Zora Travels

Copycat

When I read other blogs before writing my own post, I am doomed to repeat their themes.  It's like in high school whenever I would hear someone with an accent, I would instantly change my own speech patterns to mimic them.  This would annoy those around me.  I found it amusing, even patting myself on the back for such talent.  Surely the proper cadence of Liverpool, Sydney, Berlin, and Tijuana were butchered by my tongue, but I loved the lingual gymnastics.

But now I face this screen with Claire's recent post about places that shape us and Luke's post about historical moments that will resonate years from now for little Alice.  These thoughts will now take flight on their kite strings...hoping to catch their own wind eventually.

***before these thoughts; however, I need to finally post just a bit about little Alice.  Nora's kindred spririt in the Northwest.  Her Evergreen soul-sister.  These two spicy girls share so much (besides super parents)...and it was with much anticipation that they finally met upon Courtney's parents' lawn when I flew home.  Here are some of my favorite pics from the event.  Maybe at the next encounter, they will take more of an interest in eachother...and not just Alice's shoes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Regarding places and their hold upon our hearts and minds...my trip "home" last week was made more special precisely because Nora was in my lap as the tiny plane bumped over the Cascade Mountains.  Her chubby fingers (with razor-sharp hang nails) gripped mine as we we fell into the embrace of the Wenatchee Valley.  As we skipped along the runway, the Columbia River slithered her shiny skin back towards my father's house and Lake Chelan, and the snow-capped peaks reminded me of the four seasons.

Using "home" for Washington is taking liberties with the concept.  I have been a "California girl" far longer than I ever ran along the river with my dog in the Evergreen State.  But those early years stamped the scent of apply blossoms, the trickle of Pete's creek (pronounced crick), the texture of river reeds formed into necklaces, and the taste of sun-warmed strawberries bursting in my mouth as I plucked the morning crop from the hillside. 

Regarding the historical events Nora will associate with her infancy.  The Jasmine Revolutions, Osama's death, Obama's presidency, Alabama tornadoes, Japanese earthquakes/tsunami, California's deficit, Tea Partiers, "birthers," US debt ceiling, Guantanamo Bay, "don't ask; don't tell," "right to marry"...which concepts and figures will she even recognize from this list?  Which will I still remember?

Yes (with head bashedly drooping), I watched the royal wedding with my daughter (as my mom did with me).  I'll also keep the Newsweek magazine that covers it...but I also have the LA Times from Obama's inauguration.  Not a perfect balance...but it's something.  Papers for her to one day finger, headlines, and ads, and articles to ponder from years long since passed.  It is exciting to consider all the treasures of paper, glass, metal, stone, and canvas that her box will accumulate over the years.  Providing hours of enjoyment some dusty afternoon.  She'll also have my letters written in her wire-bound journal...from the first days I knew of a growing seed within my body...the first heartbeat, the first labor pains, our first morning together when we danced with her father in the hospital room...and a calendar from her first year with memories hastily noted on each day.

Today's square will read, "clapped over and over."

Bravo, Noodle, bravo indeed.

Below is a video of our giggling good times...and some pics from my "Global Storytime" that I lead a few times a month.   I announced today, by the way, that I will start passing around a little basket from now on, during storytime, and the suggested donation of $1-$2 from each mom will go towards sponsoring a child at the Kololo school through Ethiopian Reads and TESFA, Julie's fabulous fundraising project.  We only need $252 per year...and I think my "Mommy & Me" friends can swing it.  We shall see.  A book in the hands of our children will help put a book in the hands of the "Kololo Cuties."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The "Nuglett Nooks Tour"

Those of you who know me outside of this blogosphere know that I tend to be fairly (or ridiculously, depending on your barometer) organized.  But this has been in the realm of work and my classroom...it has never translated into my home domain.

Now, due to the phenomenon of "nesting."  It has.  Daniel and I have worked over the months to slowly create honey-sweet nooks and crannies for Nuglett.  I thought I'd post them today...more than anything so I can look back in a few months and say, "Wow, the house was once really clean."

Here, Little Mouse, is your corner in our bedroom.  Lola Loi found the dangling yellow mobile recently in the Philippines and your changing table is right below.  The coolest wet/dry bags for your cloth diapers await the care packages...and I'm hoping I can figure out a good system of washing/drying and using these contraptions...otherwise the 7th Generation version is underneath for emergencies.

You can also see your co-sleeper.  Your father swears that you'll only by in our bed - right in between us- for months (or if he had his druthers - years)...but I think we'll just have to see.  I refuse to succumb to the prevailing sentiment in baby books and some relatives that I'm a bad mom if I don't snuggle and sleep with my baby until they're a toddler...or in school.

Here are "the goods" that are all going to the hospital.  The two gifts bags are for the nurses and the doula.  Having a mom that's been a nurse for 25 years has always helped me realize what an incredible job they perform.  In case you're curious what a nurse recommends for an appropriate "gift bag" gesture, I was told: 

good quality coffee (already ground)
box of chocolates or donuts 
healthy granola bars/snack bars/cookies

The doula gift back for Lauren contains various fun items...but since she peruses this blog...the contents will remain a mystery.

I also have a nursing pillow/contraption and the little suitcase with just a few items.  I know the mere fact that I packed this bag three weeks before my due date makes me the "typical first-time mom" but that's what I am and I like knowing that the clothes I want are comfy and clean inside.

 

This, Nuggles, is your dad's favorite corner.  While his mom was picking out a yellow mobile in the Filipino market, he was fingering this multi-colored version.  He also found these vibrant butterflies and wanted all of it to hang above your crib (your eventual crib that's in the garage for now).

This is the "Grandparents Nook" for all of our parents who will stay with us at various times in the next few weeks.  We have a comfy sleeper-sofa and on the walls are many pictures from the Philippines and also a painting by my Uncle Paul of my great-grandparents, Matt and Zora.  We can't wait for our Lola's and Lolo's to be with us! 

Aunties, uncles, and little cousins are coming, too!

And lastly, Noodle, here is the area that you and I may end up occupying the most.  A plush glider and ottoman, near a sun-drenched window, and all of your baskets of toys and books.

Sometimes your dad and I sit looking at this space...just sipping in the silence that still pervades throughout the house...then one of us will smile a big goofy grin.  We're so excited to meet you!

And this is Sophie about to lick her chops.  She's normally camera-shy but I caught her off-guard.  She may not like you getting real close...but she is my ultimate snuggle-girl and curls up with her paws up around my face each day.  Watching you kick underneath her belly has made me laugh many times.  She gets very perplexed by the movement and just has no idea how things will shift around here once you enter the scene.  But Daniel and I have vowed to keep paying as much attention (as possible) to our furries.

That concludes the "Nuglett Nooks Tour".  I'm sure that all of these locals will blend and transform after your arrival (and by "transform" I mean turn into total chaos and disaster that I won't mind).

The secret in my bra

I tuck an antacid inside my bra every time I go to pre-natal yoga.  Yup, right inside the underwire rests a little pastel tablet.  Due to Nuglett's long legs and vigorous poking, I have constant heartburn.  I've tried the "honey-nonspicy-sittingup-goingonawalk-sleepingwithmanypillows" approach but nothing cures the zesty fire like my beloved tropical antacid tablets.  Sometimes I imagine their salvation glowing within the cupboard.  I insist, for some bizarre reason, on tucking them stealthily away in the bathroom cabinet after every dose.  I suppose under the auspices that perhaps the NEXT meal won't cause any burn.

I wondered today - what do I look like with my enormous belly stretching the olive-green tank top, reaching into my bra with two deft fingers while in downward dog?  Furtively seeking my chalky friend, slipping it into my mouth, and crunching ever-so-quietly as I fold into child's pose.

Within moments, the swells of fire churn less...and by the time I'm in pigeon pose...my heart feels again only the tranquil gold of yoga - not the burn.

Today is the first day of school for many of my dearest friends.  I thought of each of them as I checked my email and watched the minutes tick closer to 8:00am.  My own maternity-leave substitute teacher (armed with my syllabus, my summer-reading packet, and my lesson plans...and probably not using ANY of it) also endeavored to guide my freshman today on a literary adventure.  An adventure, that although the backbone is sculpted by my literary choices and curricular maps, is still in the hands of a man who has never taught a day of English.  Never coaxed 180 fourteen year olds through a dry text with various figurative language devices under inspection.  I find myself; however, letting go more and more each day.  I am a serious teacher.  By "serious," I mean that I consider my lessons, my selections of literature, my projects, my essay prompts for hours (and hours and hours)  It can be a little too much sometimes.  I've been known to need sleeping pills on those first few nights of school...just to keep my mind from spinning through each minute of my PowerPoint and my activities.  Changing clipart in the dawn hours of morning...running copies all over again because I forgot the Name/Period/Date lines at the top of the handout.

But this year there are so many other priorities:

• the tiny feet that protrude regularly below my ribs
• the hiccups that quip below my bellybutton
• the labor, the swells, the slide into life that now floats on my horizon
• the calming poses and affirmations of my doula that soothe and satiate
• the husband that massages my swollen sausage feet at night 
• the mother that helps me sew curtains for the baby/guest room (seen on right)
• the vision of a life around the corner that is shrouded in cloudy, golden light
• the friends below who speak of motherhood with such velvet tongues that my spirit soars with anticipation

How many more weekends of sleeping in until 10:00am, savoring the newspaper, walking to Coffee Cup, dressing up for luxurious dinners and wine-tasting with friends, dancing with Daniel across the wood floor at Haydar's, and finishing the night in the wee hours of the morning by chasing reluctant cats for a goodnight snuggle?

I suppose four weekends would be the max...at some point the doctor will induce.  So somewhere between no weekends and four weekends left before I become a mama.

And what will become of this blog?  Will I turn to it more as I'm tethered (albeit affectionately) to my caramel babe and their smacking lips?  Will I find even less time to tippety-tap on these keys?

I am going to try---from today on---to blog each day until "go time."  The brilliance will be lacking, brevity assured; yet, to have an online record of how I soaked in the final days before Nuglett's arrival might be fun one day.  It may serve as some subtle reminder of the luminous waves that I was so anxiously awaiting.

So, here's to a daily post.

Summer's Over

There will still be bbq's and walks in the warm afternoon along the ocean.  There will still be two large fans circulating air around our sweltering house and glasses of iced-tea with fresh mint.  But as of today, there will also be lesson plans, students on the brain, and a heaping scoop of emails in the inbox.

Summer has ended.  I've meditated, poured coffee into my travel mug, packed my work clothes and snacks...and soon I'll drive up the 405 in a blissfully traffic-free state, NPR peppering my senses, and my long lost gym ritual calling my name...enterring an auditorium of teaching colleagues at 8:00am (and facing my nemesis - the doughnut).

And what a summer it's been....what a year actually.  I have had the golden fortune to spend months and months of unemployment with the love of my life.  As we sat last night on our new wooden bench, capiz candles flickering, vodka cocktails in hand, I asked him, "When will we have this again?  This time of both of us home, not working, endless days of vacation, sleeping in, and constant relaxation?"  His brow furrowed a bit....and we both already knew the answer - not for a very long time.

I mean, come on.  For months our yesterday was typical.  It's the middle of the week and we rise at 10:00am, a little yogaesque stretching and breathing, a sunny walk to a local cafe, leisurely breakfast while reading the LA Times (me) and Wall Street Journal (him), a bit of emailing/facebooking, a bike ride to the park to play frisbee, napping and cuddling on a blanket under a luscious tree, riding to an ocean-view restaurant for cocktails and appetizers.....and ending with a snuggle on the porch, with cocktails in hand, candles burning, and gratitude for this past year.  It might not have always felt low-stress....and I can't say that our finances didn't often tickle my mind....but this time we had was precious.

There will come a time....and we hope it's not too far off....when Yesterday and her sisters will glow in our memories as succulent dreams.  Ripe and pungent fruit that hang just out of reach; but whose flavor still faintly lingers on our palettes.

Super Sub

It is yet another fine day as "Super Sub."  I like to pretend that I deserve such a title because of how hard I try to keep the teens: learning something, sitting in their seats, ignoring their cell phones, and respecting themselves and me (as much as possible).

This morning that last request faltered a bit.  A student stood at the doorway and refused to leave without his hat.  He was blocking my ability to exit the room and demanding that I had to give him his hat back (a hat, by the way, that kept going on this head after repeated warnings).  I don't like someone blocking my way.  I don't like teenagers saying "no" to a logical and calm request.  I don't like how intensely angry he was as I had another teacher come and get him out of the room.

Funny thing is....I like the kid.  I really do.  He has "bad" days and today was one of them...but overall subbing at my old charter school is enjoyable.  Subbing at my previous school in Long Beach has also been better than expected but necessitates a bit more meditation prior to engaging with 150+ completely unknown teenagers.

One thing I do know....without a doubt... is that kids want to learn.  Their minds are hungry.  Their appetites for knowledge must be fed.  They will either feed off of your inability to teach or relish the buffet of information that you display.  I am fascinated by teenagers.  This phase of my journey was the loneliest, saddest, most horrific period of my life.  A time to which I would never wish to return. 

If you forced me to return, I suppose I would take comfort in knowing that: the boy that chases me during P.E. and chants about being on a "wild boar hunt" would eventually go to jail; many of the girls who whisper about my father and their mothers would cease to matter; and that Courtney & Kenny, would still remain my true friends.

Daniel and I see high school so differently.  He lavished in the popular circle, enjoyed many friends, multiple proms, and a stable family life.  I wallowed in self-pity, cigarettes, and Metallica-listening older boys in the hours that my newly-divorced parents went to work or out on dates.  I played the "parent switch" game as often as possible to suit my needs.  My brother alternated, too, leaving us more estranged at a time when we perhaps needed each other most.

Ah, adolescence.  What could I possibly tell my future children about this time?  Honesty would dictate that I simply wish them luck.  Logic would dictate that I strategize for how they can not repeat my mistakes.  Practicality would dictate that I tell them, "Go ask your dad."

Morning sun

There are few mornings during a typical work week that I would experience the bright warmth of the sun.  On weekends, I drag myself from slumber closer to noon.  During the week, I rise in the blanket of night and hurl myself towards the gym before dawn.

So, this morning at 7:30am, I asked Daniel to pull the curtains back.  He left the room and I just stared at the sun.  Radiant streams of light floated through the hummingbird bush and coated the green comforter.  Patches captured the image of my hand against the cocoa wall and allowed for paltry attempts at shadow animals.

Dust and feathers billowed and swirled in the light (I suppose this means something about our cleaning practices; however, it was beautiful).  My bones and muscles shifted within a massaged and well-rested body.

What am I without a job?  This is a question I have never faced.  Starting at age ten or eleven I worked.  I hustled for babysitting jobs, cleaning jobs, phone-answering, cafe work, restaurant work, security guard, math tutor, teacher.  Once a teacher, I relished vacations in foreign countries by myself.  Frolicking along the beaches and journaling aside cobblestone paths in exciting locations...with the ever-lurking curriculum of the upcoming year on my mind.  I have not been at peace within my mind, my skin, my body in a long time....maybe ever.  I have not learned to be still.

"What are you going to blog about today?" asked Daniel as he stacked up piles of wind-energy research on his desk and prepared to begin his thesis for the day.

"Um, well, I can't just keep writing about not doing anything....so, I don't really know," I replied.

But, alas, I can write about nothingness.  Not in a negative sense...but in a "I am more than my job" kind of way.  What is it within me that I can offer beyond my working self?  Who is it that I sit with when I am alone and without tasks to plan?  Why haven't I used any of this free time in the past few weeks to volunteer, to make connections in my community, to use my talents towards something completely outside of monetary gain?

Okay, I can finally admit that I am not in South America.  I accept it.  And yes, I gave up a year of work and salary and health insurance and now face a very real educational job scarcity due to our "grand plan"....that didn't work out.  And although it was a well-intentioned plan to volunteer and travel in various Peruvian villages, there is a village here.  Are there not people, children, animals, landscapes, culture, arts that need attention right here in Long Beach?

That is what I'm doing today.  I'm going to find something that needs my attention.  There are only so many walks, yoga, gym visits, books, gourmet meals (my most recent zuccini fritters with olive/chili jam, tortilla casserole and pinto beans...all from scratch) and scarves to knit in the world...and the wedding planning has long since been finished (3 weeks only to put that baby to bed in January)....and although there is an entire online bridal beast that encourages me to fixate on center pieces and the flower girl's basket and my choice in shoes...I refuse.  I have the dress, the food, the place, the music, the officiant, and the man. Done and done. 

As long as I don't fill my calendar so much that I avoid (yet again) time with myself in stillness to be mindful, grateful, and satisfied...then I can find a new niche for giving.  I'll find the Machu Pichu of Long Beach.

****By the way, in honor of our "Lola's" (the Kampangpangan word for "grandma" and also my grandma's name...cool, huh?) - I issue a request to all of you who believe in the power of prayer, positive wishes, and good vibes/mojo/juju to send them out into the world for both of our Lola's.  One is in the hospital and one took a nasty tumble. 

 

 

We love our Lola's and there are few wedding images we've discussed more than these two smiling and holding hands after the ceremony.  They raised our incredible mothers and we wish them incredible strength, recovery, and love.

Winter heat

While Chicagoans are snowed in, my face will soon glisten under the Los Angeles sun.  While Gazans predict bombs in their future, I await an afternoon with friends huddled over sandwiches and frozen yogurt.

Sometimes I am struck by the stark contradictions between my life and what others are experiencing.  The profound comfort, security, warmth, and love that I try to notice often lies in a luscious pool that I've muddled with worries about celebrations, travels, and future.

Here are my current list of questions:

1. Where, oh where, in LA will we get married?

2. Is there going to be a Catholic ceremony in Las Vegas...if so, what types of things will the priest need me to do?

3. When we fly to South America, who will we work with?

4. Where do we put all of our stuff while we're gone?

5. To which city will we move in August? (*Options are: Berkeley, Ann Arbor, New Haven, Austin)

6. What type of job will I find in this new city?

So, as I type these questions, more come to mind...but it's too silly to post them all (okay, just one more, what type of dress will I wear?). I look at them and I remember what I was recently told that the Dalai Lama has said about worry:

“If you have fear of some pain or suffering, you should examine whether there is anything you can do about it. If you can, there is no need to worry about it; if you cannot do anything, then there is also no need to worry.”

What I can do for wedding planning, I'm doing.  I'm bent over the computer for hours per day...trying to find a venue that fits and feeds those we love on an itsy-bitsy budget (by ridiculous LA standards).  I can go dress shopping with my girlfriends next weekend and my mom the following.  I can cross my fingers that Berkeley and Michigan send Daniel acceptance emails.  I can research storage units, volunteer positions in Peru, and school districts in all four cities....but after all of this is done for the day, why can't I just turn off my mind?

Last night, Sara and I sipped vodka, rum, and cranberry juice from a fish-bowl container in Redondo Beach.  Tortilla chip crumbs fell atop the flagged bridal magazines, notebooks, calendars, and organizers as two nuptial-focused minds sought to figure out the "where, when, who, how" equation of our July wedding.  What a fascinating process this has turned out to be.  The guest list contracts, the budget ebbs and flows (depending on just how much debt we consider acceptable), the location changes by the minute and with every shift of venue, my brain launches into an entirely different motif, dress, color palate, menu, beverage, and floral parade.

It is truly exhausting...and I realize this sounds preposterous.  A middle-aged woman, afforded the luxury by parents and in-laws to celebrate her nuptials in style , is tired of looking at online candle-lit pictures and catering proposals.  Waaaa...waaa...sniff....sniff.  But I simply never knew what was involved in planning a wedding.  I see now why people hire a wedding coordinator.  It makes perfect sense.  As of today, there are five friends, two aunts, and a mother involved in looking for venues, caterers, rental chairs, cupcakes, etc.  Not to mention me and my betrothed.

I know that we'll find a spot.  The day will radiate with personal touches that show our quirks, unity, wanderlust, and multi-cultural zest.  In the meantime, I am a substitute teacher in a computer class, watching teenagers do very little, appreciating the crisp air and wishing I could use the bathroom.

I'm ENGAGED!!!

Daniel came home with a lot more than just stocking stuffers this afternoon.  With a sip of spiked eggnog still lingering on my tongue, Daniel proposed in front of our crackling fire.  The question and response were short and sweet.  And soon, three shiny rings from atop a tiny wooden pagoda were upon my finger.

I cried.  We danced.  I cried some more.  We're engaged.  Yahoooooooooooooooo!

I look at my finger and just smile.  I stumbled calling him my fiance tonight.  It's still too new.  We had a quick toast at Mara's and then celebrated with my mom's whole family.  It's quite a kick to be betrothed.

So, what a Christmas Eve....I just can't sleep yet.  A special night has passed in which I spoke with all of my closest people (auser liebe Fadime...ich werde dich bald anruffen)... heard their wishes of love and congratulations ... and relished the wonder of the day.

I managed to convince the clever elf to pose for several cheesy pictures.  I had the darnedest time figuring out how to creatively get my hand into the frame.  The results aren't breathtaking....and you can't quite see the cool triple rings...but you get the point.

Merry Christmas!  I have got to try and fall asleep.  Tomorrow we toast with Daniel's family...the rain is pouring here in Long Beach...the fridge is humming...and oh, what's this??? My finger feels heavy.

giggling now...

Eggnog it was not...

...I'm sneaking on to let you all know I have a spectacular story to share.  I'll scamper to a computer again soon to share the details.

But it involved a question, an answer, and soon....champagne.

The whimsy of home

There's a sense of whimsy in my life the last few days.  Friends and strange dogs dropping by for breakfast (*Girlie is shown here licking crumbs off the coffee table), hours void of work, basking in curious foods and sweets, glasses filled with French wine, nights scented with stories from Istanbul.  I catch myself soaking in the moments with more clarity than usual.  I am keenly aware that we have less than two weeks in our beloved home.  That soon my picture frames, artwork, and travel knickknacks will be wrapped in newspaper, placed in storage, and not seen again until next August when we settle into our new home in Berkeley, Michigan, Connecticut or Texas.

On Sunday, Daniel and I splashed armfuls of guidebooks (Let's Go and Fodor's and Lonely Planet) upon the chairs at Border's and gorged on potential itineraries for our upcoming Latin American adventure.  There's something about looking together at pictures of floating straw islands, Incan ruins in Machu Pichu, and pristine beaches in Honduras that creates this unity and excitement for our trip.  We've decided that maybe Honduras (particularly the Bay Islands) warrant a visit versus Costa Rica because Daniel has been to CR three times in the past.  We'd like to relish locations together that are completely new, eyes wide open, and hand in hand.  I will be constructing or teaching, writing, reading, and gasping for air at 10,000 feet with the love of my life.  It will be a luscious four months.

The gritty shine of the Los Angeles jewelry empire became the site of my Monday adventure with Daniela.  She showed me the jewelers she knew and my chubby ring finger quickly blinged with more carats, cuts, and gold than I had ever seen.  I felt like a princess and familiar sayings tangoed in my head...such as, "it is a symbol of our love" and "diamonds are forever."  It was only once the fluorescent lights and "I can make you a good price" smilers were gone that I recognized that the "forever" part is the commitment, the trust, and the enduring friendship between us.  DeBeers can't convince me that the simplicity of jewels in the rings I adore devalues our love.

From ring shopping to Korea town we soon went.  I felt the thrill of travel, the wonder of the unknown, and the anticipation of mysterious foods as we sat and waited for our blue crab hot pots at Tofu Village. 

Before the soup arrives, tiny dishes of free and abundant snacks dot the table.  Fish cakes, potato sticks, jellied seaweed, flattened gummy rice cakes, soy sauce peas and peanuts, and of course kimchee spice your mouth as you sip steaming tea. 

 

 

Soon large bowls of black rice arrive...the waiter scoops out the deep lilac rice, filling the original bowl with tea.  As you eat your bubbling soup of crab legs and spicy tofu, the crispy skin of rice is being loosened by the tea.  And within a few minutes of your scalded tongue sucking the last marrow from a crab's cracked leg, you find your spoon lifting a pale purple mush of tea-rice into your mouth.  Your tastebuds throw a fiesta...I whisper my new word again and again as I lift my spoon.

This is what Los Angeles, cities, and the urban experience mean to me.  The beautiful opportunity to have friends in my life whose parents hold stories of recent immigration, whose hands create foods I've never known, whose tongues harvest phrases in languages I wish to speak, and whose cultures hold families in the highest regard.

There may come a time when I relegate the cityscape for weekend ventures and embrace nature's tapestry more fully; however, for now I am a city girl.  Loving the pulse, culture, variety, and pace of urban living.  The grit of a condemned building, the resolve of a cracked-sidewalk dandelion, the honk of the cruise ships in the Long Beach port...this is my home.  The canvas has never appeared so vibrant as it does now that I'm about to leave.  I want to feel this vibrancy, this appreciation, this touristic embrace more quickly in my next home.  Live like a tourist in my own town.  Appreciate the tattered roads and brick walls of home before immediately salivating for the cobblestones that require a passport.