Two years ago today. Damn, if that isn't a number I've thought about for awhile now. Two years living in a foreign country. What've we learned, children?
We've learned that having a shared historical culture and language does not necessarily translate into an easy transition. We've learned that for all the many benefits that accrue during this experience, none make up for the lack of amenities of home. We've learned that what we took as granted back home is not given freely here; nay, it is often forcibly denied.
We've learned that using "we" means me.
I wish I could say that I've learned a lot about this country, this county. Actually, that last sentence might be a lie or maybe, better to say that I wish I hadn't learned what I have. Running the risk of taking a cheap shot at this host country, I will say that much of this part of the world still resides in the mid-20th Century and relishes that it does.
I neither agree with, nor do I appreciate this sentiment. It's hard living with equal parts of resentment and wonder.
I am intentionally not devolving into the specifics of each for my own reasons. How can one put into words the feeling of ineffectual floundering in a similar-yet-not-similar environment? How can one relate to others, who haven't experienced the thrill of a dusky moor at twilight or the frustration of drying jeans in the dead of winter without a dryer, the mind-numbingly mundaneness of day-to-day existence? Recapping two years in one post cannot give justice. So I won't.
Due to the Jubilee celebration later next month, Kiddo has been learning all sorts of things related to it. She knows where and what Buckingham Palace is. Next week, there'll be a mock coronation held at Durham Cathedral. I believe I'll be hard-pressed to tell her several years hence that it was not in fact the actual Queen she saw that sunny (hopefully) day when she was four. When I was her age, the Challenger exploded. She gets a mock coronation. Who's the winner here? She does not know of the White House, because I haven't told her. Does she remember home? What could she remember?
People. I know she remembers people. And when we leave here, I hope she remembers the ones she has loved here along with the myriad of landscapes we've explored in our walks.
That's the rub. For we've always known we were going to come back home, which is why it hasn't ever truly been a complete hardship to live here. Oh, sure, I've had the odd "You're so lucky! I've always wanted to live in England!" from a few weirdos, but I'm sure they never considered the permanence of their statements. As for me, I never embraced this as a permanent move. It's been more of a time-out, camping in the wilderness amongst natives. As we get closer and closer to the time when we do leave (and no time has been set yet), I'm starting to feel pangs of little twitchety sads over leaving the people I've met. Because I'm not coming back to them, to stay.
Maybe there'll be visits from them. That would be quite something, wouldn't it? The couple I work for has said how much they'd like to do a Route 66 trip. Maybe Roo and Bri would come over too. But the nature of visits is that they're short, relatively, when we're talking about the duration of life.
I'm actually going to be going home later this year for such a visit. I need to renew my driver's license. I stupidly did not renew it before moving. Such a big little thing to have forgotten in all that hoopla, when I was trying to get the three of us airborne. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone. I'm looking forward to the food disposal at my mom's house. I'm looking forward to the heat and sun.
I'm looking forward.
