So, I flew home from Paris on December 1st after more than four months away from Vancouver, having spent that time in Rome; London; numerous towns in Cornwall; a village in Wales; Edinburgh; Belgrade; Marrakech; Casablanca; Nice; and Paris. . . .
Summer for Paul and I was six months long this year (28 degrees in Marrakech when we left on November 22nd), and now I have a few weeks of fall before winter arrives officially, shortly followed by the end of the year, the beginning of the next one.
I’m very conscious of shifts, of changes, of transitions. I’m conscious of having been on a marvellous adrenaline-full adventure; conscious of our great good luck in having been able to carry it off; simultaneously chuffed and humble that we could and we did. Because there were numerous points this trip at which we were aware of how fragile our strength was, how vulnerable to the unpredictable accidents of life and the inevitable vagaries of ageing.
Home now from all that, and I feel secure and safe in a way I haven’t quite enjoyed for months and months — the months we were away, and also the months before that of dreaming and preparing for this trip. . . My body began exhaling tension as I began unpacking my suitcase (and kept doing so over the two days I took transferring and organizing all that had been squeezed into my purple Rimowa).
Unfortunately, so far, the release of tension hasn’t released me from jetlag-fuelled insomnia, but perhaps soon? (Watching Buffy with my 16-year-old granddaughter last night — supreme pleasure for me! — I heard a character (Tara, to know her is to love her) suggest that the reason Buffy’s friends were feeling unbalanced was that they had “assumed crash positions” in the run-up to a significant, potentially perilous event, and even though it had apparently gone well, their bodies remained on guard. I admit that resonated compellingly with me.)
So much that I need to untangle from what I’ve experienced, although already the calendar fills up — it’s December, after all, and also we’ve been away since July and there are all the regular kinds of maintenance and administration to catch up on. Below my laptop, as I currently type, is my paper calendar — I’ve filled in two weekend sleepovers — each for a different pair of grandkid siblings — and our oldest granddaughter scheduled the Pesto, Pasta, and Buffy evening. Less fun, a dentist visit, a bone density scan, and I’ve got a reminder to book a mammogram. More fun, again (but also a bit of work!) scheduling an early Big Family Christmas dinner. And I’m impatient to visit the friends I haven’t seen in Way. Too. Long.
For now, though, a few domestic realities that are serving to ground me, offering themselves as metaphors for transition while I look around, settle myself back home, and try to balance, once again, here and now with there and then. . . all, with an eye to what’s ahead, the relevance of this ageing business. . . You know, while remembering to Be. Here. Now. . . Be present, in the present. . . (I give myself some wiggle room, though, by reminding myself that the memories are part of me, now, in this present.)
So, bread-making. I’ve been making almost all our own bread for six years now, from a sourdough starter that my son-in-law shared with me (I wrote about that here, a sort of family history of bread-making — grandmother, mother, mother-in-law, husband, son-in-law, and me, bread-makers all). It’s such a comforting process, making up those boules, and I’ve been looking forward to playing with flour and water and yeast in a big bowl.
But the starter in the fridge was scary-looking, and I didn’t want to bother my son-in-law yet for the jar he’s been baby-sitting. So I hauled some discard starter out of the freezer and fed it for the second time yesterday evening . . . it’s looking perky this morning, and I think by tomorrow it will be set to build a decent levain and we’ll be back in business. Yes! Thursday morning, just before I wrote this, the starter had bubbled higher in the jar than it’s ever done before. I’ve fed it one more time, so tomorrow I’ll be Present with the sourdough.
Were I to hazard an analogy here based on the way that frozen sourdough bubbled back after its enforced hibernation, I’d probably be throwing around words like “resilience” and, in reference to the breadmaker, “patience” and perhaps even “experience.” “Time,” very important, is probably already indicated by the patience required. Lesson about not expecting to get right back to routine after an extended time spent nine time zones away? Possible. . . .
And gardens, of course, always good for metaphors about life, ageing, beauty of decay, importance of environment, time, circularity, rebirth. Paul got home the week before I did, and although he tends to prefer tidying up immediately, he knows I’m very fond of the way the hosta leaves turn to gold. He might roll his eyes at my fondness for a shriveling, browning flower on its way to becoming a seedpod, but he left the thinning nasturtium vines so that I could see their last straggly November blooms. Ditto for the geraniums. . . and of course, even he loves to admire the way the grasses come into their glory in the fall, all seedheads and spider webs. . . .
I miss my old garden, of course, but coming home to this one, we’re both so grateful for having chosen our apartment 8 years ago, mostly because of the expansive possibilities of its large terrace.
The last task that’s keeping me domestically focussed at the moment is a less happier one, but one which also offers metaphors from the natural world: Of Moths and Mending!
I washed so many of my woolens and quite a few of us before I left in July, and I sealed them in Ziplok bags collected into sealed boxes under the bed. But I didn’t have time or space for everything, and living in an urban condominium, moths are always alert to possibilities. And an empty apartment where woolens are ignored for months?
Trying to reframe the inevitable results — holes here, holes there, and incontrovertible evidence that moths love cashmere!! — as positive. Oh fun! I get to do more mending, creative collaboration, design by moths, etc. etc. (as in this post, among others ) . . .
But again, lessons: about what can and can’t be controlled in life; about the risk of damage; about the transformative potential of damage; about knowing what to repair and what to release; and perhaps even about the privilege and attendant risks of owning too much that safe storage becomes a challenge. . .
That said, I’m off to do some mending. (Although first I’m going to post today’s Christmas Countdown Paris Window over on Instagram — a fantasy Christmas-train window that reminds me of this post I wrote a few Christmasses ago about a fantasy train picnic with this community (Includes a photo of me that suggests the last few years have gifted me with, um, experience — I look so much younger then! đ
Comments welcome, as always.
xo,
f
Welcome home! I remain in awe of your long adventure, and grateful for your travel tales. And, from my own sojourns of 1-4 month length, I know just how discombobulating and yet wonderful it is to come home, especially when there are time zone differences, even if the sojourn was fabulous. I think as we age it also gets harder to adjust to time changes; even going across one time zone can be hard to recover from now, in my own experience. (I am about to travel tomorrow through two time zones, to visit my 94 year old mother-in-law and others from my husband’s family. Not looking forward to dealing with the time shift. Or the seriously frigid weather in Minnesota.)
Bummer about the moths! But I know you will find a way to make the repairs an act of creativity. All of our acts of creativity, no matter how humble or grand, are truly a gift to us and the world.
I hope you get to set your own pace as much as possible as you re-enter life at home. . .Enjoy those grandchildren!
Author
Thanks for this reassuring comment, Linda, and I hope your two-time-zone travel goes well and that you’re able to have a good visit despite the BRRRrrr cold weather!
I recognise and relate to all of these feelings which youâve articulated so well: Being conscious and grateful of having had that adventure; The feeling of being safe and secure back home (exhaling tension unpacking your suitcase); and Iâd never really thought about giving myself some wiggle room when reminding myself to be presentâŠof course those memories and that adventure are now part of you!
Love the Buffy analogy!
Enjoy the bread making and mending! Xx
Author
Yes! I was pleased to have that little insight about the wiggle room, because we so often get told to be in the present, sd if our past isn’t part of that!
Welcome home, Frances. What an adventure you’ve had. I’d love to hear you talk about the whys and hows of planning such an extensive trip all in one go. Maybe you did that in earlier blogs last summer and I missed it. How you must have blessed that Rome apartment to be able to return to at times. It’s amazing how quickly we adjust to various “homes” when we travel. Three days in a place we love is enough to make me unpack, put our things in drawers, and feel at home-ish.
xoxo
Author
Annie (Green) asked me the same thing about the whys and hows of this trip, and I will definitely be posting about that — even if just to fully articulate it for myself and see how crazy or not it was đ
And you’re right, we couldn’t really have done it without the Rome apartment to ground us (although I keep thinking of refugees, migrants, and of what we can and can’t and sometimes have to do, of travel as privilege or survival. . .
Also yes, to the many places that can end up feeling home — and that leave us then with a homesick-like yearning when we’re back in our “real home.”
What a great look on the return home after months away. While my summer extension lasted only 6 weeks, it was the longest for me since I was a young adult and on my return I experienced some of the same things that you are describing.
I’ve read that you need a day for every hour of the time zone difference. I might have needed a couple more days than that. Perhaps due to our age being a wee bit on the older side? (shoulder shrug emoji here).
How lucky you were to have the experience of months of travel and to appreciate them fully, to be so Present in them. Also, so fortunate to have the good health to make the journey.
It’s nice that you were able to see the browning leaves when you returned and a small flower on your geranium!
It’s a bit of a rush to catch up with everything, isn’t it? Especially in December.
I’m enjoying your Paris holiday window decorations on Instagram. I would love to see those one day!
Enjoy your visits with your grandchildren and your reunions with friends.
Author
The length of your trip was significant enough, and besides that, you’ve done a sharp season change from summer almost directly to winter.
I’ve read that about the day for every time zone as well, and I’m only at 6 today, with 3 more to go. . . and then I’ll add a few more due to age. . . Patience with the older body, I guess . . .
Glad your enjoying those Paris holiday window posts — I’ve managed to be there a few times over the years, in very late November or through December. A French friend-I’ve-never-met (social media) just sent me a link to the light show that’s currently projected on the facade of the MusĂ©e d’Orsay and so can be enjoyed from the Seine-side quays or from the bateaux-mouches — and there’s dramatic lighting from the newly restored Notre Dame and, of course, the Eiffel Tower. Someday maybe you’ll see those. . .
What a wonderful adventure you’ve had. Thanks for sharing it with us. Need to put on my big girl panties and plan a longer vacation!
Author
You’re welcome and glad you’ve enjoyed it. I’m still thinking about the advantages and the drawbacks of the extended time away — and the different ways to do it.
I recognize the bit about assuming crash positions and struggling to let go when no longer needed. Iâm definitely in crash position and will be for several more weeks as we move house the week before Christmas. (Lesson learned: donât leave your house on the market in the fall if youâre not up for moving during the holiday season!) I wonder if the difficulty in releasing that tension has any relation to aging or maybe itâs the political unrest and seemly constant natural disasters?
Wishing you a good, solid nightâs sleep!
Author
Oh wow! That’s a lot, moving during the holidays! I’m guessing that complicates more than a few things, especially the services needed to pull off a big move. Hope you’re giving yourself a lot of slack around traditions that need to be maintained, decorating and cooking and shopping that needs to be done.
You make a very good point about what else might be contributing to the tension . . . it was all too easy this trip to imagine, to worry about the possibility of getting cut off from home and resources, to visualize that thin line that keeps a traveller from a refugee/migrant. And begin to question overall resilience, a questioning that can easily continue back home. . .
I’ve been following you all the way but it’s only now, reading your list of places visited, that I realize how much movement there was in your first trip-within-a-trip. Whew! Thinking since yesterday of why I balk at moving around once I get to a place. (Seeing more places is not my priority, but I’d like to parse that more…)
Enough deep thought. I have a date for a walk this am. -9c with 10kmh wind and wait, a risk of freezing drizzle! That wasn’t in the forecast when we did our planning yesterday. Sh*t.
Author
Yes, this was exactly the challenge — so many different beds, so many passes through border control. It’s not what I had in mind when I first started to envision a longer stay. . . so I’m parsing as well and will write the post I mention in my response to Sue Burpee. . .
Ugh! Freezing drizzle! We here in Lotus Land remember to be grateful that our copious rain generally manages to stay liquid (lots of it was suspended in mid-air this week, impeding vision but looking ever so romantically moody. So dampness, yes, but at least not hip-breaking and bone-chilling. . .
Welcome home and thank you for sharing your adventures with us. Much as I have enjoyed my travels over the years there is always happiness in coming home. Here in New York we seemed to have had a long Summer without going anywhere. November had temperatures in the 70’s and then poof, one morning I awoke to see a coating of snow on the rooftops. Now it is cold and windy and feeling very much like Winter.
Author
Wow! That warm in November?! In New York? I had no idea!
Snow on the rooftops — just a pretty coating — is my Christmas-card ideal — or as much as any skier could want on the mountains just edging the city. But otherwise, I’m happy to see my sidewalks wet, not white . . . Enjoy your wintry weather, if you can/do, and stay warm!
Hope you are settling in . That dratted jet lag – something else that seemed to get worse as I got older . It was like a hangover without the alcohol . At least Paul will have had time to adjust & would be functioning normally . So that would have worked out well – Just one irritable, grumpy person in the place rather than two đ
Author
Were you in my house this week? Uncannily accurate description here, and yes, I think the plan worked out very well — plus he’s got the pantry and fridge well supplied and is keenly trying out various tajines, inspired by our time in Morocco. Life advice: Get you a husband who cooks!
My little garden looks like a soggy mess at present – my plans to cut it all back and let it simmer over the winter months went awry and then the heavy rain and winds took over. A brief glance this morning showed that there won’t be any snipping or chopping for a while. However, I have decided to let it do its own thing and see what makes it through. There are bulbs under all the gunk and wet leaves and I have a hunch that some plants will reappear in a few months. There is a lot to be said for waiting-and-seeing. We are experiencing the aftermath of a weekend of storms and are fortunate that the Pennines protected us from the worst of it, though the winds are still audible as I type and trains have been badly affected. I hope your transition is going smoothly and the adjusting brain is settling down.
Author
Pater likes to trim and cut back as soon as the season starts to change, but I’ve always preferred to leave the “gunk and wet leaves” as a kind of mulch, a layer of protection against the frost for those first tentative sprouts. (And I love poking the gunk aside in late winter to scope out the promise of spring).
We just missed a big storm here (“bomb cyclone” — such a dramatic name!) that stove in the roof of our old neighbour’s house, back on our little island. They were without power there for three or four days, and I’m glad enough now to be here in our city apartment! Glad to hear you were protected from the worst of it.
Frances,this was an epic summer and a journey of the lifetime! I admire you and Paul for juggling all the places and travels (and wardrobe!) effortlessly (or making it seem so)
But,home is a home,and sometimes one wishes to be in more than one place at once,no? Parallel universe…
Dottoressa
Author
Yes, sometimes an ability to skip effortlessly back and forth between parallel universes would come in handy!
Congratulations on your epic journey and thank you for sharing it with us so generously.
I love the feeling of coming home, the comforting, familiar environment, access to clothes beyond what a suitcase can accommodate, my books, my kitchen, my garden and my bed. Travel has much to teach us about different cultures, places and histories that are different from the ones with which we are familiar. The challenge for me is to decide how much of the new I would like to incorporate into my ânormalâ existence.
Author
And don’t you love how instantly you have a whole new wardrobe, without buying a thing!
Your last sentence — yep, this is exactly the challenge (along with refining “normal”)
“Be. Here. Now. . . Be present, in the present. . . ”
I love this so much. Good words to live by.