A friend of mine who recently made a similar transition described crossing cultures sort of like walking into a different dimension. Right now I can't argue with her analogy. Judging motives, understanding rationales ... they require a different filter to comprehend. Things feel warped. Even the same temperature 'feels' different.
Those differences are like virtual speed bumps that shake the whole mind and body to remind us to slow down and shift to a different way of thinking and living. If you know they are coming, or if there is a warning sign ahead, you can adjust your speed and minimize their impact. If you hit them in the dark at full speed with no warning, watch out. Someone's going to get bruised.
I think the surprise for me this time was that the speed bumps were still a 'surprise.' I was supposed to be familiar with this road. I wasn't supposed to have 'forgotten' so quickly that speed bumps were just around the corner. This was supposed to be our 'home', but I had already stood motionless in my kitchen trying to remember where to find a cereal spoon. One doesn't usually forget where they keep their silverware.
Just three brief months away.
We are repeatedly asked about our summer in America. How does one answer that question?
It was good.
I forgot how much it cost to eat out.
Our nieces and nephews (though bigger) still remembered us.
Air conditioning is the bomb.
Sweet corn is even better than I remembered it.
Did you know that Oreos are now available in like 25 different flavors and varieties?
And oh how we miss our home church.
But after about 5 weeks in the States, I was ready to return to Albania.
Then I got subtly lulled back into our old way of life. I could drive a car again and experience independence in old, familiar ways.
I could ask nuanced questions and share my thoughts exactly the way I wanted to without having to pick and choose my words from a small pool of known vocabulary.
I could do all of my shopping with a minimum of stops, no stress about parking, and 99% of the time I could find the product I wanted in stock, on the shelves.
Oh, and did I mention air conditioning? And soft, fluffy towels?
So after the heart ache of some goodbyes that are probably the last this side of eternity. After the stress of an international trip and poor sleep for several consecutive nights, I might have hit some speed bumps upon landing here in good ol' Shqiperia. I had been so concerned with watching out for the kids, that I didn't have my headlights pointed in front of me.
Thankfully we're hitting our stride now. We are getting into a routine and I'm feeling a bit more like myself again. The bruises aren't so tender...
This is Mandi. He's our colleague. He came over to the States to be with Xhesi during her second surgery. After nine days with her, he came down for a brief visit to take care of some business and see Mom and Dad. His visit was just the reminder I needed of what was waiting for us on the other side of the Atlantic.
Our last Saturday in the States we hung out at the park with Nathan's family. We had a picnic and played Can Jam. It was the perfect, relaxed way to spend the day together -- though my ability to throw a frisbee is NOT. Once again -- SORRY MICAH! Hopefully you'll draw a better partner next time!
The goal is to hit the can with your frisbee, either directly or deflected in by your team mate.
Once I hit Mom in her wheelchair (with the frisbee) and another time my toss landed perfectly... on the pavilion roof.
True Partners in Crime.
If all crooks were handcuffed together, maybe we'd have less crime?
Then there was church and Sunday lunch out. More goodbyes by the interstate.
Below, Sunday night with my Grandpa VanOrman
Saying goodbye Grandpa Whiteford on Monday. He is in hospice.
Then one last goodbye with Grandma 'Ford before heading off to the airport Tuesday. We sat in her sitting room and she told stories of her childhood in the suburbs of Chicago, moving in with her grandmother during the Depression, and her younger sister suffering from chronic pneumonia one particularly harsh winter. Of visits to her aunt's Swedish bakery in Evanston and studying at Wheaton Academy. 40 years with her and I'm still hearing new stories...
And we're making stories of our own. On to the next chapter.
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