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May. 17th, 2005 12:35 pmHome-again-home-again, jiggity jig.
The oddest thing about being home is the quality of light I deal with. The sun is brighter in southern New Mexico- we get less rain, fewer clouds, less pollution and more attack-sun-burn-type rays. Not, however, in my room. In the dorms, my room faced unobstructidly east. At home, my window faces south, but any light that gets in is first filtered through five trees worth of leafy green. I love my room, and I love the shadows, but waking up in the dark is stupidly hard to do.
I’ve been loving having a kitchen that not only has fresh tarragon, but also has it in places I can find it. How on earth did I live so long without the ability to bake? I just don’t understand. Rhubarb custard pie! Marinated stirfry! Cookies! Tabouli! Potato salad! Risoto! I’ve been home three days, and have cooked about twelve complete meals. This seems to be ok, because now I have both storage space and a captive audience for my leftovers. (I’m afraid that I’m turning into a foodie. Someday, when I start ranting on about improperly spiced pumpkin-leek soup, please remind me that at one point in my life, I thought these things were funny.)
Home is cluttered with guidebooks to Peru, which as far as I can tell, my parents only bought for the pictures. Not only do they seem to know more about any given place than the guidebook, it’s pretty obvious that anywhere we’d be going wouldn’t be in the guidebook in the first place. … At least, not the Lonely Planet. Maybe, something like One Thousand Assents in the Andes might have it, but knowing where hotels are isn’t really something we put a premium on. Knowing that we have to talk to Markitos to get a discount on our trekking permit- that comes in handy. (Thankfully, I went to school with Markitos’ daughter, and although we never got along, she has fond memories of my broken leg, so it’s all working out for the best.)
I am not unpacked. I hope to someday see my carpet, but have acknowledged that day may be in August, when I move back to school.
The oddest thing about being home is the quality of light I deal with. The sun is brighter in southern New Mexico- we get less rain, fewer clouds, less pollution and more attack-sun-burn-type rays. Not, however, in my room. In the dorms, my room faced unobstructidly east. At home, my window faces south, but any light that gets in is first filtered through five trees worth of leafy green. I love my room, and I love the shadows, but waking up in the dark is stupidly hard to do.
I’ve been loving having a kitchen that not only has fresh tarragon, but also has it in places I can find it. How on earth did I live so long without the ability to bake? I just don’t understand. Rhubarb custard pie! Marinated stirfry! Cookies! Tabouli! Potato salad! Risoto! I’ve been home three days, and have cooked about twelve complete meals. This seems to be ok, because now I have both storage space and a captive audience for my leftovers. (I’m afraid that I’m turning into a foodie. Someday, when I start ranting on about improperly spiced pumpkin-leek soup, please remind me that at one point in my life, I thought these things were funny.)
Home is cluttered with guidebooks to Peru, which as far as I can tell, my parents only bought for the pictures. Not only do they seem to know more about any given place than the guidebook, it’s pretty obvious that anywhere we’d be going wouldn’t be in the guidebook in the first place. … At least, not the Lonely Planet. Maybe, something like One Thousand Assents in the Andes might have it, but knowing where hotels are isn’t really something we put a premium on. Knowing that we have to talk to Markitos to get a discount on our trekking permit- that comes in handy. (Thankfully, I went to school with Markitos’ daughter, and although we never got along, she has fond memories of my broken leg, so it’s all working out for the best.)
I am not unpacked. I hope to someday see my carpet, but have acknowledged that day may be in August, when I move back to school.
