Notes From An Expat

Making a go of it.

Sorry for the absence. This will be a long post, so better use the bathroom now.

Note 1: On returning to the blog habit

The Michael Jackson revival (such that you can’t go to a radio station, wedding or random block without hearing “Billie Jean”) recently celebrated its one-year anniversary; meaning, he’s been gone a year; and so has been my presence from this blog. And while I can’t resuscitate MJ, I can write something once in a while, dammit.

As luck would have it, I’ve got nothing but time these days. So let’s rock.

Note 2: On moving to San Francisco

I’ll skip over the ins and outs of the how and why, because it’s about a job and that’s boring—but wait. Who doesn’t reach a point in a settled and happy life when the thought springs out: If I become unsettled, could I become even happier? When Rawle first introduced the prospect of moving, I thought “No no no.” Tears were shed. But, much like tepidly jumping into cold lake water leads to one saying to one’s still-on-the-dock friends, “It’s really nice once you get in,” the idea grew on me, to the point that thinking we might not be moving was too heartbreaking to bear. At the time, I was working in the travel industry, but I felt a little untraveled, a little static, etc.; so even though I was largely a stowaway (always playing the little sister role, I am) in this westward endeavor, I had my reasons. When you’re a small-town Delaware girl whose largest move ever is from Wilmington to Philadelphia, your figurative wings feel a little like flying, word?

Enough with the Dear Abby response. Here we are in San Francisco, and the reactions are numerous and varied. For instance.

Note 3: On the food

Back when my job was to report on such things, I read a piece on Philadelphia’s dining scene, written by a San Francisco food blogger. “Shoot,” he gushed. “I wish we had stuff like this in Frisco.” So I was nervous that the food in San Fran would pale in flavor, diversity and sheer volume as compared to the cheesesteak, Garces and pierogie palaces of my native city.

Well! One word: Burritos. Another word: Skewers. Two more words: Citrus Club. Four more words: Where have I been?

Continue reading