I'm Baaaaaaaack!

Tonight, as I made the long trek from where the car let me off at the gate to my now two-weeks empty room in Kabul, I noticed that though the air is colder, the roses still bloom – Remember? Beauty's where I look hard enough for it, even in the desert.

It has been exactly 13 days since I left Kabul for my first trek home, and yet it seems as if I left and came back yesterday. I haven’t written a lick since my plane took off at 6:20 p.m. on November 15, and the reason for that is not that I have nothing to say. It is that I re-entered my real life, and real life took over – you know, the wife, mother, lawyer, judge, pianist, daughter, sister, piles of papers on my desk real life. Now I know why I had to go to Afghanistan to find time to write. And I have missed it. So I will take some looks back as I begin my new chapter here.

The day I left, I had a new adventure: I got to go to the American Embassy. I don’t know what I expected, but what I saw looked a lot like where I am living now, except the Embassy grounds have more garden spots, as well as more barriers. I saw only a portion of the Embassy during my short visit, but I think a larger, more beautiful building lurks somewhere on the grounds – I just didn’t see it. I hope for a trip back to see more. I did finally meet a friend of a friend, with whom I have been passing like a ship in the night. We had time to chat a bit and I was delighted to make his acquaintance. Everything told to me about him was true – he is a southern gentleman.

After our meeting, the time came for me to wind my way through the maze that is the Kabul airport, and I did so successfully, although if I had to do it again any time soon, I probably wouldn’t be able to (as was evidenced by my trying to find my way back OUT of the airport today, having to call our security twice and listen over the phone as he directed me through what I didn’t remember at all)! That night, I found myself with about two hours to kill, and during that time, I decided that all of Kabul was traveling somewhere by plane that Thursday night!

The waiting room, and I think it was the waiting room for the whole international terminal, was a sight to behold. It was packed! Many young families were traveling together. I giggled at one young man, his wife, and their two sons; one of the little boys, probably about four years old, had on a little suit and tie; however, his younger brother was more casually dressed in a denim outfit, and if you believe my mother the teacher, the way a person dresses affects his or her behavior: the suited little man was quiet and dignified and walked about very importantly, while the younger boy in jeans was wilder than a pet ‘coon (hillbilly for really rambunctious).

While we probably think of traditional Muslim dress as somewhat limiting – dark-colored, long, body-covering robe and headdress for women, and non-descript long tunic and baggy pants, and maybe a hat of some sort, for men – I saw lots of people adding interest to their traveling outfits by adding “bling” to them. If I saw one black dress and head covering dotted with silver sequins or Swarovski crystals, I’ll bet I saw 20. Men adorned their “pants suits” in the same way, but the man who wore the sequined hat took the cake. I just didn’t expect to see a sequined design sitting atop a man’s head.

And I discovered that Afghans in line are just as testy as Americans in the same spot: three self-important men tried to crash the line in front of me, and a man who had been waiting a little longer than I told them to go to the end of the line. They hadn’t realized there WAS a line! Really! I can’t imagine what all those people in single-file order could have been doing other than populating a line!

Eventually, I got on the plane that began my journey home. We left Kabul around 6:20 p.m., and we arrived in Dubai at 9:00. Kabul is one half-hour ahead of Dubai as far as time, so the flight was a little over two hours. It took half that time to get through the Dubai airport to wait for my next plane. I remembered that airport from my trip in August as being slickly cosmopolitan, with the finest jetway, the finest running sidewalks, the handsome, sheik-looking (and it could be “chic”) young men directing traffic at passport control (which was something I had never seen before), and ads for everything upscale in English plastered all over most flat surfaces. I realized, however, that I had come in the first time on an international flight, because coming in from Kabul was a different story. Instead of the fine jetway, we walked down a lot of stairs to be met on the tarmac by some buses that took us on a 20-minute circuitous ride to get to the terminal, where I was once again met with the lovely running sidewalk, the handsome men, and the expensive ads. I think it is pretty obvious where the important people come from into Dubai, and I’m thinking it isn’t Kabul.

My flight to Paris left at 1:45 a.m., and after I got to the Paris airport at around 7 a.m., I had about a four-hour wait for my flight to Minneapolis. Only after THAT did I get on a plane headed directly for Kansas City. By that time, I was chomping at the bit, and my energy was intensified when I saw my friend Lorraine, who was my welcoming committee, waiting for me outside the terminal gate holding a sign that said, “Welcome Home, Debbie!” I felt like a 16-year-old cheerleader again!

Thus began a wonderful trip home – playing the piano and singing at the contemporary service at church, making chili, seeing friends, eating steak at McGrath’s (the restaurant in Sedalia where everybody knows your name), going to the dentist (okay, not much fun), going to the optometrist (more fun than the dentist), picking up our daughter at the same airport where I had arrived a few days before, shopping for, cooking, and then eating a traditional Thanksgiving dinner (though fewer dishes and less stressful this year), watching the real Miracle on 34th Street with Natalie Wood, having “day-after” Thanksgiving wine and munchies with our friends in front of the fire in our fireplace, sitting in front of the fire in our fireplace, getting a haircut of sorts, getting a massage – all the things that make “home” home.

And then it was time to head out again. I tried not to dread leaving. I thought about every day at home the same way I think about every day here: Today is today. But I knew that leaving would be too soon and difficult – and it was, on both counts. I turned and looked at my wonderful husband and spectacular daughter one time more before I got on the plane, and turned away, just as surely as I had turned away in August, tears starting, but with a place to go and things to do.

After my short ride to Atlanta, my six-hour wait for the 13+ hour plane ride to Dubai, my overnight in a lovely hotel, and the hop, skip, and jump to Kabul, I picked up my laundry, cleaned my room, opened my computer, and began the next part of this chapter in my life, where today is today.

And today, I came here with another little hole in my heart, but without fear, because I had done it before, knew I had done it, knew I could do it again, and knew that my time here is worth something to people I didn’t know even four months ago. Did I tell you the roses are still blooming?