Thursday, June 3, 2010
Last Day
It's my last day in Shnat. When I finish this, I'll be getting ready to go, saying goodbye to Europeans, the house, and our adorable little kitten who adopted us as her caretakers. She was really sick when she came to us, and we've been feeding her and giving her love and she's getting so much stronger and healthier. We call her Buffalo, because of a song we sing that says buffalo a lot, and because really she is big and strong like a buffalo, she just doesn't know it yet. When I leave I'll go to the Walk About Love, currently living on the beach for a month or two, then back here to get my stuff, go see some long-time friends I haven't visited yet in Israel, and then Tel Aviv until the plane ride home. We lucked out and because of the British Airways strike we get a direct flight home on El Al for no charge. The night before our plane we'll all reunite on the beach in Tel Aviv for a fun final night together. Things are crazy. It's crazy that I won't live with any of these people anymore. I LOVED living with them so much, each individual person, I don't want to not live with them anymore. I don't want to go home and be alone. Where here I can come now and type this on the computer, but before typing this I was with people, and when I finish I will again be with people, and that has been a constant in my life all year, that wherever I am and whatever I'm doing, there are always people there, people who are here with me. I'm scared for that to end. I'm scared also that I'll go home and do things the same like before I left. I'm SO excited to go home, t0 see my friends and family again, but I'm worried that I'll go and be so happy to be there and to be doing my things again that I'll just go back to how everything was before this year, before this year where I grew so much and became such a better version of myself. I don't want to lose any of that by being excited to be home again, because the two are beautiful things. I know they can exist together, and I suppose I have confidence in myself to use my return as a way to reflect and look at all I've grown and take pride in it, but the idea that something else could happen is pretty scary.
I've enjoyed every minute of this year. I've learned so much, from each person, interaction, experience, discussion, I've learned so much about myself, about people, about the world and different opinions and perspectives and ways of life. These are things I can't lose. This year has been absolutely beautiful, and I know it's not just because of this year but because we live in a beautiful world. Any world where this can exist is a beautiful one.
I guess I didn't get to talking about all those things I said I would, but maybe somehow...
I've enjoyed every minute of this year. I've learned so much, from each person, interaction, experience, discussion, I've learned so much about myself, about people, about the world and different opinions and perspectives and ways of life. These are things I can't lose. This year has been absolutely beautiful, and I know it's not just because of this year but because we live in a beautiful world. Any world where this can exist is a beautiful one.
I guess I didn't get to talking about all those things I said I would, but maybe somehow...
# posted by Anna Schuman @ 5:22 AM 
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One summer I hitchhiked around Europe. I was in Germany for only a short time, but while there I got a ride one day from an American expatriate who had a lot of things to say -- he served in the Army and, though not his choice, was stationed in Germany, had no intention to stay but fell in love with a German girl and married her, stayed in Germany, made a living as an art dealer, and proclaimed that Coca-Cola was best served at 54°F (or was it 34°F). I don't remember all what else he said, but I do clearly remember him talking about life as The Great Adventure. I decided that would be the title of the book I would write about this trip: "The Great Adventure."
Weeks later, when I got back to London—where my ten week trip had started out and where I would get my flight back home—I called the family friend with whom I had left my hitchhiking sign, the sign that John Lofty—who had befriended me in Thames Ditton and given me sage advice that altered the plans for my whole trip—had made for me out of a scrap of brown masonite on which he painted in red letters "MANCHESTA" because that was where I was hitchhiking to (because that was where my Father was born) and because he ran out of room to properly spell out "MANCHESTER" ("Well, "Manchesta"'s OK -- that's how people say it, anyway"). This sign, which I had used to hitchhike for a week or more in England, was to be the lasting memento of this trip. I envisioned it placed over the fireplace in my house, if I ever had a house with a fireplace (and as it turned out, you know, I do).
I called the family friend, and he told me that he had moved to a new apartment (he called it a flat) and in the course of the move he had lost the sign.
So there would be no "MANCHESTA" sign over the fireplace, but I decided to change the title of the book. I would give it a subtitle: "The Great Adventure – or – The Manchesta Sign Story."
Thirty-nine years later (I was 19 when I took that trip) I still haven't written the book, but I have this story, and the purpose of life (I decided when I was working on a poultry farm at the age of 15) is to gather stories to tell your grandchildren.
And the American/German/art dealer was right: life is The Great Adventure -- and Coke is best served at 54°F (or was it 34°).
Weeks later, when I got back to London—where my ten week trip had started out and where I would get my flight back home—I called the family friend with whom I had left my hitchhiking sign, the sign that John Lofty—who had befriended me in Thames Ditton and given me sage advice that altered the plans for my whole trip—had made for me out of a scrap of brown masonite on which he painted in red letters "MANCHESTA" because that was where I was hitchhiking to (because that was where my Father was born) and because he ran out of room to properly spell out "MANCHESTER" ("Well, "Manchesta"'s OK -- that's how people say it, anyway"). This sign, which I had used to hitchhike for a week or more in England, was to be the lasting memento of this trip. I envisioned it placed over the fireplace in my house, if I ever had a house with a fireplace (and as it turned out, you know, I do).
I called the family friend, and he told me that he had moved to a new apartment (he called it a flat) and in the course of the move he had lost the sign.
So there would be no "MANCHESTA" sign over the fireplace, but I decided to change the title of the book. I would give it a subtitle: "The Great Adventure – or – The Manchesta Sign Story."
Thirty-nine years later (I was 19 when I took that trip) I still haven't written the book, but I have this story, and the purpose of life (I decided when I was working on a poultry farm at the age of 15) is to gather stories to tell your grandchildren.
And the American/German/art dealer was right: life is The Great Adventure -- and Coke is best served at 54°F (or was it 34°).
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