Today marks the one month mark since I arrived in the USA. All my good intentions of blogging daily in the run up to leaving, and in my first days here went the way of all things.
But here I am in my new home, in my new city. And it's good. And it's strange. It's what I thought it would be, but also totally different... if that makes any sense. Maybe I didn't know what to expect.
I am now determined to be a good blogger. I'm feeling the absence of my time spent with my therapist, safely back in the Old Country, and the ability to spend a block of time concentrating on how I'm feeling. Here's a just a couple of the things that have made me think 'I want to blog this' over the last few weeks.
12 days in, I had left my first visitor at the airport after her wonderful stay. I was driving away from the airport in the muggy dark of early morning, when it hit me: I live here. It's not me who leaves anymore, it's other people. I was overcome with emotion and cried all the way back to town.
The house I'm living in is at the top of a hill. The area is wonderfully green, covered with tall, beautiful trees. Below us, on one of the main street out of the city, is a large commercial bakery. As I walk up to my back door (pictured above) I am wooed by the smell of freshly made bread. And as I lie in bed, or sit at my desk I can hear the mournful sound of the trains that trundle through the city with their heavy freight. It's an achingly beautiful sound that fills me with joy and longing in equal measure.
