Getting up and getting dressed for work, driving there, having it together, it was so easy in say early December. Now after weeks of the main work being presents and ribbons and plane reservations and figuring out the train from Milan to Florence and which panettone to buy, and orienting ourselves by the Christmas tree in front of the Duomo, figuring out how to work just seems so unreasonable. January after the break is always such a weird time.
I thought this was my work.
Our first Christmas half a world away from Camille is still unimaginable, even though it happened. What made it tolerable is that 1. she didn't have to have a brutally long flight for a short visit, and 2. she was with Peter's sisters and her cousin in Monterey. Stefan left school in mid-December and went to Germany and stayed with a friend for week. Then we met up in Florence for Christmas. I had to work Christmas eve and didn't fly in until Christmas day, but it didn't prevent it from being glorious. Somehow we convinced the Luhmann's to join us for New Years, so having friends help us buy wine at the mercado and eat the extra panettone and play poker one night made the time even more sweet. Our apartment on Via Porcellana, near Santa Maria Novella, and even closer to the Santa Maria Novella Purfumery, had tile floors, heavy old furniture and bell-tower view. After visiting the Uffizi and seeing Botticelli's Primavera again after 20 years, all I wanted to do was stay in the apartment, wear socks and sweaters, and copy the painting in charcoal onto butcher paper. But we also rode the train to San Gimignano, had dinner one night on the campo in Siena, and saw the tilted Christmas tree in Pisa. The flight home was brutal, low-cost airlines are low cost for a reason.
Went back to work for a week, at a definite January pace.
On the 7th, the president had an Irani general assassinated, so the Embassy here was pretty spun up. Contingency plans were made, then things calmed down. After this, uh, excitement, we settled back into a routine.
Then over the weekend, the Sultan of Oman died. I've already written at length about him and his 50-year devotion to this country, but his death is a mournful call to prayer. And because of this, we got an unexpected three days off. I can't remember a five-day weekend ever. With no real plans, and not much open, it's been sweatpants, and movies, and trying not to snack all day. What bliss! It's okay to sometimes not do anything!
I did things like researched natural bristle hairbrushes, and stalked the internet for a tea pot I'd seen in Florence and I regretted I didn't buy, in spite of having bought two other teapots at my favorite silly store in Florence (and Riga), Tiger. I made us chili, drank a lot lattes, finished one book and started another, decided on my next two reads, cleaned out the bookshelves, and unpacked our week-old luggage. Peter fought with the internet about an online course he has to take, and watched football. I like the sound of football in the background, it's very cozy. I found three bottles of wine in Stefan's suitcase that I'd forgotten we'd brought home!
Now I have to get use to working again for two days, then we have a three day weekend!
One of my many coffees, and candle from Santa Maria Novella.
When does life feel normal, ever, I wonder? Maybe in February.