I’d been thinking, before I start traveling again, that I should go ahead and change over my New York driver’s license to New Mexico.
I was hesitant to do it because (A) my NY license was good for one more year, (B) it was hard to get, and (C) I’m pretty certain that I don’t want to live in New Mexico. But it’s where I am at the moment, so I decided to do it.
Last night, I dreamed about my son, Phillip. If you’re new to my blog, I should tell you that my son passed away on May 4. In the past, I’d often dreamed about him as a young boy.
I am a vivid dreamer. My dreams, always in color, tend to be wild and crazy. Sometimes, they star strangers. Usually, they’re centered around people I know. I’ve been dreaming about Phillip a lot since returning to the US three weeks ago.
In this dream, Phillip was an adult. He was helping me garden. With the best of intentions, he dug up most of my plants. There was one in particular that I felt sad about losing. It was a hearty plant, a succulent. He had chopped off the flowering top and left the roots planted in the ground.
When I was a little girl, I used to visit my grandma. We had a special relationship and I wanted to stay there with her forever and ever, where I felt comfortable, safe, and loved up.
After a visit, when my parents came to pick me up, she would stand on her front porch and wave goodbye until our car passed over the last rise and out of sight. I always had the feeling that she stayed there, for a minute or two afterward, with her hand raised in a wave just to make sure that I, teary-eyed, with my nose pressed against the back window of the car, could no longer see her.
I popped into church today. Just stopped in, as I’ve often done over the past five years. I’m not catholic, but I like to sit and look at the statue of the Virgin Mary at the Basilica de la Merced in downtown Santiago.
It’s cool and peaceful inside, painted to resemble pink marble. There’s a center aisle and the pews are lined up on either side, in two sections. before and after the hanging pulpit.
Behind the altar, a statue of the Virgin Mary is set into a niche with a royal blue background. She’s wearing a flowing, white cape and a silver crown.
A few weeks ago, I wrote an article for The Displaced Nation, talking about my reverse cultural shock in coming back to Chile. This week, as I recover from my garage sale, I’d like to share with you my take on being a Perpetually Perplexed Peripatetic Expat.
“Once upon a time, Sally Rose was happily settled in Santiago, Chile. But then five years passed, and she got itchy feet. She took a half-year sojourn in Europe trying to figure it out. So, is Santiago still “home”?”
Just like life’s landscapes, things are constantly changing.
Though my intention, when I moved to Chile, was to stay forever and ever, I find that every year, I’m traveling more and more. At this point, I’m away from Chile more than I’m here, so I’ve made the decision not to renew the lease on my Santiago apartment. To maintain an apartment here year-round no longer makes sense.
It rained here last week and folks got really excited. I might have been more enthusiastic had it rained more than a few drops in El Centro or had I realized that it was the first and only rain this year in Santiago. It cleared the air for about ten minutes, long enough for me to capture this photo of “Sunset on the Andes after Rain.”
Just joking about the ten minutes. The air was better for a day or so, not coating my throat with dust and pollution as it had been since I got back here on April Fool’s Day.