Casual Jetlag.

I am somewhere suspended over the North Atlantic; so says the map on the screen in front of me. I can see tiny outlines of boats and a hint of peninsula so I am sure we are close to the European coastline. People are eating the last of their morning cantaloupe daintily and I am starting to regret wolfing down everything that presented itself on the menu this morning. Or is it night? My faithful traveling companion and computer, Deshtiny, reads that WPG time is currently 4:03 am but my watch is reading eleven am. Something is not correlating here.

Regardless of the time of day, I was lucky enough to have my own row on the flight from Toronto to Frankfurt and I snobbishly claimed my territory from the beginning in case any stragglers felt the need to relocate on a whim. The acts of removing my footwear and encouraging the contents of my carryon luggage to spread like the plague seemed to do the trick.

The state of calm that has overcome me is still surprising and I keep catching myself gearing up for an anxiety attack that will not come. I presume I will be landing in Frankfurt within the hour or so, but then again, who knows. I even took the German newspaper when it was offered just to look cool.
















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Days later, I am here in Zurich at last, roosting like a mother hen in a European den. I am sure the North American term 'living room' would be sorely out of place. The weather screams "Spring is here" with it's impromptu rain showers and early April flowers. The trees are slowly starting to bud and the simplicity of the season is more surprising than I expected. Just like that one can be in the seventh circle of Winter hell, and the next minute one is jogging in the middle of a cloud wearing nothing but a thin Running Room jacket.

From the spot I am sitting I can hear small children squirming in their beds, their parents going about daily day-end tasks in a flurry of movement around my stationary position at the table near the kitchen doorway; the only spot in the flat where I can poach the neighbor's internet signal. (God bless Macbook and their sly ways). Life is simple and nice. The town where I am staying called Bassersdorf is quaint and friendly but my lack of German serves little to no purpose. The seven year old that I am nannying continually astounds me with her translating abilities and encourages me daily to "practice my numbers". I can count to ten in German, poorly. Today I had to order sandwich meat at the butcher with her feeding me the words slowly. I flushed crimson in shame at my inability to deliver such a simple task and my appreciation for language sky rocketed.

In my off hours I can be found curled up on bright bedding cradling my computer and reading a book. This suits me to a tee. This newfound lifestyle is is welcomed in comparison to the rate at which I had been socializing in the past month. My speed of my lifestyle may be down to a dull roar, but my morale is on the up and up. Someone sent me a cryptic message via text about two weeks ago encouraging me to "let this trip do what it needs to do". I have a hunch I know who it was but regardless, I am taking those cryptic words to heart and doing just that. By "doing what I need to do" I am reading at the park, cooking, baking, planning soccer practice and jogging like mental. This weekend we are going on a trip to the Alps and I am going to meet Uncle Puke in Paris for Fashion Week in the first week of March.

Until my return on March 18th, I will keep making room for this trip to "do what it needs to do".

Blessings to you and yours; from the girl across the North Atlantic,

Franny.