cake, Saranac Black Forest beer in a pub where I scratched “Dr. EEP” on the heavily graffitied bench, a herd of small children running around playing together while the adults laughed and watched TV, blankets and bread and coffee and books…
It’s really hard to leave all that behind.