A pensive return

I am sitting in "my room". I am "home". These words are confusing to me as I transition into a former life. As the plane closed in on the airport in Denver, I was intrigued by the fields of snow. All around were patches of white cut into bits by dark lines of pavement. These lines of life are always visible, but the other lines, the lines of shadows from walking through the snow, were more interesting. In a field of white, another shade of white wandered and meandered and crossed over itself. Having been in the mountains where goats and llama wander, I recognized these erratic patterns, and I wondered if there is another level of cosmos where someone else is looking down to see the errant path I have wandered in the last months. First my job, and then Portland, a return to Denver, and many beautiful places on the other side of the equator! Pensive, indeed! My Sunday, my typical day of rest, began in the Lima airport, boarding around midnight. I slept my way to Houston, not even staying awake for the movie! Travelocity was not generous enough in layover time, and after waiting too long for my luggage and secondary screening at customs, I missed my connection to Denver. I hopped the next flight, though I stewed for over an hour over the stupid rules that prohibit carrying beverages on airplanes because vendors mark up the prices so dramatically. I slept all the way from Houston to the snowfields around the airport. I had sent a page to Erik to let him know where to find me, so I figured we would meet by my baggage carousel. It was a slow and long walk over the skyway, as I realized that once I "touchdown" in Denver, I am back. I am once again a part of the fray. I am no longer anonymous. I am no longer a tourist. After a pleasant surprise by Erik's parents at the airport, they dropped me off to an empty and cold home on Columbine Street. That first step into the house was so quiet. My room is empty. My bed naked, my drawers hollow, my footsteps echoing for nobody. It is strange to be a part of a home and not feel it. I think the culture shock of my return will be felt for another month until I can settle into life again. It feels so weird to be here. So I need to find towels and clothes to clean up for my first Christmas party before dinner with Erik's family. Christmas feels so foreign, as the commercialism has not infected the places I visited. I heard my first Christmas song in Spanish yesterday. The Christmas lights and decor are relaly for the tourists and quite comical. Now that I have a good signal, I will try to backdate some of my posts from the last week! Feliz navidad! tori