what a long, strange trip it's been

I just got back from two weeks in the US, a whirlwind sprint through Colorado, San Francisco, Boston, and New York City. And it never ceases to amaze me how much harder it is to go back there than it is to come here. I think it has something to do with expectations, and desires. I want living here to be different. I want to learn from it. I expect to feel clueless a substantial portion of my time. And I enjoy that, because it helps me to look around me in a way that I might not otherwise have done.

But going back stateside...well, I'm supposed to know the rules. I'm supposed to be able to navigate. But I can't get out of a grocery store in less than an hour. I can't make decisions. As I told a friend of mine over the weekend, when I go to the store here, my list says 'chickpeas.' If there are some, I buy some. In the US there will be at least ten kinds, canned or dried, seasoned or not, which brand, how big a container. Here, I just buy some chickpeas. And I'm not inundated with things I didn't know I needed until I saw them. I am always surprised by how reasonable my grocery bills are here. That's because there isn't a whole lot more to buy beyond what I actually need. And because I don't get so distracted by the partially hydrogenated bells and whistles just begging to pop off the shelves and into my pantry.

Another friend asked how I thought it would feel to be in Boston full time starting next fall. Standing by the Charles River at sunset, I stared at my feet in the fading light. "I'm gonna have a hard time," I said softly, deliberately. I've accepted it already, which part of me hopes will make it a little less to carry when it arrives. I marvel at how little I 'get over' things - especially the cognitive dissonance in which I flail and drown while thinking about buying a loft in Lowell next fall (hardwoods or carpet? exposed brick or vaulted ceilings? close to school or overlooking the river?) when some of the women who work here occasionally have to ask me for money to get their intermittent electricity turned back on. Facts and snapshots swirl in my head...nearly 48% of people over 25 in the Caprivi have HIV... women take care of their adult children who are dying of AIDS and adopt their siblings' kids when brothers and sisters die... elephants protected in the name of nature conservation destroy a year's crop in a five-minute stomp through a long-nurtured field...Hollywood makes a movie about blood diamonds that fuel conflict in various African countries but its stars don't actually come over here to see what it's like until after the filming is over...

Past a point, there just aren't words. My life is a fairy tale.

But then, I think about the box of wine glasses I have in storage in Chicago that I have never used. They've never even been unwrapped. Actually I have wine glasses, champagne glasses, AND double cocktail glasses, all in a lovely shade of unused crystal turquoise. I pay rent in Chicago for my stuff. Plenty of people here can't afford proper homes for themselves and their children, but I can rent a climate-controlled room for my sweaters and sofa. And for shit I've never even used. It' s mind-boggling. Guess you all better come to one hell of a housewarming party next Labor Day weekend.