It’s a month since we arrived on these shores, and I must say I think we haven’t done too badly. Avery has had nearly four weeks in her new school to adjust to maths in the plural, French, Latin, netball, expositionary recitals, religious education, non-verbal-reasoning (still don’t know what that is), drama, dancing, swimming, and 18 new friends.
John has had two European jaunts and has settled in nicely at work. We’ve managed to spend three weeks in a semi-disgusting temporary flat necessitated by the kitties, who aside from sneezing a lot, lord knows
why, seem well. We’ve found a home, moved to it, unpacked, settled in, I’ve made a bit of a home of our pile of stuff, cooked an enormous number of yummy meals lately accompanied by actual lit candles. Avery’s got (there’s no ‘gotten’ in English English, did you know? always got) used to her homework schedule, I have got used to my own peculiar schedule of school dropoff in taxi, mile and some walk home, housework, puttering about unpacking things while researching on the internet whatever Avery got interested in the day before. Then I need to figure out lunch, which right now is too solitary. Must make lunch dates, which couldn’t be too hard. There must be other mothers wishing they weren’t folding laundry at 12 p.m.
Now the flat looks presentable. We still need to locate the person meant (not “supposed” as in American) to hang our art, and some furniture still needs to be bought. I think an antique rug and table for the EIK (as New York real estate would call an eat-in-kitchen), and more contemporary dressers, rug and coat rack for the main space. But still: no boxes! No rubbish! Life improves, even though Keechie sneezes.
We have heard that there was an amazing bonfire of living refuse near Red Gate Farm, our beloved retreat in Connecticut, from our friends Anne and David, and soon hope to hear news of Baby Jane’s first birthday from Jill and Joel. Our friend
Elliot Sadoff was on “The Late News With Conan O’Brien” and if we can find a way to transfer the DVD his mother Alyssa promises to me, to something you can see, we will. What other news? Not much. It’s unseasonably cold here, reassuring me that global warming may pass us by, at least this year. I have made the monumental leap of collecting (never “picking up” as in America) our dry cleaning and determining
that I am once more ready to wear… the dreaded black turtlenecks. What a rite of passage.
Wish us all luck in our second month…
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