Monday, May 18, 2009

Home Sweet Home

Little shout out from Amy here! Sadly I have to admit that this is the first time that I've had to revisit the blog. I love the blog and love the way it helped us connect with people and helped them connect to our crazy France life. Now we are living our crazy Davis Square life. We have been home since March 6th (2 1/2 months). It was a whirlwind from the moment we found out we were leaving to the days before we left; packing our lives (9 pieces of luggage and 8 carry-ons), packing the car (Amy laughing at all of our luggage and being a SUPER HUGE HELP with the kids and lending us the locking tie down staps!), saying goodbye to our France life, saying hello to our U.S. life, seeing all our family and friends, moving back into our house, reacclimating to our U.S. life, going back to work fulltime, and oh ya, throwing in a bathroom renovation and a job search for Lance, for the fun of it.

Needless to say, I have been a bit busy. BUT I am back. So my blog tonight is a microcosm of our return home. There are so many stories to tell (and they will be told) but this is what I've got for tonight. It's a story about Cole. In the cab ride home (Les had all our luggage in his car and Team Davis was in a cab together) I was eagerly anticipating Ellie's reaction (as she was the only one who had not been back to the U.S. during the whole time we were in France, and she was older) however, she fell alseep in the cab, they both fell asleep -- it was 2:00 AM for the kids --and I wasn't sure how they were going to be upon waking up at the house. Ellie rallied but it was Cole who provided the biggest surprise. Cole's reaction was priceless. He entered the house and while I was eagerly watching Ellie, out of the corner of my eye I saw Cole lie face down on the floor, rolling around, back and forth, giggling uncontrollably, on our living room rug! Our France house was beautiful but carpet was not a part of any of it, anywhere. It was made of stone floors and stone walls and "soft" or "comfortable" are not a words anyone would use to describe any of it. Apparently, even at 2 years old, there's nothing like a nice wool carpet.

With that, the Blog is back.

"...like an open book for the whole world to read."

Monday, May 4, 2009

All In My Grill

There are many things I love about our cozy little house in Davis Square. High on the list is the back yard community. We have a tidy little "garden" out back, big enough for even the longest moon shot home run off of a plastic T, as long as the batter is a two year-old.

Bordering our slice of the American Dream is an old chain link fence. A beautiful relic in burnt sienna that, in the summer, dons an English Ivy boa weaved with wildflowers reflecting the finest in ex-urban backyard haute couture. Strategically low for half its span, it allows us an open connection with our neighbors who have an idyllic, over-sized backyard with flowerbeds that would make Martha Stewart stop and take note. Conveniently, the beds also make a stunning backdrop for the fully-lighted sound stage for live bands that they have been known to build for special occasions like milestone birthdays. It's an experience. We love them and always welcome, though occasionally marvel at, the energy with which they make full and celebratory use of their little paradise. God love the Irish... more stories there to follow.

Beyond their lot lay the backyard gardens of all of the houses on the next street over. We don't know these folks as well, being separated beyond any practical "hi, neighbor" over-the-fence chats. Rather, we know the characters by reference, like a post-modern Rear Window with fewer bricks and more patios. It is thus that we noted with sadness the absence of one of the regular characters, Mary, an elderly woman who we only saw on her regular trips to her little patch of concrete, wearing a light blue, flowered dressing gown, to hang or pull down from the line a seemingly endless supply of light blue, flowered dressing gowns.

Her absence was obvious because in her place was a glowing new picnic table with a table cloth and candles, tiki torches, and a shiny, black, old-school, -- fabulous -- charcoal Weber grill. Manning the coals was a man who was maybe 40. I noticed him not by sight but by the unmistakable smell of charcoals heating... getting ready for the main act. The beautiful part: he's been out there, firing up that grill for the past eight nights in a row. Eight nights in a row, cleaning out the ashes, loading new charcoal, building the fire and waiting until the coals are just right. Always just him... with a beer... a man and his grill. Solid.

So, here's to you, Brand-New Grill Guy.

It's great to be home.