Creeping toward anything familiar

The idea of visiting somewhere new and exciting, as I have learned in the past two weeks, becomes all together different when you wind up living there.  Once eating out for every meal was no longer an option, many of the exciting places had been visited, the children were beginning to remember the thrills of irritating each other, all the clothes were dirty, and the apartment needed to be cleaned,  Alex and I realized that we were no longer on vacation.  We have been looking out and around at the most beautiful things, landscapes, and people,

  

 but a few days ago, it became necessary for me at least, to look down and in, closely and specifically at the details of how people live here in order to try and give it a whirl.

I had my first slightly disenchanted moment, I think, when I bought a pint of what I thought was vegetable broth to make risotto only to find that I had purchased bean soup.  Risotto made with bean soup was hardly a crowd pleaser.  I had to dig deep in a shallow pantry (luckily a shallow pantry is something that I do have experience with) and try again.  That moment happened to follow my realization that hanging clothes to dry, while producing an incredibly lovely aroma, leaves them stiff and not exactly what the sensory driven individuals (yes, Bishop and myself) are accustomed to.  About this time, I eyed the ironing board, and putting one domestic tip with another, realized that the heat of the iron indeed produces the element necessary to soften things up.  This bliss was thwarted temporarily by the thought of just how much ironing this meant.  The day continued like this, sign after sign that I was in over my head.  I think this was the same day that Alex and Bishop headed toward heaven to find a court and Zelle approached me with a detailed school schedule for the next few days.  Everyone was in step except for me...time to get it together to say the least.

So, I went to work noticing the small things like the ways that women hang clothes on the drying rack, the way people linger at meals, eat slowly, maneuver around the city, choose fruit at the market, and even organize the trash, excuse me, rubbish.  I realized I had to find a favorite place to go and go there a lot until it began to feel familiar.  

I've gotten to work on much of this.  Some of it has begun to feel comfortable.  The rest will hopefully come in time.  I have found a great rock that has, at all times, a pair of gulls perched on its top,

  

a place to have coffee or "uma bica" anytime of day with friendly owners who humor my language barrier and let me try anyway,  

a system for school 

and laundry,

and dishes, 

a dog that might just begin recognizing me as I pass, 

a Friday flower delivery, 

a grocery store, 

a dance party,

and last but not least, I have found my familiar place on the bench where I am most comfortable, taking pictures and cheering for my team as they take on another.  

It is far from clockwork and the cooking still has miles to go, 

but I can count on a few things which is all I suppose any of us ever really need.  

Oh, and in case you ever need to know, melba toast tastes the same everywhere, and butter cookies are always delicious.