Home - it is an extraordinary word. The word is descriptively simple. It can be a permanent or semi-permanent dwelling in which an individual/family or families reside. The word is also used to describe where we, as individuals, are from. It is an end point of a long journey or the starting point off another. It is an adjective used to imbue something with resonances of warmth, joy and comfort. The word home can be any of these things or an amalgamation of all of them. But in the lifestyle that we as nomads live, home is almost never brick and mortar, instead it is where our family is - temporarily or permanently, or as my husband is fond of saying "home is where my wife and the dog are." While I value his sentiment greatly, on a larger scale home for us where we set up all those things that we drag around the world - rugs, towels, pictures, dishes, pans, mementos and things we hold precious.
As a Foreign Service family we never really settle in somewhere until those things arrive, I am confident that is a true statement for many of our colleagues and their families as well. We have been here for over a month and our belongings are still not here. In theory, if the gods smile on us, our belongings will arrive sometime towards the end of next month. We are in our permanent quarters and the very thoughtful and conscientious consulate staff have done their level best to provide the basics of what we need to be comfortable. We have basic furniture, dishes, pots, pans, bedding, towels and even some nifty appliances that go a long way towards helping us get settled. But one fact remains. We are in limbo - in a house, a lovely, large place that does not feel right (unfamiliar), does not look right (does everything have to be so starkly white?) does not sound right (echo, echo, echo) does not smell right (sterile - clean but not inviting), we are not at home, at least not yet.
Then there is the the frustration of not having what you need immediately accessible. For what seems like the millionth time I have rolled up my sleeves to embark on a project only to stop short with the realization that I cannot do this or that yet, I do not have what I need...a casserole dish...my sewing machine...a rolling pin...cookie sheets...whatever it is, it is not here yet. In some cases I could easily just go out and replace whatever it was I needed, but my frugal mind demands "WHY??? You own 3! Your stuff will get here eventually."
Being limited to a wardrobe consisting of the clothes we drug along with us in suitcases presents another set of challenges. I cannot speak for my husband, but I am heartily sick of seeing much less wearing some of these clothes. These have been our only options for the six weeks since we left our last post in Bern, Switzerland. But despite my frustration I was struck with a small burst of panic struck yesterday when the edging of our granite countertop claimed yet another victim - the fourth of my "fit for public wear" T shirts, I only brought 5. Granted I have a few other tops, but I am very mindful of my appearance and do not wish to create undo a tension or gain unnecessarily attention in our new host country.
To my own ears it sounds like I am whining, my apologies. We are blessed, I am blessed and I know it. We are on another adventure of a lifetime. My husband, whom I adore, has a job he really loves. I am grateful....just unsettled.
Limbo, that precipice we encounter at the beginning of every new posting where we have yet to take the measure of the water or know if it is safe or if we even want to dive in. Yet I am a seasoned enough traveler now to know that the only way is over that precipice and through - once out the other side we will both be able to take a breath as we breach the surface into what our life will be here. So I buy some clothes and though my red hair and Celtic completion belie the point, I fit into the crowd around me. With the help of my steadfast and determined driver I find cookie sheets. We buy some cushions and covers to mitigate the uniformity of the Drexel Heritage furniture found in the homes of US Diplomatic families around the world. With paint, candles, flowers, coverlets and the aromas of home-cooked meals, the space conforms around us. We've danced the limbo and did not touch the pole. Slowly we begin to settle in and with that reach out to friends and family intent of visiting with the assurance..."come on in, the water's fine."
As a Foreign Service family we never really settle in somewhere until those things arrive, I am confident that is a true statement for many of our colleagues and their families as well. We have been here for over a month and our belongings are still not here. In theory, if the gods smile on us, our belongings will arrive sometime towards the end of next month. We are in our permanent quarters and the very thoughtful and conscientious consulate staff have done their level best to provide the basics of what we need to be comfortable. We have basic furniture, dishes, pots, pans, bedding, towels and even some nifty appliances that go a long way towards helping us get settled. But one fact remains. We are in limbo - in a house, a lovely, large place that does not feel right (unfamiliar), does not look right (does everything have to be so starkly white?) does not sound right (echo, echo, echo) does not smell right (sterile - clean but not inviting), we are not at home, at least not yet.
Then there is the the frustration of not having what you need immediately accessible. For what seems like the millionth time I have rolled up my sleeves to embark on a project only to stop short with the realization that I cannot do this or that yet, I do not have what I need...a casserole dish...my sewing machine...a rolling pin...cookie sheets...whatever it is, it is not here yet. In some cases I could easily just go out and replace whatever it was I needed, but my frugal mind demands "WHY??? You own 3! Your stuff will get here eventually."
Being limited to a wardrobe consisting of the clothes we drug along with us in suitcases presents another set of challenges. I cannot speak for my husband, but I am heartily sick of seeing much less wearing some of these clothes. These have been our only options for the six weeks since we left our last post in Bern, Switzerland. But despite my frustration I was struck with a small burst of panic struck yesterday when the edging of our granite countertop claimed yet another victim - the fourth of my "fit for public wear" T shirts, I only brought 5. Granted I have a few other tops, but I am very mindful of my appearance and do not wish to create undo a tension or gain unnecessarily attention in our new host country.
To my own ears it sounds like I am whining, my apologies. We are blessed, I am blessed and I know it. We are on another adventure of a lifetime. My husband, whom I adore, has a job he really loves. I am grateful....just unsettled.
Limbo, that precipice we encounter at the beginning of every new posting where we have yet to take the measure of the water or know if it is safe or if we even want to dive in. Yet I am a seasoned enough traveler now to know that the only way is over that precipice and through - once out the other side we will both be able to take a breath as we breach the surface into what our life will be here. So I buy some clothes and though my red hair and Celtic completion belie the point, I fit into the crowd around me. With the help of my steadfast and determined driver I find cookie sheets. We buy some cushions and covers to mitigate the uniformity of the Drexel Heritage furniture found in the homes of US Diplomatic families around the world. With paint, candles, flowers, coverlets and the aromas of home-cooked meals, the space conforms around us. We've danced the limbo and did not touch the pole. Slowly we begin to settle in and with that reach out to friends and family intent of visiting with the assurance..."come on in, the water's fine."
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