When I lived in NYC I ate lots of take-out and it seemed normal. After living in Phoenix for a while having a tan and spending a lot of time in malls seemed like a good idea. In Oakland I was the second one of the parents in our parents' group to ween my baby (at 18 months), I felt like an outsider because Sumner slept in a crib, and Phil was one of three stay-at-home dads who's wives and I worked together. In Boston, I felt self-conscious that my winter coat wasn't big and puffy (until I bought a new one).
So what next? I think of this stop as much more than a layover. We are within spitting distance of the two year mark. I've always said that it takes two years for a place to be home.
Here's what's happened so far:
I no longer feel like giggling when I say that I am going to the Winn Dixie.
I feel naked if my toenails aren't painted (even when I have shoes on).
I always wear earrings.
I wear ironed clothing. Often.
Costuming is a verb.
50 degrees outside is very chilly.
15 minutes is a commute.
Recycling is no longer reflexive--it is a disciplined project.
I think of summer as a rainy season full of indoor activities.
Basementless houses are no longer an oddity to me.
Popeye's isn't a treat.
Seeing rotting, flooded houses with overgrown yards everyday no longer gets me in the gut.
1 comment:
the ironing. and the nail polish. but more the ironing, i cant believe. you told me your family didn't own an iron in oregon. (which gave me permission to go to work in wrinkled clothes)
aarti
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