So I'm still in Cheadle, hogging my sister's broadband, and doing a piece of virtual-work (vork?): researching a UK company that a US company has been asked to joint venture on. It's brilliant: my client is asleep in Boston, and I could be anywhere in the world. Well, anywhere with internet access and a phone line. I've got a meeting at 5, and then I'm leaving on a jet plane for Heathrow.
Great weekend: catching up with loads of current- and former-Cheadlites in Synagogue; hearing the views on the New Rabbi; hanging out with my nephews and niece (S - four - is convinced that I'm the only person in the world who knows how to play Bob the Builder on the computer); eating a lot of honey cake; Spanish coffee and a gossip with E in Didsbury; power-walk with my Dad to see D in hospital (17 minutes to the Alex); the dolling out of much sartorial advice; seeing lots of family.
The place you grew up in never leaves you, but I know I don't live here any more. It feels like home, sure, in that I know how it works, and who everyone is, but the truth is I've lived in London as an adult longer than I ever lived in Cheadle, and that feels like home, now.
Over the last few months I've been going through a belongings-dumping process, a kind of late-onset minimalism, and I feel like I've streamlined my life, a little, and after two days in Synagogue I feel thoughtful and spiritually uplifted, and like I've had time to think about my plans, and what I want for me and my family, and I feel: happy.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment