Archive | September, 2011


22 Sep

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21 Sep

I suppose the hardest part about being an expat is that “home” is always elusive. It is that place in your mind’s eye, idealized by the mere passage of time. The word “home” for me evokes an image of the place where I grew up, green grass, long summer evenings, (even dark winter nights), and everyone knowing my name. It is undoubtedly my parents’ house. The place where I grew up. At least for a moment.

It is slowly getting crowded out by our home. The place where we live.

A funny thing happened when we were “home” in Ireland. I realized that I wasn’t actually home. I longed for my own space. The place where I am in charge (small boys permitting) and can come and go as I please. And dinner doesn’t involve potatoes and livestock every, single, solitary day. I thought I was going to turn into a potato. I just wanted to sit on my own couch, cook in my own kitchen and sleep in my own bed. A month is a long time. Especially when it rained. And it rained. And rained. Every day without fail. We went to the  park twice. Twice in a month. And got rained out. One of those times, my brother (the most heedless man on the planet) took it upon himself to come and rescue us. That is how bad it was.

The relief in getting home was enormous. Just to see the sun was something. And go to the park. And the beach. And eat something that wasn’t a root vegetable or an animal.If my parents’ house were a meal, it would be bacon and cabbage. But Heidi Swanson’s Summer linguine is more how we roll in this house. Tastes like home.

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