One of the things I was looking forward to doing when my in-laws visited was taking my father-in-law to my old stomping grounds—my former high school. It was inaugurated in 1992, and it has the second-largest swimming pool in the state (!), so—I’ll admit it—I thought he might be impressed. As a former high-school teacher himself, he found everything interesting and remarkable (as in, something upon which to remark).
Afterwards I asked him if he would write up his impressions of the visit. He sent me back a very professional-looking document. If I were a teacher, I’d give him an A+, or in Spain’s system, a matrícula de honor. First I’m going to let you read what he wrote in Spanish (if you can), and then I’ll translate it at the end.
Graduating from my high school
Mario and I will be having our stateside wedding reception today. (As I write this, it is Monday, and I am only slightly freaking out about all I have left to do.)
This time, it’ll be held at a small country club in my hometown in Indiana. I’m a Hoosier born and bred, and Mario knows (and loves!) this about me. I’m very excited to share our love and happiness with my friends and family this time, along with Mario’s parents and brother.
I suppose I’m very lucky to have another opportunity to celebrate meeting my half orange.
I prefer here. I don’t want to admit it, especially on the Internet (what with its permanence and omnipresence), but it’s true. For most of the year, I live in Spain, in Europe. And I prefer it here.
But I want to say something, and I want it to be crystal clear: I think that my preference is okay.
I made it! On Thursday morning, I woke up to the news that my flight to New York (JFK) had been delayed four hours, and I would probably miss my connecting flight to Chicago. As you can imagine, I was quite—shall we say—perturbed by said news. Nonetheless, I made my way to Barajas, only to stand in the check-in line for an hour and forty-five minutes! One hour and forty-five minutes. Incredible! Somehow, we made it to JFK by 4:05, and as my connecting flight was set to leave at 5:05, I booked it as fast as I could. Thank goodness for fast-track passes that allow those with flights leaving within the hour to get through customs. I arrived at the gate at 4:55, triumphant but sweaty, and I immediately texted my parents, who were, as it were, standing by, just in case I did make it. And they met me in Chicago three hours later! A happy ending indeed.
The first things I do when I get home are …
- … relish falling asleep to the sound of crickets, rather than my neighbors’ television.
- … wear sweatpants to the grocery store. Because I can.
- … order two or three refills at all restaurants, even if it’s just water.
- … take the dog out on a long walk.
- … text message everyone because now I don’t have to beg them to get Whatsapp.
- … wake up at 8 a.m., even though I can sleep in, because of jet lag.
- … immediately have my Spanish-speaking skills regress. It’s amazing how fast this happens!
- … eat cottage cheese and Ranch dressing. But not together (ew)!
- … sit out on my porch and watch an amazing sunset.
- … drive my car, and realize (for the umpteenth time) that it really is akin to riding a bike. You don’t forget. I actually go into auto-drive mode incredibly quickly.
- … relish the fact that I get to see people I know, but hate the fact that I see people from high school with whom I really don’t want to have an awkward encounter.
- … miss Mario, but not Madrid’s unrelenting heat.
What is going home like for you?