Where To Begin…
When there’s been this much of a gap between postings it’s hard to know where to begin, what to include and what to omit, whether to concentrate on the solid (then this happened) or the abstract (and I felt kind of odd), how many pictures to include… and then instead of getting on with it I postpone for a further day, and the cycle begins afresh.
So I’ll go all Julie Andrews on your ass and start at the very beginning…
Just over 18 days ago I trundled my suitcases to Gatwick in the company of mum, dad and Cath, and moved to Nashville.
Although that’s not really the beginning is it. Before that there were fabulous leaving parties – both at work and at my local pub – and Greenbelt.
Ladies Who Lunch
The Stewarts and Jenny
Cary & Jayne
All of them filled with dear friends, a strangely hopeful sadness, and an overwhelming feeling of affection that made me feel sometimes like I was present at my own funeral. That sounds terribly morbid, but it’s not often in life that you do something that in somewhat forces people to tell you how much they love you. And loved, it seems, I am. And grateful I am from my toes to my nose. And talking like Yoda I will now stop.
I got on a crappy old plane at Gatwick, fully expecting to sleep for the full 8 hours of the flight to Atlanta. Instead I spent 4 hours reading a Jane Green book from cover to cover whilst crying the entire time, then stared at the clouds a lot whilst napping for about 15 minutes at a time.
My welcome to the States was wonderful. Bags were with me the entire time, transfers were simple and sweet, the guy at immigration was so lovely he actually joked with me (which anyone who travels through the US on a semi-regular basis will know is like a snowman in July) and I even got to chat with Mum, Dad & Cath on Skype before they went to bed.
My welcome to Nashville was even better. Flowers, comedy signs, a room filled with balloons, and a glass of bubbles were the prelude to perfect sushi and a great night’s sleep.
The first weekend was a blur of new friends and old. Hugging the physicality of dear people who had, until this point, been names in conversations or laughter and connection on Facebook was wonderful, but nothing compared to the first meeting with the smallest person at the party.
Judith Margaret Adam meets Judith Marguerite McCarthy. Love at first drool.
Two Judes
More to follow, and MANY more photos on Flickr!
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