The other day our friend Zan in SF wrote us a lovely note asking if we intended to keep up the blog now that we’re home. I wrote back saying that I wasn’t sure what I would write about. It’s easy to find stories halfway across the world. What would I talk about now? Assembling the grocery list for the week? How to fill your time when job searching? (Suggestion: Game of Thrones.) She sagely replied: “The journey will continue, and there will still be moments of stolen time - they just might be a little shorter & fleeting moments that tell the larger story. But all the more important to notice.”
I’ve been thinking about her words as we’ve tumbled through this wonderful holiday season. December was a great time of year to return to the “real world,” filled as it is with fizzy festivity, grounding traditions, and lots of time with loved ones. We staved off much of the serious decision-making that usually accompanies a cross-country move by subletting a furnished apartment and leaving our worldly goods in storage. Even so, it’s amazing how quickly we recalibrated. We weren’t even off the runway before compulsive email-checking resumed; the sticker shock wore off within 24 hours. (Though Zach occasionally tries to revive our price consciousness, declaring in outrage: Do you know how much this would cost in India!?!)
Still, to Zan’s point, there have been moments of stolen time in our first few weeks back, moments that on our trip I would have taken the time to stop and gift-wrap for later consideration. Now they tend to get kicked under the coffee table where they gather dust while we try to figure out where to live when our sublet is up or which subway line gets us where we want to go fastest.
So far, it's been the winter weather that's helped me to step back and see the familiar through traveler's eyes. We were in the midst of the Brubaker Chanukah/Christmas/Winter Solstice party when we noticed the white dusting on the deck. Suddenly the whole room was in action, rushing to the windows, reversing course to the closets in the hall, hustling for coats and shoes and mittens, throwing open the door and tumbling out into the cold air, faces raised to this wonder that never loses its sheen. My dad got a small fire going outside (Boy Scout motto: Always be prepared) and we did the only reasonable thing to do in such a moment. We threw snowballs. And we sang. We sang carols we knew and carols we bum-bum-bummed because no one actually knows the rest of the verses to God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman but who cares?! It is snowing and it is Christmas and that’s enough magic to last me for a good long while.
Three days later, after a morning spent lying on my parents’ couch recovering from serious holiday making, we glanced out that very same window and Yes! Look! Heavier this time, driven sideways by the wind, it quickly put an end to our plans to return to the city that afternoon. And there it is. We’re home. The snow didn’t delay a flight, we weren’t girding ourselves to compete with other miffed travelers vying for limited seats. We can just drive home tomorrow, once the snow and rush hour has passed, and it will take forty-five minutes door to door. Another kind of magic.
With nowhere else to be, we pulled on boots and coats, loaded my parent’s dogs into the car, and crawled through snow-slow Tarrytown, finally driving up an unplowed road to the back entrance of Picantico. At three o’clock, the woods were already dusky, completely quiet under a pale purple sky. I was whispering “Whose woods these are I think I know...” when the dogs took off at full speed, the leashes went taut, and Zach and I found ourselves running behind them, trying not to fall on our faces, giving into their total animal glee.
A few minutes later, we crested a hill and my breath caught in my throat. Seven deer stood stock still across a frozen field, arranged in clumps of twos and threes.They looked right at us--eyeing the dogs, no doubt--but held their ground, curving tall and elegant in the wind. We fulfilled my lifelong dream of being in a snow globe, moving through the landscape of trees and snow and animals that looked an awful lot like reindeer. Well, I thought, that’s done it, now we can move back to California. (Just kidding, Mom!)
As we enter this fresh new year, we wish you all a 2013 full of stolen time. We may share some of our moments as the year continues and hope we’ll hear about yours, over email or the phone, or--better yet--over dinner. Here’s to plenty of everyday magic that reminds us how grateful to we are to be where we are, especially when that place is home.
I’ve been thinking about her words as we’ve tumbled through this wonderful holiday season. December was a great time of year to return to the “real world,” filled as it is with fizzy festivity, grounding traditions, and lots of time with loved ones. We staved off much of the serious decision-making that usually accompanies a cross-country move by subletting a furnished apartment and leaving our worldly goods in storage. Even so, it’s amazing how quickly we recalibrated. We weren’t even off the runway before compulsive email-checking resumed; the sticker shock wore off within 24 hours. (Though Zach occasionally tries to revive our price consciousness, declaring in outrage: Do you know how much this would cost in India!?!)
Still, to Zan’s point, there have been moments of stolen time in our first few weeks back, moments that on our trip I would have taken the time to stop and gift-wrap for later consideration. Now they tend to get kicked under the coffee table where they gather dust while we try to figure out where to live when our sublet is up or which subway line gets us where we want to go fastest.
So far, it's been the winter weather that's helped me to step back and see the familiar through traveler's eyes. We were in the midst of the Brubaker Chanukah/Christmas/Winter Solstice party when we noticed the white dusting on the deck. Suddenly the whole room was in action, rushing to the windows, reversing course to the closets in the hall, hustling for coats and shoes and mittens, throwing open the door and tumbling out into the cold air, faces raised to this wonder that never loses its sheen. My dad got a small fire going outside (Boy Scout motto: Always be prepared) and we did the only reasonable thing to do in such a moment. We threw snowballs. And we sang. We sang carols we knew and carols we bum-bum-bummed because no one actually knows the rest of the verses to God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman but who cares?! It is snowing and it is Christmas and that’s enough magic to last me for a good long while.
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| Jared, a family friend, and I |
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| Adam, my cousin and Mikey, my brother |
Three days later, after a morning spent lying on my parents’ couch recovering from serious holiday making, we glanced out that very same window and Yes! Look! Heavier this time, driven sideways by the wind, it quickly put an end to our plans to return to the city that afternoon. And there it is. We’re home. The snow didn’t delay a flight, we weren’t girding ourselves to compete with other miffed travelers vying for limited seats. We can just drive home tomorrow, once the snow and rush hour has passed, and it will take forty-five minutes door to door. Another kind of magic.
With nowhere else to be, we pulled on boots and coats, loaded my parent’s dogs into the car, and crawled through snow-slow Tarrytown, finally driving up an unplowed road to the back entrance of Picantico. At three o’clock, the woods were already dusky, completely quiet under a pale purple sky. I was whispering “Whose woods these are I think I know...” when the dogs took off at full speed, the leashes went taut, and Zach and I found ourselves running behind them, trying not to fall on our faces, giving into their total animal glee.
A few minutes later, we crested a hill and my breath caught in my throat. Seven deer stood stock still across a frozen field, arranged in clumps of twos and threes.They looked right at us--eyeing the dogs, no doubt--but held their ground, curving tall and elegant in the wind. We fulfilled my lifelong dream of being in a snow globe, moving through the landscape of trees and snow and animals that looked an awful lot like reindeer. Well, I thought, that’s done it, now we can move back to California. (Just kidding, Mom!)
As we enter this fresh new year, we wish you all a 2013 full of stolen time. We may share some of our moments as the year continues and hope we’ll hear about yours, over email or the phone, or--better yet--over dinner. Here’s to plenty of everyday magic that reminds us how grateful to we are to be where we are, especially when that place is home.
