Once again I am sitting in LaGuardia Airport in New York waiting for my flight home. LaGauardia is a very emotionally charged airport for me. I am either landing here with my heart jumping out of my chest in anticipation of seeing my niecelettes, or I am waiting for my flight home feeling sad, conflicted, guilty and homesick.
For the last couple of days my niecelettes have been extending me invitations to move into their house. While that is very generous of them, it just isn’t going to happen for a whole bunch of reasons. I have countered my niecelettes offer with one of my own. I have suggested that I pack them in my suitcase, sneak them out of the house and bring them home with me. Their response is that my suitcase is too little and that they are too big. All valid points, sadly.
I sometimes fantasize about seeing my niecelettes without the energy drain that comes from cross-country travel and jetlag. Being able to leave without at least one tantrum from a girl who just doesn’t want to say goodbye to me because she knows it will be too long before I return again. I wish I could go to their plays and recitals and not just watch the mediocre video recorded on someone’s phone.
But for now, a fantasy is all it is. I am really not a fan of New York and honestly have no desire to live here again. I love my home, my city and my friends. And there is no way my niecelettes are going to move west until they are out on their own. My brother is a true-blue New Yorker and my heart belongs in Portland (or at the very least on the west coast). I wouldn’t want my brother to change who he is anyway. I think he is a fine man, father and rabbi as he is. But the fact remains that I really love some people who live on the east coast and I just wish I could see them more often.