Home Again

There was one moment last week when I was borderline obnoxious about our time in Paris. I was waiting patiently in line at the Safeway, reading a magazine to pass the time, as the grocery clerk slowly helped the person in front of me, and a woman said, "I love your grocery bag, where did you get it?" I then tilted my head slightly, explaining in that smugly apologetic voice, "oh, I'm sorry, I got it in Paris. It was a gift from my husband." What can I say, I couldn’t help myself?

We've been home about three weeks and the transition is going remarkably well. I really didn't know how I would feel. As I took one last look around our Paris apartment, I thought, "This chapter has been really good. I hope I don't crash hard."

I was nervous about feeling overwhelmed. I was nervous about thinking I didn't really belong anywhere. I was nervous about the state of our apartment after three sets of renters. I was even nervous about return conversations with dear friends—would it be "normal"?

As it turns out, my worry was unnecessary. Our apartment was perfect (except for the actual, live bird that Josh had to chase out the first night). Adams Morgan is the same as it ever was and its been nice to bump into people at the grocery store and gym. I was especially silly to worry about how it would be reconnecting with friends—in more cases than not, we've said something to the effect of, "Huh, it hardly seems like any time has past." Maybe life is more like a soap opera than not—you can miss out on a whole bunch of episodes, but for the most part, the story line stays the same.

But I still dare to think that I’m not entirely the same-in good ways, I hope. I was told the other day at the office that "You've been in Europe too long" after I said, "Don't worry about the emails—get to them when you can. I'll tell you if they are actually urgent."

In another case, I was going to deal with the Sprint Store (a sure recipe for disaster), but I found that employing some of my well-honed French customer service tricks (learned from Polly Platt's book "French or Foe") were exactly what the Cellphone Clerk needed to hear. In France, you don’t expect customer service. They don't really need your business—ever. You can get helped and you can even get really amazing service by flipping roles a bit. Basically, I learned that by saying some version of: "Excuse me for bothering you. I know you are very busy, but I have a problem and I am hoping that you might be able to help me." I usually got exactly what I needed, if not more. Such was the case at the Sprint Store where a clerk actually worked with me for 45 minutes and solved my actually complicated tech issues. And, believe it or not, after 15 minutes, she even smiled.

I am hoping desperately to keep the slightly cooler temper and resistance to stress that I discovered in Paris. I suppose with a real schedule and a life that simply is busier, it will be a challenge, but that is my hope.

It hasn't all been roses in our return. There was that one moment, as we were dragging the 8^th suitcase up the stairs to our apartment, where I thought, "I'm just not sure about this returning home business." But thankfully, it really was only one moment and we did celebrate our homecoming that evening with dinner at The Diner—our beloved Adams Morgan spot. Somehow an American burger, fries and a milkshake can make you forget, even for a moment, some of the pleasures of France.

I also really miss some things and some Paris friends. I especially miss good bread (even if my hips don't). I also miss the variety of vegetable and meat that were common place on the rue Mouffetard. Last week I went to three stores searching for leeks and turnips—two things that even the equivalent of a convenience store would have in France. Josh's quest (on my behalf) since return has been to locate crème fraiche, with limited success. What was about $1 in Paris, is not nearly $4.00 here and it can only be found at specialty stores. But at least tiny Smart cars have arrived in America.

I also miss the cross-cultural part of conversations in France, which virtually ensured that I walked away from every conversation with a deeper knowledge of France.

But I am also relishing a few truly American things. Its mostly the little things. I'm thrilled to speak English again. I'm even happy to hear Spanish again on the streets. I love watching Meet the Press and the Evening News and voting in the DC Primary was especially exciting, even if my preferred candidate came in second. I love being able to read the headlines effortlessly on the morning newspaper. I am happy to have NPR on the radio again. I am happy to be on the same time or only an hour apart from those I regularly talk to on the phone.

I am also really happy in my new job. It’s at a small nonprofit called Miriam's Kitchen (http://www.miriamskitchen.org/) and it feels good to be working to make DC a better place. It is a real joy to be in the American philanthropic scene again, which I truly think is the gold standard. I am also thrilled to be back our apartment and maybe have a few more square feet than we had in our Paris flat. We had our first dinner party on Friday with Jess and Chris and it was so much fun to break out our DC kitchen tools, while having Paris cooking knowledge to add. For Valentines Day, Josh and I went to the Shakespeare Theatre and I was reminded how much I love the theater and how DC has an amazing theater scene.

As we went through customs in Philly, I was oddly moved when the agent said "Welcome home." I guess he reminded me in a real way that "Yes, I am an American and this is happily my home." But its always easier to say goodbye when you know its simply, "Goodbye for now." And I knew that as our plane took off, I would be back, just as Josh has always known he would return back to Paris. Maybe I can even imagine and hope that when next we pass through Charles de Gaulle in Paris, the agent says some version of "Welcome Back."

sPg