When did living in America become so complicated?
I knew it didn’t bode well, when on a recent weekend in Miami, Sara and I couldn’t figure out how to use the coffee maker in the hotel room, but now that we’ve moved home to Kentucky (after a year in Haiti and a year before that in Vietnam), we’re like Munchkins newly arrived in a land of chrome and touch screens.
(And, as you might imagine, Kentucky isn’t exactly cutting-edge.)
I’ve said before that Sara and I don’t do “normal” very well, but apparently we do “normal” in the US even worse. We’re not only bad at it; we’re utter and complete failures.
I mean, even turning on the television is complicated.
And what’s with all the options in the super market? Have there always been this many choices, even when it comes to onions, napkins, corn flakes, kale?
I don’t know how to navigate this Yellow Brick Road of endless options, where to get my advanced degree in the science of super markets.
So if you catch me, in the coming days, clicking ruby slippers in a “super-store” near you, please be patient. I’m adjusting to an Emerald City that’s perpetually electric, a world that’s wired, a universe of hi-def and digital.
There’s no place like “home.” There’s no place like “home.”