For us, for Gerry and I, “normal” is living not in the same city, not in the same time zone, not in the same country. Soon—and again, soon is relative; I mean a year from now—normal will be in the same house. We’ve started that process: we got married, we (I) filed the immigration petition.
But for now, my husband lives in Dublin. He gets up six hours before me and goes to work. He sends me email or posts something interesting to my Facebook page while I am still asleep. He gets home from work about the time I’m having lunch. He checks in, on Skype. “H’lo, missus,” he says.
This morning, he left me a photo he took on his way to work in Harolds Cross.
He walks along the Grand Canal for some distance. It’s pretty no matter what time of day. He’s on or very near the Portobello Bridge here. (Photo by Gerry.)
Then he walked further and turned around and took another photo. It was 7:30 in the morning when he took these. (Photo by Gerry.)
I am struck, of course, by how different 7:30 in the morning is in Dublin … from here in Tennessee, so much further down the globe. (It’s science, y’all.)
If I were commuting at 7:30am, this is what it would look like in November.
It’s a different sun, a different angle in November. But definitely lighter.
So we carry on, we, seven thousand miles apart, sharing our little moments. Beautiful, all of them.