Our worldly goods are still sitting on the dock in Baltimore but we've moved out of the hotel and back into our house with its fresh new coat of paint. And even though we're sleeping on air mattresses, eating at a card table, and stowing our clothes in suitcases, it feels good to be home. Although there's no maid service or daily fresh towels, there's fresh coffee to be drunk while still in pajamas and plenty of A/C to keep us cool; the kids are back in their own rooms with separate beds. Our synagogue welcomed us back with fresh flowers, challah, grape juice, and candles. Our neighbors have offered dinner and the loan of gardening tools. And on a Sunday morning, when my husband and one child have gone for a run, and the other is walking the neighbor's dog, it's blissfully peaceful.
As for what the hangup might be at the port, I can't imagine. It's only 40 miles between here and there, but apparently a world away. I'm trying not to conjure up scenes from the second season of The Wire which featured some pretty nasty doings in those parts. I think I'll just have another cup of joe.