Life in a New 'Hood

The question has changed from, "How does it feel to be back?" to "How does it feel to be back at work?" The honest answer is that it's hard. I wouldn't be telling the truth if I didn't admit it - mostly to myself. The changes have come fast and hard in the last three weeks, and they are filled with contradictions.

First we arrived home...after much drama and emotion. The day after arriving we went to DC and found a condo to rent so I wouldn't need to commute during the week. That was followed by unpacking our house in Annapolis and packing for my move into the city. We moved me in on a Wednesday. Thursday my body had had enough and came down with a cold, and Monday I started work...and came "home" to a quiet and empty apartment.

My first day at work - in fact, my first week at work was filled with smiles and graciousness. Flowers were on my desk when I arrived from the staff, a miniature yellow rose was delivered from one of our associations and the RunHers sent a basket of plants. People all over the office stopped by. I'd sit at my desk in my big, new office and try to remember how to send an email when a head with a big smile - like the Cheshire cat - would poke around the door frame. Well wishers were around every bend - and there are a lot of bends in an office filled with cubicles. Everyone made me feel special and welcome. It made all the difference in a week that flowed smoothly on the surface belying the emotion flowing below.

It was wonderful to hear how well everything went in my absence. I never doubted that it would nor did I ever check on the progress of any of our programs while we were away. The staff is great; they and the programs flourished, we probably all learned something in the process. Plus, I don't have to be in a rush to get up to speed on everything in the next week. They've done fine while I was away and they'll continue to do fine.

The rhythm of the work place was a shock to my system - and it's not that busy for me yet. Being at a computer, in and out of meetings, listening intently, remembering what was while simultaneously taking in what is was exhausting. Each day seemed eternally long as it zipped by.

At the end of the day was a delightfully short trip home - or as Mike and I are calling it, our "city house." Twenty minutes door-to-door and I was at the condo. Wow. It was - and will be - great. And, I quickly realized that it was exceptionally quiet and a little lonely. After a year together, this arrangement - me in DC and Mike in Annapolis - will be a big change. I remain optimistic that it will do what we intend - reduce my fatigue while providing time to write, create, and be. It's going to take some adjustment to realize that vision. But, it's easy to see the potential.

Mike came with me to DC on the Sunday before work started. We unpacked boxes, hung the shower curtain, set up the printer and got the place for living. It's cute, comfortable and perfect for what we need. Afterward, we took a walk on the Mall. We were both struck by how beautiful Washington is with its monuments, regal buildings, bustling sidewalks and even outdoor cafes. We walked through the sculpture garden....my new backyard and around the Mall. The sun shone off the Capitol at one end and the Washington Monument at the other. We could glimpse the Lincoln Memorial in the distance. We vowed to take full advantage of the opportunity of city life for however long we have it.

Later in the week after meeting a friend for dinner, I walked home the long way which took me through LaFayette Park lined with red and yellow tulips, a near-full moon overhead and the White House lit for the evening. Turning the corner onto Pennsylvania, the sidewalk cafes of the Willard hosted a few lingering guests. It's a lovely place to be on a beautiful evening. I can imagine growing to appreciate and enjoy this lifestyle, and I miss my real home. Both Mike and me felt as though I were on travel...without maid service. I kept thinking - just a few more days and I can go home.

And in a few days, I did go home to Annapolis - and it felt great! And, it felt temporary, too. With only two nights at home, I never got to adjust there either. I found myself inadvertently moving something that Mike didn't want moved. There were times when I felt like I was visiting here, too. When it came time to go back to DC, my body rebelled again. This time it was the sciatic nerve in my hip and leg. Pain like I've never known hit and kept me on the sofa, and there I stayed all the next week. I'm still at home in Annapolis waiting for it to heal enough to make the walk from the Metro to my office.

It's very strange - I'm back at work; but my heart is elsewhere. I'm not quite at home in DC nor am I at home in Annapolis. The time will fly by - it always does - but it feels ploddingly slow. Everyone at the office tells me that it's nice to have me back. I tell them that I'm practicing my line, "It's nice to be back." And it is. Sort of. It will be. I hope. I'll feel at home again - where ever that is.

Seeing with New Eyes

It’s harder than I expected – this being at home. I can’t get over the strange feeling of it, as though I’m here but not here. And, it’s going to be harder than I expected to hold on to the wonder of the past year. I find myself, already, slipping back into old patterns of going about my day without really seeing. That’s rarely happened in France. Thankfully, I was jarred out of stupor.

It happened as I was walking on a sunny, cloudless morning. It was a beautiful day as I crossed the Eastport Bridge into downtown. And there it was, dazzling in the early morning light, Annapolis. The water was like glass reflecting the sky, the boats and the buildings. The brightness of the light against the white boats and the houses lining the creek made me squint, and gasp with wonder. If this had been a village in France, I would have been watching and waiting for the wonder, but here in Annapolis I was plowing forward without seeing. For the rest of my walk – and hopefully for much more time to come – I committed to seeing Annapolis as though I were in Honfleur. Here’s what it looked like.

The trees were showing off. Flower encrusted branches, some in soft pinks and others so pale they were almost white, were translucent in the sunlight. Tulip Poplars defy gravity with heavy blooms upturned to the sky. I had to duck under some of the branches of trees lining the sidewalk. I ambled along the quaint streets of the historic district admiring the old townhouses dressed in their muted colors. The smell of freshly mulched beds was in the air, and little kids were on their way to class at St. Mary’s. Parents were unloading vans full of them. A cute, little boy was running up the street to his friends as a neighbor called out, “Hey, Zach! How are you?” Without turning or slowing he yelled, “Awesome!” Exactly.

The view from City Dock was lovely. I’d forgotten how the skyline is filled with spires. Against the blue sky, the white of the Capitol dome gleamed and the steeple of St. Anne’s Church rose up behind. To the left was the spire of St. Mary’s Church and to the right, the dome of the Naval Academy Chapel. The day before, I was stopped in my tracks at a street-end park in Eastport as the bells in the chapel chimed across the creek, just as they did in Cotignac.

I’ve gone to Quiet Waters Park a few times since returning to let it work its own brand of charm. It is quiet there without the noise and smell of car exhaust. What delight there is in hearing the dry leaves rustle underneath tiny claws of scampering squirrels (there were no squirrels in France). Birds chirped overhead in the still-bare branches, and there was the rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker working on a tree. Back home, our yard looks like a pink-themed New Years Eve party took place last night. The flower petals from the purple plum and star magnolia are falling like confetti.

Mike continues to be a source of amazement to me. He, like the squirrels, scampers around the house fixing this, cleaning that. I watch as he hauls out my enormous flower pots that I’ll plant next month. I don’t ask. He just does it. He is so clearly at home that it makes me smile.

And what’s next for me? Hmmm. I start back to work tomorrow. We rented an apartment for me in DC so that I don’t have to commute during the week. Last week was spent gathering furniture scavenged from friends, packing up a truck, and moving everything into the city. We were thankful to have Mindi’s nephew, Elan, to help load (he lifted a huge rug into the truck by himself!) and Maggie to help unload. I don’t relish being away from Mike during the week, but it will be nice to have more time and less exhaustion from the traffic. I can already tell that, for a time, I will feel a sense of loss. On top of missing France, I don’t want to lose connections with friends and the community of Eastport while I’m away in DC. Mike and I will sort that out as we go.

On the other hand, there’s much to look forward to in the future. I plan to periodically write blogs and hopefully some of you will keep reading. And, Mike and I want to write about our experiences. It’s a way for us to encourage others to follow their dream. Being alone in DC will give me time and energy to write and develop speaking materials to literally tell our story. I am excited about that - really excited. I can’t yet see how this may play out, but it will be fine. It’ll be more than fine. I want to be like that kid running to school. Without looking back, I know it’ll be awesome.

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.