Beginning of the End

There won't be too many more posts on here - at least from Germany.  We're almost ready to come home!

I'ts a bit nerve-wracking to think about our reintegration.  It was a pretty horrible experience last time.  We'd missed so much that many of our my relationships felt like they were starting from scratch, and I became aware of many illusions I'd held about myself and others.  Frankly, it's easier to start from scratch than to try to pick up where things left off.  Thomas Wolfe was right when he warned that you can't go home again.

So I've got a lot of mixed feelings about the transition.  New trapeze bars, right?

Our friendly older neighbors next door have stopped popping over the fence since I told them about our upcoming departure.  I've missed them.  I've got some books and things that have been on loan that I need to return, but I'm in denial -- not wanting to walk next door to say my thank yous and goodbyes.  Consequently that stack of books has sat inert for far too long.


It's hard to say goodbye here.  Yesterday the girls were at a birthday party, and I casually mentioned that we'd be having another playdate with their friends soon, and the mom piped up with the obvious question of when.  They are leaving on holiday next week, so there's only a matter of days until those relationships are forced to morph.  Again, I'm in complete denial, even though their mom (my new dear friend) and I have been talking about it for months.


I asked H last night how realistic it is that we might come over again in a few years.  I don't remember his exact words, but it was along the lines of probable.  And at this moment - with excitement and dread staring me in the face - I don't want to do it again.  I'm ready for roots, not the constant moving every few years, and the resulting consistent shifting and morphing and goodbye-ing.

So I pack another box, wondering how long it will stay in storage, and if the contents are really worth the trouble of packing, transporting, unpacking...  glancing over from time to time at that stack of books.

But it's time.  To grab that trapeze bar or get shoved off the platform.  As the parable goes, that's where the good stuff happens.  It's time to find out~