Return home to USA

October 4, 2012: On my way home now. Feeling so sad and tearful. The airport in Rome is big and confusing, as they all are.  I share a cab to the airport with Anita and Gary, and we part with hugs and promises to keep in touch.  The flight attendants on Alitalia airline all look like male Armani models.  Things don’t go well and they have moved my pre-booked seat from a window seat to a center seat in the center.  I’m not happy.  A big Italian guy is next to me, invading my personal space.  I just want to get this over with.  During the flight I can’t sleep, and I’m really uncomfortable and back to my strategy of staying dehydrated so I don’t have to use a restroom.  We fly for 9 hours, and I never use the restroom or get up to stand.  After 8 hours they serve breakfast, and the Armani guy skips over me, and I’m not served.  Then he passes out landing cards, and he thinks I’m with the Italian guy so he gives me one in Italian.  Great.  I still have to connect in Newark and Salt Lake, before I can get home.  I check my watch a hundred times in the 20 hours it takes to get home.

At the home airport in Oregon, I find my luggage is not on the carousel.  It’s still across the country in Newark.  Being a relative travel virgin, I believed the guy in Rome who said my bag will be checked all the way through from Rome to Medford.  Silly me.  I didn’t connect the dots and know to pick it up upon arrival to the US and take it through customs, and recheck it.  So what, I have my computer and souvenirs so I file a lost baggage claim.  I am so tired.  Fortunately I saw a local friend on my connecting flight from Salt Lake, and she gives me a ride home in Medford.

Upon arrival, the house is empty and quiet.  But wait, there are flowers, “French mints” and a beautiful welcome home card on the table from my daughter Amber.  My eyes tear up.  I text the kids and try to rest a little.  My mind is filled with thoughts and images and memories from the trip.  What did I say on that last night in Rome when I had a minute to speak to the group?  Did I tell everyone how much I loved their company, how wonderful they are?  It is too quiet here, but I sleep a few hours on the couch.

In the morning I awake.  I am alone.  There is no hotel dining area full of croissants and lively excited people.  Nobody says “Andiamo” with a fist pump in the air.  I get a lump in my throat.  But the phone rings and my young granddaughter Lorelei tells me how much she "misted" me, and how she wants a sleepover and to share my bed.  She wants to know if I got the flowers, and saw that she signed the card in her sweet 6 year old print.  Soon there is a knock at my door.  Through the glass I see my daughter Amber, she is crying.  I open the door and she explodes into my arms.  I was missed.  I feel better now. I get a text from my daughter Brooke and she welcomes me home.  We make arrangements to meet Wednesday for lunch.  I can’t wait to give them their Italian leather wallets.

I get online and find my new tour mate Brenda has sent me a Facebook friend request.  Yay!  I am so happy.  I work on my blog a little and decide to go to Wal-Mart for some food.  On the way I pass the Goodwill, the dollar store, the 25 cent carwash.  Soon I arrive at Wal-Mart; land of the fat people in SUV’s paying with food stamps.  I grab the huge cart and forlornly walk up and down the aisles and pass the tortillas, fruity pebbles, screw top wine, lean cuisine, non-fat milk, Texas toast, Ragu and Wonder Bread.  I am back in America.

Resolutely I head to the deli section and search in vain for the “real” parmesan cheese.  What was it called?  Parmesano Reg…… rrrrrrrrrrrr………. Parmesano um………… it’s fading away already.  I cannot remember.  I decide to get the regular parmesan but promise myself to throw out the year-old can of Kraft parmesan at home.  Suddenly the weight of sadness closes in again and I take a deep breath.  I finally remember.  In Rome I’d announced on that last night together that I’d keep this experience close in my heart, that I’d had a personal renaissance.  I said if darkness came calling, I was going to hold that special night in Rome dear and I would be okay.  This isn’t a dark day, I just miss everyone.  I miss my family, friends and co-workers at home; I miss my tour mates and Stephen. I miss my grand-doggy and grand-kitty.  I want to hug my grandchildren.

Swiftly, I throw back my shoulders, hold my head up and tackle Wal-Mart with European zeal.  I stride quickly with the assertion of an Italian, pushing my way to the front.  I decide that next time I will wear my stilettos to the store.  I have 28 new friends and I had the trip of a lifetime.  I had a renaissance and I will take the richness of it all and carry it home.