I know I am supposed to be over the honeymoon phase right now and transitioning right into reverse culture shock. At least that's what the re-patriation literature tells me. I should be starting to feel like our latest American "vacation" is over and the novelty of being "home" should have worn off. I should be remembering our 6 1/2 years overseas with rose-colored glasses as a time when everything was perfect and realizing that in America, nothing can compare to what I left behind.
But I'm not. Instead, five weeks after returning home and after three weeks of living in a largely empty house, I wake in the morning delighted to be here.
We sleep on the floor. Our clothing is in two big piles - the cleans and the dirties. The windows have no curtains and the kitchen has no table. I am finding it all but impossible to cook because I have only a crappy Ikea knife and a single aluminum pot, left over from a decades-old camping kit, but at least when we do eat at home I serve our food on Grandma Gladys' china and we drink from her crystal.
Its a strange mix of old and new, of camping and remodeling, of vacation and routine. Regardless of what all it may be or not be, it is home and I am delighted to be here.
