It takes about a week to start to adjust to life in the South again:
Fall changes to Spring.
Pounds move to kilos.
Push doors open instead of pull.
Greet friends with a kiss.
Usually two tries to light the oven.
15 loads of laundry post-trip to recover (given the volume vs drying space ratio).
Four meals instead of three.
The grocery experience.
Signless Stops at intersections.
Nearly everyone stares at me.
Playing the piano.
Recovering Spanish.
I was still lingering with French on the first days with my brain not having understood that crossing the equator means I need to find the other words. I've slipped into acceptance that making a salad now takes at minimum 30 minutes because all ingredients are as you would find them from your garden. I discover again gratitude for the women who, when it's obvious I don't understand after two attempts in Spanish, reach into their memories for an English word or two. I try to remember patience when I'm limited in the things I can do, knowing it's all a journey.
The home away from home becoming home.
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