Quick Update from the land of no-writing-these-days
by Jess
I would like to thank the city of Geneva for sending me a CD of classical music. I woke this morning with an atrocious headache, and while fumbling through the 100+ photos I need to edit by Wednesday night, I suddenly felt like just giving up. Packing it in, under the duvet, until Thurdsay morning. The air is chilled like a white wine for dinner, but I cannot run – I have sprained my foot. I am at the computer, in dead silence, wondering how long I could sleep if I put my mind to it. Then I recalled this CD. I popped it in, and after only a few minutes of violen concertos and images of ballerinas floating through my head, I feel my headache subsiding. I have never listened to classical music, but I believe I will soon be an avid listener. I think it will be my magic key to editing photos. When I listen to music with words, I get distracted, or irritable due to the multiple uses of my brain attempting to function at one (Unsharp Mask, Sing along to NKOTB). Worse, inevitably the most annoying song of the day will get stuck in my head and I will find myself laying awake for up to three hours in bed, listening to the song on repeat in my head. And not listening to anything is just not an option. This apartment is too quiet. This village is too quiet. This country…
I would also like to take this moment to thank Geneva for having a crew to vacuum, sweep, air-blow away every single fallen leaf in the canton. We all know that fallen leaves on a Geneva sidewalk are a recipe for dog shit on your living room floor.
Additionally, the other day I saw a man – in obligatory neon orange polyester vest – scrubbing down the inside of a public phone booth. He had sponges and wipes, and he was going at that phone booth, head to toe, like a dentist does a checkup – getting into every crevice. I have never actually used a public phone booth here (because I prefer to test strangers by asking them to let me use their cell phones), but I took it as a gift. A gift from the expat world saying, “You really do live here. This is your home,” since it didn’t surprise me one bit.
After two and a half years, and with Jon going to his immigration visa interview in three weeks, I am tempted to reflect about this place. Just how much it is or is not me, is or is not home. What makes a home? Do you have to be happy, or comfortable, or in your element, for a place to be home? Or is it a matter of knowing the short cut to the grocery store, the best Pizza restaurant, the bus time tables and the cheapest spot for an espresso? Do you have to know the language? What if you do, but you don’t (have to) use it.
All questions to ponder when I have time. Right now I have 100+ photos to edit in two days.
Comments
For the first 2 years after moving to California I resisted thinking of it as my Home. I still missed Austin, and California just felt foreign. It took a while, and I think it was at about the 2-3 year mark that I started feeling more comfortable and “at home” here, and now Zach and I view it as where we’d like to live long-term (now if someone would just give us the $100k necessary for a down payment on a house…).