All the homey cliches you can think of

I couldn't think of a title for this post that wasn't a cliche. Home sweet home, home is where the heart is, there's no place like home, etc. I suppose the reason these sayings are so widely used is because they ring true for so many people. When I was getting ready to leave Germany, my explanation for returning to the U.S. was that while I liked Germany and enjoyed my stay, it just wasn't home. It was the truth, but to my own ears it sounded a little lame and I was surprised at how many people replied, "I would feel just the same."

The anticipation of returning to the Northwest was so great that I hardly felt sad about leaving my animals, my kindergarteners, or the zookeepers. Even the thought of leaving Shannon and Diana, my fellow English-speakers and closest companions was overshadowed by the sheer joy of coming home. I had a few last hurrahs in Magdeburg, visited the Christmas market, attended a couple of going-away parties, and generally acted sorry to be leaving. The parents, zookeepers, teachers and children all did seem genuinely sorry I wasn't coming back after the holidays this year. I tried to explain my departure to the animals also, but I don't think it had much of an impact.

On my last day in Magdeburg, I went to my usual Sunday morning cafe to eat my usual pastry, drink my usual hot chocolate and do my usual crossword puzzles. My apartment was quite bare by this time and I busied myself organizing my digital pictures for much of the remainder of the day before stopping in to say goodbye to Shannon and our project manager, Kristin, one more time.

I awoke a bundle of nerves the morning of my flight. After a few last minute chores, I still had enough time to venture into the early December darkness to buy a snack for the trip from the bakery. I lugged my backpack, laptop, and two suitcases down four flights of stairs to the shuttle that waited to take me to Berlin. I bumbled through the airport and breathed a sigh of relief when my checked bags both weighed in a three kilograms under the maximum weight (a 100 Euro charge is added for going over!) Now all I had to do was wait. And I did.

I spent my last ten euros on stocking stuffers for Jared (small, light ones that fit in my backpack of course) and started to get antsy. There was no plane at our gate yet, and the flight was scheduled to leave in an hour. Another traveller claimed he had taken this same flight from Berlin to New York twelve times before and he'd never missed a connecting flight. This was somewhat reassuring, but my original layover was only an hour and fifty-five minutes, so any delay would be too close for comfort. At 11:50, when our plane should have been taking off, it was just pulling up to the gate. I gave up the thought of making my connecting flight to Seattle and focused on worrying about how long I would be stuck in New York waiting for the next one.

We took to the air an hour and a half late, but the pilot assured us we would be making up at least an hour in the air. To me, this begs the question if you can make the trip in eight hours, why schedule it for nine and a half? But I assume that it is more fuel efficient to fly more slowly, but what do I know?

I sat in the last row and tried to prepare myself for the possibility of being stranded at John F. Kennedy airport for twenty-four hours as I had been in Frankfurt the year before. I watched a movie called Four Christmases on the plane's big screen and then as we approached time to land, I asked a flight attendant about my chances of catching the 5:10 flight to Seattle. "Oh, you'll make it no problem!" she smiled. I didn't.

Sitting in the last row of the plane means you are the last passenger off of the plane, which puts you as the last to go through passport control and collect your bags. I tried not to jump from one foot to the other while I silently willed lines to move faster. Ridiculously, I waddled with all of my baggage to the Delta counter and stood in line yet again. A baggage assistant asked, "where to?" and when I said, "Seattle" he shook his head, "forget about it." Somewhere between dispair and sarcasm, I answered, "well, thanks." But he was right and the doors closed for my flight to Seattle just as I reached the counter. I was imagining having to stay in New York for days and was trying to put on a brave face about it when the woman behind the desk handed me a boarding pass for a flight leaving in two hours. I could have hugged her.

When I went through security, now convinced I was on the final leg of my journey home, the woman who took my passport looked like I had felt a few minutes before. "Tough time of year to work at the airport, huh?" I said. "Yeah," she agreed, perking up a little, "it really is."

I called Jared from a pay phone with American quarters I had stowed in my backpack for just such an occasion and gave him the information to meet my new flight. Now I could relax. The fact that I was finally on America soil began to sink in. The conversations around me were being conducted in rapid, slangy, native English. The airport TVs, always turned up obnoxiously, reported American news and there wasn't even a hint of a British accent. After an unusually comfortable seven-hour flight (thanks to an empty seat beside me) we landed in Seattle.

In the two weeks since I've been back, I've taken part in many activities that remind me I'm home. I've seen Mt. Rainier in the distance on a clear day; I've sat in rush hour traffic southbound on the valley freeway. I have ordered an elaborate coffee drink at 6am, and seen the horrendous parking lot at Southcenter the week before Christmas. (Does anyone remember to call it "Westfield"?) I have shopped at Trader Joe's and have seen a red-tailed hawk perched on a telephone pole, watching for small prey.

More importantly though, I have seen my family, none of whom were able to visit me during my stay in Germany. I have baked cookies, gone out to dinner, shopped, and exchanged presents, hugs and stories with them. In fact, I would continue to prattle on about the culture shock of returning to the U.S. but I am going to go spend more time with my family right now. And really, for me family can make a place home. So here I am.