Or, should you prefer, half full.
This has been our experience in this first part of our year away. We so often feel empty -- of Brooklyn, of our jobs, of our friends, of the old certainties. But we are also full -- of time, of love, of regret, of longing, of lunch.
This week, the school world we left behind is sending out report cards, and I can't help but be in a reflective mood, going back to try to figure out what I've been learning, and what I have not, yet. I've started quoting ambient temperatures in Celcius, although I still have to look up the correlation between 375 degrees and 190 for the oven. I have learned, with a new degree of certainty, that to treat two kids fairly, you often need to treat them (very) differently. I can drive just about anywhere without getting lost at all, and I can cook well enough that my inlaws call me (with extreme generosity) "the French chef." My French is improving rapidly, yet I still stumble through any conversations that are too much more complicated than Foux de fa fa.
In case you're just joining us, here are, in a sort of greatest hits mode, a few snapshots.
On the half that feels empty:
Nothing Doing
We May Need To Start Seeing Other People
Two posts about feeling full:
It's the Food, Stupid
Walking The Line
And two about the fact that you can't have one without the other:
Kill Farmer Brown
If It's Not Good, It's Bad
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