Since the holidays I think we have experienced our first (my first, at least) wash of homesickness. Symptoms include poring over old photos and feeling wistful when we see posted pics of friends’ cars under six feet of snow. You know: when you miss something, everything about it seems good.
Hello, former house. You were charming, and we loved your tiny yard. In the winter, you were extremely drafty, and right when we moved out, the landlord installed brand new windows. But we knew the real you.
Hello, Forest Street in Cambridge, where we lived when we were first married. Someone died in our apartment building, and every day and night we got to listen to our upstairs neighbors stomp and shout around and watch 60 Minutes. If we asked them to be quiet, they would slam the door in our face. But the neighborhood was nice.
No worries: I’m not so nostalgic I miss THAT apartment! (Is it even possible?) For me, January and February are always kind of emotionally “down” (you too?). I am already itching for Holland in the spring, when the canal ice-layer thaws, the sun comes up before 8 a.m., and I can ride my bike more. (Note: I am the only person in Holland who bikes less in the winter. I’m afraid of ice.)