Gratitude

We’re home. Everyone asks, “How does it feel to be home?” Good question. How does it feel to be home? I’ve been trying to sort that out since we’ve returned. In one moment it feels like we never left as we drop easily into old routines. The next minute finds me staring at a wall. What’s with that? While I puzzle over my feelings, there is one thing of which I’m sure. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. No matter which way I look or the direction my thoughts run, I come back to gratitude. The list could run to pages but here’s the top ten.

• We made it home safely. There were times when we weren’t sure that would happen as we left a trail of pestilence in our wake.
• We’re healthy. After a year without seeing doctors, our many checkups show that we’re in wonderful health. Most importantly, Mike’s cancer checkup was better than ever.
• Skeeter is alive and well. Our little, furry kitty almost didn’t make it, but with loving care from Wil and Siena, he is now curled up on the sofa doing what he does best – sleeping.
• Our home was beautifully kept. Thanks to the hard work by Denise and Ron, our home was spotless when we walked in the door. They made sure it was ready for our return.
• Sleeping in our very own bed. Enough said.
• My job is waiting for me. Due to the efforts of my boss, I am able to return to my job at USDOT. And, thanks to the hard work by the staff, my deputy and my bosses, the program has moved forward without a hitch.
• I’m running again. After almost a year without running, I’m back running and running with my girlfriends – the RunHers.
• Spring is coming. It’s been a little chilly since we arrived, but spring is on its way. The yellow, spiky branches of forsythia are in bloom, perky daffodils look like little suns, our purple plum tree is in full bloom perfuming the yard, and robins hop along the freshly tended flower beds.
• Our friends. Everyone has been so wonderful. They have made us feel welcome and loved, and I have much more to say about that.

Here’s what our first few hours were like. As we walked off the plane, I was a bundle of nerves. Mike sat by the window as we flew into Baltimore because I couldn’t bear to look. Still, from the plane I could see the ruddy, red trees about to leaf out. After being on fourteen flights within six weeks, it was surreal to step into the BWI airport. Like many things to come, it was at once familiar and strange. And my tears started. Why the tears? I still don’t know – happy, sad.

Maggie and Enser and John and Raleigh were waiting for us. As we walked down the aisle, Mike said, “I see John waving!” Sure enough, there they were, waving and smiling – and John with his video camera. I collapsed into the arms of our friends and sobbed. Bless John – he sobbed with me.

They drove us home – in separate cars with our six bags and two backpacks. Maggie took the route through downtown Annapolis. It looked the same – as though we’d never left. Odd. How could it look the same? And that was only the beginning. Even after two weeks, I don’t know what I felt driving into the driveway of our house. “Numb” is as close as I can come. We walked inside and there we were. Home, but not home. Everything was immaculate. I inched through the rooms with a deer-in-the headlights stare. Our understanding friends left us to our thoughts along with a bag of goodies – wine, Mike’s favorite sparkling water, cheeses, homemade gluten-free bread and more. How very thoughtful. They went to a restaurant to wait for us.

Mike was amazing. He was instantly a man on a mission. He raced through the rooms already busy with hot water heaters and thermostats. He is great with caring for the house and he was back in his element. He hasn’t slowed down yet! I, on the other hand, was dazed and confused. Our home is filled with travel posters from our various trips – many of which were in France. There on our walls were images of Nice, Avignon and Antibes. I found myself standing in front of the poster of Antibes in the dining room. We bought it several years ago during a vacation in France…back when Antibes was a charming vacation destination. I saw it now with new eyes. Antibes is part of a different “home.” I know the streets, the restaurants where we ate with Linnea, Bobbie and Robert, the days of their market, and my favorite wine shop. The poster is the same but all is different. Obviously, it’s me who is seeing with different eyes and feeling new things in my heart.

Thankfully, my phone jangled and brought me back into this home. It was a text from Sharyn welcoming us home. The text was filled with “XOXOXOXO!” How great is that? And on the back porch was a festive pink flower with a welcome-home note from the Slawsons. They would bring dinner for us the next night. So very thoughtful. As Mike and I stepped out of the house to walk up to Carroll’s Creek, a car pulled up. It was Sharyn, Teddy and Mindi! When they received my response text, Sharyn and Teddy jumped in the car, picked up Mindi and rushed over for, as they said, a drive-by hug. Yes, there were more tears. All of this was within the first four hours of landing. Since then, we had wonderful dinners with the Baldwins and the Scotts, and ran into friends and neighbors all over town. Yes…..this is home.

Mike and I talk about the differences that stand out like the impatient customers at Starbucks, honking horns at the precise minute that the light turns green, the wide roads, really big coffees, iced tea, garbage disposal, lighting fast restaurant meals with no one lingering over coffee or tea. Portion sizes are bigger, too. Mike took home a doggie bag – something that is unknown in France. A request for le doggie bag would bring perplexed stares. We’ve already left behind our habit of walking everywhere. Oh well.

As the last two weeks passed filled with unpacking a dozen boxes as mountains of paper accumulated, my dazed feelings are diminishing, but there’s something still unsettled. I can’t seem to reconcile how different I felt there with coming home where time stood still, and struggling with how to balance it all.

As I drive around town running countless errands (how did we live in France without a full day of errands?), I am sometimes comatose. I drive along familiar streets and feel that I never left. France is a distant memory. Other times it’ll hit me. I imagine my morning walk down the hill into town where Marie would be sweeping outside the brasserie, the young men running the Spar would be pushing their vegetable carts outside, Mr. and Mrs. Frank (of the hardware store) would be walking to work, and my little man would amble by with his cane and black cocker spaniel. I can smell the buttery croissants baking at Pouillard. It’s enough to make me ache all over. I miss it so. Or maybe I miss the me I was there.

I try to focus on feeling grateful that France is a part of me now but the ache is still there. Without thinking, I find myself buying little things that seem to be a salve to my heart – a lavender scented candle, French cheese or wine – or I listen to French music just to hear the cadence of the language. In my first visit to our gourmet cheese shop, I nearly tackled the woman behind the counter in excitement. There – before my eyes – were some of our favorite French cheeses. Yippee! Without thinking, I snapped up little slivers of Compte and Beaufort like we bought every few weeks at the Cotignac market. Proudly, I showed them to Mike. After an appropriately enthusiastic response, he said, “Shelley, did you notice how much these cost?” Well….no…in my excitement I hadn’t looked. One was $4.50 and the other was $9 – for a sliver – and they weren’t as good (shipping changes the flavors)! The French cheeses will have to stay in France. Having learned my lesson about checking prices before purchasing, most of my favorite French wines will also stay in France. That’s how it should be, I suppose – at least for cheese and wine – but I don’t want it to be that way for me.

When we left France, I promised myself that I would do what was necessary to preserve my new-found balance. My ideas, in the quiet of our French lifestyle, were grandiose. I’d change my lifestyle. I’d prioritize my time for the important things. I’d exchange the Annapolis Shelley for the French Shelley. Guess what – it’s harder than I imagined. Still, my goal is to maintain the important new aspects of my life – learning French, writing, creativity and meditating. I have not been terribly successful at it so far. Sometimes, they become just new additions to the to-do list. As my first day of work looms, I can’t imagine how I’ll do it while working full time. I guess that’s the crux of it for all of us. How do we make our way in life, raise families, make money, and still hold and develop the fullness of who we are? It sounds like a journey of growth and self-discovery. That’s what I said about moving to France, but thanks to France, I have a sense of who I can be. To quote Marcel Proust, "The real journey of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes but in seeing with new eyes."

Some would say that our journey has ended, but for me, the affects of the last journey linger and the new one can only be glimpsed. And that is the top thing I’m grateful for – the excitement of the journey continues.