Oddly Enough . . .

I moved back to the U.S. one year ago today.

It's hard to believe that it's been a year already, but it's also hard to believe that it's been only a year. I never experienced any huge culture shock with my move, and yet I still don't feel fully settled into my life here in Minnesota.

To mark the day (and cross something off my interminable list of things I need to do to re-integrate into American society), I went and got my Minnesota driver's license today (my DC license was still valid until 2011) and also updated the address on my car registration (the title had my temporary address from Minneapolis last summer). They asked if I'd ever had a MN license before, and I told them yes, but the last one was cancelled in 1997. That was too long ago for the number to still be in their system, but they said, "Welcome back!" just the same. That was nice.

I have been welcomed back with great affection and openness by many friends here, and that has made my transition much easier and more pleasant. And while I've rediscovered many things from my homeland and my native culture which resonate in my soul, there are also many things which make me long for France. To name a few: intrusive service at restaurants and stores; bad yogurt; the difficulty and cost of finding decent bread, pastry, and food in general; . . . topics I've been meaning to post about for some time and may still get to one of these days.

One year back, and my home is still where my heart is: solidly divided between two countries.

The Irony

I'm not much of a nature-lover. I think nature is fine and all, but it's just not something I'm inclined to devote much time or energy to learning about or, well . . . cultivating. In college, my friend W and I agreed that there's really no point in knowing the names of different kinds of nature, so we took to calling all birds "robins". Or "ducks", if they happened to be on the water when we saw them.

I used to have some houseplants when I lived in DC, but I had to leave them behind when I moved to Paris, and I never got around to buying new ones there, partly because I didn't have a good place to keep them in my little apartment, and mostly because it's really not fair to a living thing to be subjected to my neglective abuse (I used to sit and stare at my plants in Washington while I was watching TV and think, "Wow. They're really brown and dead-looking. I should probably water them." And then not water them for another week or so. I didn't have very many plants to leave behind at the end, there.).

So one of the things that's been strange for me, with my return to Minnesota, is being surrounded by nature. There's just a lot more green space here, and I'm closer to it, than anywhere that I've lived for the last 15 years. It's weird, but nice, to be able to see the stars at night. And I have to admit that I enjoyed watching the trees bud this spring, and watching the, um, robins build their nests in the tree outside my bedroom window. I finally succumbed to all this natural charm and bought a few hanging baskets of flowers to gussy up my front porch. The flowers are not, perhaps, as well-tended as some, but I've had them for over a month, and they're not dead yet, which is a big accomplishment for me.

I was away this weekend, and this morning I peeked out to see that the flowers were looking a bit limp, and surprise! There were a couple of birds sitting in one of the baskets. I went out to the porch, and the birds immediately flew away. This evening, after a very long, hot day, I thought I should probably take some water out to my dehydrated little blossoms. And I saw that one of the same birds (from the Mourning Dove branch of the robin family, I believe) was sitting in the same basket. The bird flew away again, but when I took the basket down to water it, this is what I found:

Now what?! I'm no baby-bird killer, but I'm not exactly thrilled with the idea of the Mama and its future fledgling(s) setting up home in my somewhat expensive basket of flowers for the rest of the season. My bird-expert friend is away all week, so I couldn't call him to ask what to do. I decided it was too risky to try to remove the nest myself, so I went ahead and watered the flowers around it. I'll see if Mama comes home and take it from there.

This is definitely way beyond the limits of my nature comfort-zone. But I guess that's what I get for moving back to the farm.

A Dark Secret, Shared

Many of you may not know that I like filling out forms. Especially tax forms. My strain of Particularity lends itself to fascination with detailed rules, and there's no better way to feed this dark hunger than with tax forms and instructions. And as sick as I know that makes me, it is a very handy obsession to have when you're living overseas and having to deal with the tax laws in two countries, including the extremely arcane IRS rules for U.S. taxpayers living abroad.

But I admit that even I was feeling intimidated at the thought of filing my 2008 taxes, where I would be dealing with a half-year's residence in two countries, plus filing as a new, part-year resident of Minnesota, plus moving expenses, etc. So I was pleasantly surprised that it only took me a few hours to complete both my U.S. and Minnesota returns on April 14 (I could have done them on the 15th, but it's never a good idea to wait for the last minute! For example, my French taxes don't have to be filed until June 18, so I imagine I may start them as early as tonight.).

I am expecting a nice refund on my U.S. Federal taxes, and it recently occured to me that the IRS has had my return for almost two months now and should be ready to send me money by now, so I went online to check on the status of my refund. I got a message that my return has not been processed because my Social Security number and/or name was wrong. I checked my copy of the return several times, confirmed that both were correct, and then called the IRS to find out what was going on.

It turns out that my name and Social Security number were fine, but that I had supposedly miscalculated my taxes, and the U.S. government wants to give me back about $2,000 more than I had requested. Really?! According to the IRS, my $355 in capital gains qualifies me for a different tax calculation (right . . .), and this mysteriously morphed into an additional two grand for me. I know W's tax policies favored the rich, with lots of capital gains shelters, but this really seemed out of line!

So I just spent an hour on the phone, talking the IRS agent through the calculation of my foreign earned income, and of course, my initial calculation was right, and the IRS was wrong.

Let me repeat: I was right, and the IRS was wrong. How sick is it that the satisfaction of writing that almost makes up for the lost $2,000?

From My Soapbox

A GAO report has found that it's more expensive to send U.S. food overseas to poor countries than it is to buy food locally. Let's file that one under "Duh!"

To those of us (and I include myself here) who like to use our charitable dollars and euros to support noble causes like feeding the hungry in developing countries, it's important to remember that sourcing does matter. Look for aid programs that try to buy local food and products whenever possible, and consider donating to programs that support local agricultural development (read why here), instead of bad U.S. ag policy.

And yes, this message was brought to you by a U.S. "expert" shipped overseas at a fairly high cost to help people. Sshhhhhh.

This Little Piggy Went to North Africa

It's been interesting to see how some other countries are dealing with swine flu. On the flight from MSP to Paris, all the passengers had to fill out a one-page questionnaire. I can't really tell you much about its content, other than that even in an Ambien- and jet-lag-induced stupor, it didn't seem complicated. I think it just asked for my name, flight number, and home and destination addresses. Or something. I filled it out and gave it back to the flight attendant, and my former homeland welcomed me with yummy yogurt.

Then I flew to North Africa. The lines for passport control kept shifting, and after waiting in line for about 45 minutes (at the end of 18 hours of tiring travel), I was somehow the very last person in my line. The immigration officer looked through my U.S. passport and asked where it had been issued. "Paris," I replied (I'd had it renewed at the U.S. consulate while I was living there). She immediately exited her booth and told me to follow her. Back to the "special" offices where they take the hardened criminals and other undesirables who are about to immediately be shipped out of the country. "Is there a problem?" I asked nervously. "No, you just need to talk to someone." Not at all reassuring.

Then she took me to the office marked "Public Health" and told me to sit down, and a couple of men in white lab coats told me that they wanted to give me some information about swine flu. They took my passport from the immigration officer, added my name to a list, and asked why I was in North Africa and where I would be staying while I was there. It seemed prudent to mention that I was working to help the People of North Africa, in conjunction with the Powers That Be in their country. They gave me a leaflet and my passport and let me go. As I was leaving, I noticed that each of the people who were at the end of the immigration lines was being brought to the health office--apparently the officers were too lazy to do it until the crowds were through.

The leaflet about swine flu contains entertaining translations such as "This is a new type of influenza . . . witch was first detected in people in Mexico" and "Protecting measures to ovoid getting or spreading the influenza . . .". At the end, it explains that if you're sick, you should stay home and seek medical care. It gives a couple of phone numbers to call during business hours, and then gives the cell phone numbers of five public health doctors to use after hours. The following morning (less than 24 hours after I'd arrived), I got a call at the hotel from the office of public health to ask if I was feeling okay or had a fever. Wow.

I mentioned this to one of my Corporation co-workers, who lives here, and she said that the Top Guy in North Africa is interested in swine flu, and that's driving all the activity.

It's interesting that a country which--to the best of my knowledge--has had no incidence of this disease is taking it so seriously, but I have kind of wanted to ask them if their public health officials don't have anything better to do with their time. Infant mortality? Child malnutrition? Nah, let's look for sneezing tourists!

The Perennial Paris Posting

Here I am, in the ultra-modern terminal 2F of Charles de Gaulle airport, a beautiful glass building with the atmosphere of a greenhouse. OK, there is air-conditioning, but it's French, and as we have already established, I have definitely been re-Americanized, at least as far as my temperature preferences and my shoe-shopping habits are concerned. But I'm on my way to North Africa, and it's not going to be any cooler there, so I guess I should shut up and get used to it.

One thing I haven't lost is my French taste for decent yogurt: as soon as my flight from MSP had landed this morning, I went through security and then high-tailed it to a snack bar to buy some Jocky Fromage Blanc (literally "white cheese", but it's eaten like yogurt, with sugar, and is very, very delicious). I'm thinking I probably need to go get a good baguette sandwich before I board my next flight. Jambon beurre ? Mixte ? Or . . . maybe they'll have rillettes, with cornichons! Mmmmmmm . . .

And I've had several lovely conversations with France friends this morning. Does it really make sense to pay 50 euro cents per minute on my French mobile (I've already spent over 30 euros--probably about $40--on calls this morning) when I could call all these people for free from my Vonage phone in the U.S.? Absolutely! Somehow, it's much more satisfying to talk while we're in the same time zone.

Updates: P and A are doing well. Isabelle and EJ and the boys are getting ready to move to California in August, to spend 2 years there, so that'll be a fun place to visit them. My other friend I is traveling a lot for her job with nGo (the first place I worked in Paris), and she has to work more directly with my former boss there. She has my deepest sympathy. I also called the Office (the last place I worked in Paris) to say hello to my friends there, but no one could talk, because they're crazy busy, trying to finalize a huge project bid that has to go out tomorrow (and on which, I'm pretty sure, the company's survival literally depends). I'm SO glad I'm not there for that!

So my life is looking pretty good these days. Now I'm going to go get a good French sandwich, which will make it even better!