My life seems to have turned into an endless succession of unpacking, rearranging, filing, taking out the trash and the recycling, waiting on service calls, errands, and driving all over kingdom come. More than once, I've said to myself, "this is not the life I signed up for." I keep reminding myself that it's only temporary, eventually things will settle into a sense of normalcy, that my house will no longer look like a bomb went off inside, that there will be pictures hung on the wall, that I will no longer be driving up Rockville Pike or down U.S. 1, and children will be back into a routine involving people their own age. It's not that I'm missing my life in France so much as I am missing the life of regular hours, a place for everything and everything in its place, and when there is time to enjoy the many gifts DC has to offer.
It's not all doom and gloom. Among the things I have been enjoying is the summer's bounty of tomatoes. We arrived back in town far too late to plant our own but fortunately there are plenty of farm stands around with baskets of red and green and zebra striped beauties in every shape and size. For all Parisian open-air markets had to offer, a decent tomato was never to be found. Now I'm reveling in BLT, salads, and sometimes just a simple slice with a smidge of salt. Mmmmm.
Songwriter Guy Clark sure had it right: "Only two things that money can't buy. That's true love and homegrown tomatoes."