Ein Epilog.

I think this might be it - the final entry. I was hoping to make it to 100, but I guess 97 is close enough. Prepare for a Southwest photo dump. Tally ho!

My flight to DFW left Boston at 6am. I was surprised by the loquaciousness of the cab driver that picked me up at 4am - by the time the short-ish ride back to Logan was over, I knew all about his dislike for automatically controlled electronics, the apparently rampant coyote-wolf problem in Boston, his friend's choice vacation spots of Yemen and Baghdad (and his disapproval thereof), and all of his sister's relationship problems. I replied with interested-sounding noises and the occasional question, all while thinking "I am no longer in northern Germany, I am no longer in northern Germany," where such chatter would be socially frowned upon. I was happy for this change.

I was shocked by more bits of culture as I passed through the airport, mainly being the prevalence of hot pink and orange D&Ds poking me in the eye every four minutes as I walked to my gate. When the pokes to the eye turned into pokes to the stomach, I caved and went for a raisin bran muffin, one of the American culinary delights that I had missed out on while abroad. Several things about this breakfast surprised me: 1. Sales tax. ("But, but, but, you said it was one price and now you're asking for more?") 2. The bigness of the muffin. 3. The quarter pound of oil in the muffin. And, 4. The deliciousness of the muffin. I took a seat along a back wall to wait and nommed on said baked good while its oily composition moisturized my fingers and I contentedly practiced early morning people watching. Two words: serious obesity. Sure, Europe is full of delightfully roly-poly people, but I was taken aback by this aspect of American Bigness. I pondered this for a while while continuing to consume my monster muffin.

We took off as the sun rose and I watched the light break into swirly designs as it came through my slobby-covered window. Flying west, the sun stayed in a pretty perpetual state of rise until we reached Texas and it continued its journey beyond us. My two-hour layover there turned into a 6-hour layover when the airline admitted to overbooking the flight to ABQ and offered vouchers for volunteers to take the next one. I just wanted to get home, but figured I'd already delayed this via Detmold, Frankfurt, Reykjavik, and Boston, so a few hours in Dallas wouldn't hurt. I regretted this decision more and more as my muffiny fullness disappeared and as I came to the realization that, as a vegetarian, it was more likely for me to be eaten than to find a vegetarian lunch in such a carnivorous airport, so I sat and waited. The next flight to ABQ was almost an hour delayed, for purely ironic purposes, I believe. Flying over field after field of flatness, I was struck by the abundance of little green and brown baseball diamonds and the plethora of cyan swimming pools. About the time I figured we crossed the New Mexican border, the clouds started morphing into dramatic shapes, patters, and colors that I hadn't remembered seeing since the last time I'd been in the Land of Enchantment. The pitter-pat of my wee heart turned into the full-on workings of an over-caffeinated gamelan ensemble as we broke through the clouds and came careening in over the Sandia mountains, circling around the whole of ABQ before coming in to land. Just like that, I knew I'd been re-enchanted.

I swished through the tricksy spinning doors at the Sunport's arrivals area and found myself in a flutter of familiar arms with a great bouncing and merriment that I had missed out on at the last year's worth of arrival portals that I'd walked through. After a very short ride, I arrived at my family's new home, which I hadn't seen since the realtor's wibbly website photos. Stepping in through the beautiful wooden and adobe gate, I became mixed in a marvelous jumble of limbs, paws, tails, and wheelchair chair bits.

Most of my family's new menagerie was still unknown to me, all except for good old Ber, my love o' loves for the last many a year and one of my most missed companions. He didn't remember me, but I pretended he did.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon falling in love with the house and figuring out how not to get lost in it. It's filled with such fun colors, shapes, angles, and hidden tiles that give it an almost whimsical atmosphere.

We went out for dinner in the Old Town that night, where I feasted on tamales and chips and salsa. (These items became the staple of my diet for the next week, they were so delicious.) Old Town ABQ had a lost-in-time feeling of quietness at night, once the sky had blued to its maximum extent and all of the tourists had gone back to their adobe hotels.

A mile and a half away, I re-fell in love with the house again as it sported its evening attire.

Much of my initial readjustment time was spent with Mom, working on her dream room in the casita, the little guest house in our backyard. She'd already done a great deal in turning this rough cement room into a Moroccan casbah, and together we completed the metamorphosis. As Mumsy (& Sharon Creech) delights, "It is such the best."

Some of my time was also devoted to various eye and dental appointments, as well as getting to know my new home area. As it turns out, the Rio Grande is only a few minutes away. Upon first view, I renamed it the "Orange River," and swim in it only vicariously through the three- and four-legged creatures.

We are also surrounded by a series of canals and city-proclaimed "Open Space," which is reserved for the recreation of the population and will never be developed. Two points, Albuquerque!

This is the "Sunken Living Room/Den." It's my favorite room in the house, which is lucky as it is where I currently reside.

This weekend we had a house blessing (as the Episcopalians will bless anything they can get their hands on), and potluck (in good Quaker fashion). Here's Ber waiting for me to join the rest of the crowd outside so that he can indulge in the offerings, or at least sleep under them.

The majority of my time at home has been spent getting to know my new family members. First, meet the cat. She was named Kokopella when she first arrived home as an anniversary present in June, but became Kokopelli after her/his next visit to the vet, during which very interesting things were discovered. Koko's name was then shortened to a much more appropriate "Koko-'Boing Boing'-pelli" by a linguistically beloved family friend. He. Is so. Entertaining.

Of course, he appears to be an innocent and harmless creature.

(u tink i iz dead but i iz smarter den u.)

But then his true nature is revealed. Nothing is safe.

His favorite toy of all is the long fluffy thing attached to Ber's backside. Poor, poor Ber.

And, as is the nature of the beast, he is very curious.

And then there is Ladybug (Bug, Buglette, Bugger, etc.), the three-legged wonder spaniel with the longest eyelashes you will ever encounter outside of Las Vegas.

She loves to cuddle like no dog has ever cuddled before.

Sometimes on her walks, or rather "hops," she decides she is too tired to continue and plants her three paws firmly on the ground until we carry her a ways. Dad has figured out the least strenuous way of carrying her - like a lamb on a shepherd's back, like a yoke on an ox, etc.

She also loves to chase lasers and LOVES a good blow-dry after a bath. She and Koko play tirelessly.

Another bit of family that arrived shortly after I did was my dear friend, Asa, who happens to be one of my favorite people and a faithful follower of this here blog. (Hi, Asa!) Our most epic day together began by climbing a volcano pre-dawn to watch the sun rise over the Sandias across the city. The moment the sun peeked over the peak, coyotes somewhere in the vast valley below started howling and we watched golden light pour over the mountain to their unearthly song. It was something else.





To complete our tour of spectacular celestial happenings from high places, we took the "World's Longest Tramway" to the Sandia Peak on the other side of the city to watch the sun set over the volcanoes... and the rest of that part of the state.

Then we found ourselves a cliff to perch upon until the darkness ate all but the celestial beings and city lights.



Since then, I've mostly been catching up on things at home, though I hope to do more hiking and exploring before I get back to Smith in six days. I have seen some incredible drive-by scenery, like wild mountains, mesas, and mustangs on the way to Santa Fe.

As well as some incredible bigness driving back to ABQ from locations in the east.

And boy, does this part of the country know how to put on an exciting storm show. These are from tonight.

(Note the lightning on the right. Bam!)

New Mexico has a landscape, or rather MANY landscapes, that will never cease to fascinate me, and I'm glad to have the assured opportunity to come back to it again and again.

As for my readjustment to my home country, it's not as extreme as I had anticipated. Maybe because I had already experienced coming home after a year's absence, this time isn't as dramatic. Even coming home to a house, animals, and a community that were completely unfamiliar to me wasn't as strange as I had expected. My family really is my home, wherever we are, and all four of us being here together for this short time (even with the added bonus of various grandparents!) is certainly something worth treasuring.

I miss Germany, but not as much as I had anticipated. Right now I miss the feel of the language in my mouth more than anything else. Like with Belgium, it seems like it never really happened. The whole experience is so surreal to me now that sometimes I have to flip through my pictures for proof. It was real, though, proven not only by my photos and funny looks I got for reading a German novel for hours at the Motor Vehicle Division while waiting to apply for a license, but also by the ease with which my brain was able to switch back into the language when suddenly being thrown into conversation with a native speaker a few days ago. A wise person recently said to me, "Being American is like riding a bicycle" - and, silly enough, I think that's true. I visited nine different countries in the past year, but already feel completely used to being in the States. Muscle memory of the mind, perhaps. Unlike with Belgium, leaving Hamburg didn't feel like a real goodbye, because I knew I'd be back again sometime. It was a sweet temporary parting from a beloved place, whereas my departure from Belgium was almost more of a relief than anything else. I'll be back, and until then I have an endless supply of joyful memories to tide me over.

And until then, I'm both curious and optimistic about whatever comes next. This is a time of such newness for me - new home, new pets, new official state residence and license to prove it, new glasses, new applications, new ponderings for my future, new relationships with people I've just met and with those I've known all my life, new perspectives, new endeavors, and, among other things, a new website coming soon at margaretmetzler.com (!). A new chapter. A new beginning. A good time, without a doubt.

To close, I'd like to type a big, resounding thank you into this vast web of interconnectedness and hope that it echoes through it to all of you who have kept up with my ramblings and photo histories along my journey. Now more than ever, I am so touched and impressed by all the support I have received over time, and am so grateful to all of you who have given it in whatever way. Thank you for your words, your thoughts, your good energies, your time. My blogging days are over for the foreseeable future, though I hope more than anything to stay connected with you who are so important to me. Thank you, be well, and to quote a good friend - "Don't be a stranger."

Das Ende.

(Für jetzt.)