My husband decided to be helpful this summer and cleaned out some of the kitchen cupboards while I was in the States. Part of this cleaning out process included throwing away four blue plastic glasses which I had been so pleased to buy because they matched my table setting, they held a full eight ounces and felt good in the hand. He thought that they were getting old and that I could buy new ones. I was in shock! Did he have any idea as to how hard it is to find plastic glasses here? Those were the ones I wanted and now they were gone! Would I dare go into his tool box and clean it out? I mourned the loss of those glasses for months. My children would occasionally hear me muttering under my breath "whatever possessed him," as I reached for my missing glasses.

Not long after that, we had a series of very windy days. At some time during those days, the little red dial on our outdoor thermometer blew off. I was stunned! I had fond memories of getting up in the morning and reporting the temperature to the family as they decided what to wear. Now what was I going to do? I couldn't go out and get another. This one was so easy to read and it was located in just the right spot, etc. As the weather got colder and the "need to know" increased, there were repeated requests to buy another thermometer. I would continue to shake my head and mutter "I can't believe the dial blew off, it blew right off!"

Elizabeth, a wise 14 year old, finally grabbed me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye and said "Mom, let it go! The dial is never coming back. It is gone! Gone! Gone! The glasses are gone! They are never coming back! Get a grip!!"

The lamentations for the dial and the glasses had become a family joke and Elizabeth's comeback was said with a sense of humor, but it wasn't until I read Kay's article [in a previous issue of Currents] that I realized that there was some truth to my feeling of loss. Many of us gave up a large part of our lives to come to Hamburg to live, whether temporarily or permanently. In my case it was a friend who was a kindred spirit, a job which challenged me and made me grow both professionally and personally, a house with a mortgage and walls which I could paint any color I wanted, neighbors I could wave to and stop and talk to and living on the same continent as my family. Outwardly, I had adjusted and said that this is just another move. Inwardly, I realize that I felt a loss similar to the glasses and the dial. I didn't want anything to change. I was not going to accept it.

As the new year breaks, I realize that I must start fresh. I will long cherish the glasses and the dial, friends, neighbors, family, job and home, but what I had is gone. They are not coming back, at least not the way they were before. I now have new glasses (not blue and not plastic) and I have a new thermometer outside my window. I have new friends, neighbors and home. I have discovered the wonders of E-mail and keeping in touch with friends far away. I have learned to live with white walls again, and to appreciate renters paying the monthly mortgage on our house in Virginia. My old job was great but I also have to think back to the days when, while driving to work, I wanted to continue driving west into the sunset instead of facing yet another day at work. I have a different, just as challenging, "job" working on Currents.

Change makes life interesting, and we just have to learn to let go. There will be time in the nursing home to reminisce about things that were. It's better to do that, than to think about things which could have been.