Living at the bottom of the earth makes even my old neighbor—Mexico—feel like an exotic land far beyond golden horizons.

So what do we do? We drive ourselves over to Mexican Specialities on Saturday morning for taquitos.

We stand in line with 50 others, and wait our turn for an open table.

We talk our way through the menu, just to hear ourselves pronounce familiar items, like the exotic taco.

We take in the decor—the Día de los Muertos skeleton figurines.

The Frida Kahlo prints.

Or, the Frida skeleton for 15,000.00 NZ.

We eat, and talk about brushing up on our Spanish, and take a photo:

After we’ve finished eating, we buy black beans, salsa and Magic Powder Chili Salt. Upon leaving, we wave a general farewell towards the five or so Fridas, and their skeleton friends.

As an emergency room nurse, I know Jenny would be on the front lines if she could be. Please check out her post here and consider donating to the Red Cross if you’d like to help with the response.

The prospect of starting a bright, shiny new year never really left me impressed. The idea of buying a gold sequence dress to wear at a roof-top count-down party with a step-and-repeat wall and paparazzi always sounded fun, but never really came to fruition. And my resolutions always seemed to kick in mid-year after a new hair cut failed to satisfy my need for life change.

That’s why it caught me off guard when I felt something this year. Maybe it was standing on the dark beach in humid weather—trying to see fireworks—that struck me as familiar and celebratory. I guess being one of the first to see the new year tumbling through the world was part of it, too.

I was so inspired, I even made a resolution.

But I can’t even remember it anymore. I guess we’ll have to wait until after that hair cut in June.

Christmas, The Sidenote:

Christmas here was less than festive. The tree wilted in the heat and our holiday dinner was orientated around what could be grilled. We did, however, institute poppers as part of our Christmas tradition. It left us feeling rather British, as well as bolstered our stock of really horrible jokes (each popper contains a party hat, trinket, and really cheesy joke

Blogging? I’ve been procrastinating.

Which actually means I’ve been pretty darn productive in other areas of life…

Showered almost every day.

Designed things.

Crossed a mountainy expanse in a 10-seater airplane.

Threw dinner parties and regular dinners.

Ironed sheets.

Acted as an interior design consultant.

Got my hair cut.

Fixed the shower head.

Decorated for Christmas.

Celebrated four birthdays.

Hiked a mountain.

Made four batches of homemade Bullseye (peppermint) bark.

Read more than ten books (some of them were written for children).

Panned for gold.

Hosted three sets of house guests.

Watched wild dolphins and penguins in the Tasman Sea.

Waved at my neighbors when they caught me snooping on their house remodel.

Washed my good-butt jeans.

Sat in the Christchurch airport.

Did battle with a couch repairman.

Packed lunches for Keith.

Kicked off my Pilates lessons.

Drank tea with an Indian antique dealer in the middle of his shop.

Made a brie, cranberry and ciabatta sandwich.

Recited the Thanksgiving story for a Kiwi.

Planted plants.

Dug through a recycling bin.

Toured Hobbiton.

Held a bottle for a lamb.

Sent cards home.

Hunted flies.

Made friends.

Several pieces of china can be seen in one of our home videos, arranged perfectly on my grandmother’s table, surrounded by family celebrating my dad’s 30-something birthday. I’m the preschooler sporting pajamas and hair wet from an after-dinner bath; without a thought about the china, or someday, an empty house on the other side of the world becoming my home.

A few weeks ago, I realized I should post a report-card for August. Or something.

I didn’t forget, I just decided to be complacent.

Life was kind of like a glass half-full of yuck. I think I had the whooping cough. I had a bad dream about finding a greeting card in my mailbox with all of the pretty words crossed out and nasty ones written in their place. Life was blah.

And then my furniture arrived, last Wednesday.

All I could manage was,

yeah.

(said very softly and two octaves lower than usual, punctuated with a cough)

On moving day, I chose to wear my bright-white running shoes with jeans, which always makes me feel like 1) I’ve completely given up, or 2) I’m gearing up for a long day at Disneyland. After all, I was expecting Disneyland, including fireworks. This is what I’ve been waiting for. Hoping for. Dreaming about.

I craved the feeling of upholstery,

the luxurious weight of a glass tumbler filled with juice in the morning,

the soft hush of a down comforter pulled up to my chin.

Life would begin on Container Day.

But instead, everything just felt over-full and chaotic. All I could do was watch, a bit glassy-eyed, as they lugged furniture and boxes in from the container.

Slowly, pieces of my past homes started taking shape and settling in. A few pieces of furniture were slightly scuffed, but box after box revealed perfectly intact contents.

Even my grandmother’s china emerged unbroken; all 108 pieces of it.

And in a way, life has begun again. I know I’m having a sentimental moment here, but can I just state the obvious?

The world is small. Life keeps moving. And even a foreign country can feel like home if you have the right people in your life.

And sometimes 108 pieces of china can help you feel at home, too.

I’m sorry to keep dwelling on our empty house; it’s just that I thought I’d have my furniture by now. Instead, it has been delayed again. The transport company believes the ship will arrive in port by September 9, with delivery of the container to our home around September 12.

That’s 4 months from the day we sealed the doors of our container.

That’s 1/3 of a year living with 2 camping chairs, 2 folding tables, and one queen mattress.

Apparently, our container has been busy touring the ports of New York, Italy, and Singapore. I’m expecting souvenirs. Like a Vespa or Marc Jacobs bag. Or, something from Singapore.

Maybe chewing gum?

No, forget it.

Once our container is delivered, a bio-security agent will be on site to check over anything ever in contact with dirt, plants or animals.

That means Christmas decorations, hiking boots, tents, etc.

And yes, we happened to pack each of those things. And no, we were unaware these would be flagged as bio-security goodies. There will be an extra charge to examine each item.

I’m not really looking forward to it.

But nothing a few well-chosen souvenirs can’t fix. Especially if one is a Vespa.

It’s not that I’ve been trying to hide anything. But some of you have no idea.

You know that image of me in your head? The one of me standing on a hill, overlooking the waters of the Pacific, perhaps wearing a wool fisherman’s sweater and fabulous boots?

Well, you also need to add in a few people standing there with me. One is obviously my husband, Keith, holding our pet lamb.

Nice touch with the lamb. I’m liking your mental images.

But you should also add in three more people behind us, probably working to refold a map and trying to figure out where they can get cell reception. They’re my family–parents and younger sister–and they have just moved to Auckland, as of last week.

The Americans have arrived.

I love my family. They are beyond wonderful, and represent a good portion of my favorite people. But it almost feels too easy; picking up and transplanting a family unit to a foreign country.

In fact, it’s makes being away from the States so easy, I’m feeling a little guilty about it.

And I’m feeling much less heroic; standing on that hill, shrugging when my sister asks the name of the island we can see just out ahead.

I guess I’m not the world traveler you thought I was. And suddenly I have much less angst and homesickness to include in my memoir.

But I do have some awesome boots in this mental image. I like those.

I’d like to start sharing the things which go unseen, most likely while I’m puttering at home alone, wearing something comfy.

The mind just works better, and achieves more, when powered by elastic waistbands.

So, here it is, my self-assesment of last month. You’ll notice I haven’t included grades. That’s because in real life, you don’t get grades.

Thankgoodness.