blog shmog -- ms.d we miss you!

Opening this blog, almost a year and just four or five posts ago, we said we would share our thoughts and experiences –how we try to adjust and settle in, and tame and navigate a/the new world – small town, big country, some misgivings and a lot of hopes. Essentially, it is meant to be about transitions (in case you have had trouble noticing after reading just a couple of posts:>).

For me personally, a very important part of this transition, was getting to know and making friends with D.

I have always had very few female friends (quality over quantity!) And I haven't really made many new ones – male or female – over the last decade. It takes time and I have been moving far too often. Perhaps, subconsciously, I inoculated myself against getting too close to anyone new. Because as soon as it happened, I (or they) would have to move again.

In this case my inoculation did not work. D has become a close friend and someone very important.

Was it because for a few months we lived within two blocks of each other? Because of our kids? Or because she comes from the Mediterrean and I am a Slav and there is something we share that is different from the Anglo-Saxon sensibility, if you will? Some emotional make-up? Sense of humor?

Or is it because D is an orthodox Jew who treats religion seriously? Neither orthodox, nor a Jew (trying to stay a decent Catholic, which proves complicated at times :>), I have a lot of respect and admiration for people who are as grounded as she is.

Her parenting style? Her always being calm and laid back? (which does not mean she won't yell when one of her three sweet and charming monsters gets out of hand, which, by the way, happens 98% of time; yelling, to be fair, accounts for about 1%; and 43.5% of all statistics are made up on the spot). The fact that she is warm and loving yet also capable of being demanding and able to challenge them and set limits?

Or maybe it was good food and good laugh and good conversation that you could always count on? Or her good-looking and always so-much-fun-to-be- around husband? (Oh Ms. D, I know there are days when you strongly disagree!! And it drives your crazy that everyone marvels at how wonderful your husband is while YOU know much better. I know the feeling!). The warmth and welcome of her home (yes, home, not a house!) whenever you came, whether expected or unannounced?

In some ways, they were my surrogate family. Some substitute for what I left behind when moving away from my hometown -- an extended family, where people always fight and argue and tell awful things straight into your face, but at the same love each other dearly and stay very close.

We never really argued. Not yet (wait until we start talking politics, Israel/Palestine et al. :>! Could that make good blog material?) We did not gossip too much (just very little), we did not talk about old boyfriends, and we did not necessarily share tissues when someone had a bad PMS day (just nappies and wipes when kids run around and into trouble). Under the influence (of D, of course, not alcohol) I tried to take to felting and knitting and it totally did not work. And I was never a good sport for shopping which D LOVES and can't live without.

OK, to the point. I did become quite attached to D.

And guess what?

D, along with her handsome husband and three charming monsters, have just left. RELOCATED! Went home. Except it is not "back home," or not quite. Right or wrong , they believe they would no longer be able to survive (in) Italy after living in the US for ten years. So they are taming Jerusalem right now. A new home?

Talk about big transitions.

Keeping fingers crossed for their hopes and dreams, I am nevertheless (a little) envious of anyone who will have them as friends and neighbors. And (very) sad that they are gone. And curious (big time!) about their new adventure.

To cut the long story short. Ms. D – would you be interested in joining this blog? Maybe it will oblige us here in Princeton to be a little more prolific? And you will feel mobilized (not that there is any pressure!) to drop a few lines once in a while? (Presto! To the whole small world all at once!!).

Well, I hope that you will agree. And the Small World will go global. And more prolific of course!!!


PS1. Global Priority did not prioritize this time, hm? Miraculously, your disorganized friend did retain this receipt, so we can get on their backs and be really annoying! Except, I suspect it might have to do with a small customs issue.... You did not mark the boxes. Not being sure what went into which, I attached the forms pretty much randomly. Do you think anyone might be surprised if they see baby clothing in what is supposed to be a package with "Hanuka decorations"? Perhaps?

PS2 Mr. husband just looked over my shoulder as I was finishing this post and noticed the Anglo-Saxon reference at the beginning. He strongly protests. He does not wish to be categorized as Anglo-Saxon (how does he know I meant it?). He is not, or so he claims, an Anglo-Saxon. I am not sure where he belongs then, but one thing is certain -- I am not admitting him into my Slavic club!!!!

about the difficult i-word

I dreamed of living in the U.S. ever since my teenage years. For a year or two or five. Temporarily. For a while. I came here on numerous occasions in the past: to visit relatives or to stay with friends; I spent two years as a student on a US-government fellowship. I always felt comfortable and welcome. I would always leave energized and inspired, hoping to come back some time soon.

I married an American and our first stop was London. We lived there for almost five years, enjoying this incredible city, but nevertheless always treating it as a temporary destination. Once our daughter was born (you never treat the place you live in the same way again) we decided it was time to settle closer to at least one set of grandparents. We moved to New York – the city that I had always wanted to live in. But again, the city of dreams and aspirations proved to be a temporary stop. Two more moves and we finally settled in Princeton, an old (please remember that we are trying to adopt American standards in this blog) university town, nice, charming and interesting, about an hour drive from Manhattan.

So far so good.

We bought a house. I felt relieved. By that time my daughter had just started walking and I was very tired of moving and living out of boxes located amid IKEA furniture. “I am not moving around the corner,” I told my husband after counting that in the span of the previous nine years I had “relocated”12 times. For the first time in about two decades we were in a position to buy some nicer furniture (in the past, it always seemed there was no point acquiring anything we would feel attached to -- it would only make subsequent moves more difficult).

I always avoided the word “permanently” – save for your spouse (one would hope), family, perhaps a few close friends, our modern world does not lend itself easily to permanence. But I thought we would stay here for longer. Perhaps I could even say “for good”. It felt pretty good.

Until one day someone used the i-word...

Anxious about going back to work, I wanted some advice about how to navigate in the brave new world. “Give yourself some time” – I heard from a former journalist and a respected New York publisher. We were having lunch in a midtown sushi restaurant and he (having himself grown in a family of “relocated” Poles) must have sensed some frustration on my part. “It’s not easy to be an immigrant.”

A chunk of sashimi stalled in my throat. What did he say? An immigrant?!!!!

It suddenly dawned on me. Yes, I came here with a one-way ticket. This last trans-Atlantic crossing was different – this time, having unpacked, I discarded several dozen cardboard boxes (well, most of them…). It feels nice but there is a price tag attached. I am not “staying” here. I am not visiting. I live here. Forget about continuous tense. It’s Simple Present. There is this piece of inauspicious plastic, a card -- contrary to popular belief it is not green -- which I keep in my drawer (I was told to carry it with me at all times, but whoever came up with this idea couldn’t have realized how many times I have lost my IDs). It states as a matter of fact: permanent resident.

Day to day, and I do not think about it too much. But there are moments when it makes me feel uneasy. What does it mean to be a resident? And what does it mean to be permanent? Where do I belong?

I had never given much thought to the issue of immigration. Or if I did, it definitely did not relate to myself. And if I did, it involved new exciting possibilities, crossing boundaries in the good sense of the word – going forward, rising, aspiring. Isn’t it what we were conditioned to think about generations of immigrants who came to the US to build a better future for themselves, for the children and grandchildren? Who enriched this country and made it so wonderful? I believed it was one success story after another, wasn’t it?

It is not easy to be an immigrant. What did he mean? That I need to scale down my expectations? Slow down? Think down? Step down?

I struggle with these questions.

I definitely have slowed down. Having longed for some permanence, I now hope this slowdown is not permanent. I would like to step up and think up and speed up. And forget about the i-word. But I know I can't.

So I am trying (continuous tense :>) to come to terms with it. Stay tuned.