So Long, Farewell, Peace Out

A common denominator amongst all the places I've inhabited was a McDonald's within five miles of my front door.  When Matt returned home from Switzerland last month with a grim look on his face and a consolatory box of Swiss chocolates, I knew before he opened his mouth that he had horrendous news. McDonald's was now a twenty minute drive.

I was able to locate the Swiss Golden Arches via online GPS satellite, and although it's no longer as convenient a trip, at least I know their people appreciate the Big Mac.

After accepting a position in Switzerland, Matt has done his best to convince me that their way of life and mine go hand-in-hand.  Fearing I would be Von-Trapped and never return to the motherland, he's presented me with literature, French lessons, pictures, and truffles to win over my American heart.Trying to remain neutral (see, Swiss already), I decided on an open mind. Although I always pictured the Swiss chilling with goats and popping Ricola cough drops to ward off their sore throats after all that yodeling nonsense, it turns out they actually have some pretty decent ideas. I may adapt after all:

1.No mowing or laundry on Sundays---no new concept for me

2. Tarts are the traditional Swiss cuisine---had a poptart just this morning

3. A Hand Hygiene Campaign was introduced in 2006 to promote the use of alcohol based hand rubs---I implemented this same campaign

4. Swiss Bank Accounts---enough said

Now that I've conquered six French phrases, ordered Millie a beret, and picked out a house via an iPad tour, it's finally hit me: I'm leaving the 217.

The rear of our new home. Still getting use to European architecture (I added the trees for effect)

Photo-shopped the beret, but you get the idea

Bidding adieu (one of my six phrases) to those I love and pretend to love is next up on my list as it appears that May will be our departure month.  My initial sadness is quickly fading and I'm starting to experience a twinge of excitement.  At best, it will be the greatest adventure and smartest decision of our lives. At worst, I'll fracture my spine skiing and end up on a goat farm. Either way---still one hell of a ride. And please, pardon my French.