Happy Anniversary!

     Tomorrow, it will be exactly one year since our family arrived in Geneva. The day was record-breakingly hot for Geneva (about 90), we were gritty-eyed and stiff from 18 hours of traveling, and the first thing we had to do was tour the house with our relo lady to meticulously record every tiny nick and scratch so we wouldn't be charged upon moving out. Nevertheless, we were thrilled to be in our new home, in our new city, in our new country, and on our new continent. Other than our relo lady (who promptly quit her job and left no forwarding address), we knew no one in the city. When we filled out the kids' school forms, we put the name of Eric's administrative assistant as our emergency contact. It's a good thing no one ever needed to call him, as I'm not sure he even knew that he was our emergency contact and he certainly would not have recognized the children had he met them in the street.
      Some experienced expat had told us that we had better plan some fun activities right away, so we wouldn't be sucked into the despondent slough of phone service connections, grocery store sticker shock, and bookshelf-assembly headaches. So on one of our first weekends here, we set off for Chamonix, France, which is about an hour away and is the site of Mont Blanc, the highest peak in Western Europe. Chamonix was outstanding (See "We're Hiking in the ALPS!"), and so began the adventure.
      Naturally, the fact of an anniversary has given rise to some moments of introspection. This past weekend, we again went to Chamonix, and it seemed like a microcosm of all that has changed for us in a year. Last time, we went alone, not knowing where we were going or what we were going to do when we got there. This time, we were visiting our friends who have a chalet (see "I have a friend. . ."). We walked in the Alps, with views of the town of Chamonix and of the Aiguille du Midi, which is the highest peak of Mont Blanc that one can reach by cable car (and no, we still haven't done it, which I know is lame, but 160 chf is a lot to pay for the right to say you've been to the top of Mont Blanc). We left Johanna home with another friend, who was spending the weekend with us, and they spent the afternoon with yet another friend, who lives close by and has a pool. We knew enough to ignore the GPS when it wanted us to go through Geneva instead of around, and when we ordered snacks in a mountain refuge, we used our French without a second thought (okay, at least without terror).

This photo and the one below show our views as we walked. A year has not dulled my awe at the beauty of the mountains.

Another indication of change: I had to keep bugging Drew to take these pictures, since he was having so much fun with his friend on the walk.

         We have friends. We have a church. I can sign Johanna up for horseback riding lessons in French. I have loyalty cards at all the major grocery stores. Our hearts no longer skip a beat at ground beef that costs $10 a pound. Johanna has a regular babysitting job. Drew coaches soccer. Lucas knows the way to the basketball court. We had our (Swiss) neighbors over for dinner. Sometimes our phone rings and it's not a wrong number (although usually they still want to speak to Monsieur Albert Leman, whoever he is). Sometimes someone rings the doorbell and it isn't a repairman. We eat raclette. I can make crême brulée, spaetzle, tartiflette, and coq au vin. I have a library card and a regular date with my octogenarian amie Madame Guenat for the Bibliobus and coffee. God is good.
         Johanna and I were riding the bus the other day when she said, "It's too bad that we live in Geneva, because now I either have to miss Geneva or miss Ohio. We can't live in two places at the same time." And that, for me, sums up the bittersweet consequence of what has been a very good move.