[I started this entry in early July before we moved back to the U.S. and the world as we knew it fell apart. I think most of my readers know the story, but at some point I lost track of who I’ve told and who I haven’t. I apologize if you are hearing the news here for the first time, or if I’m repeating a story you know well. The day after we landed in N.J. from Amsterdam - while out to dinner with my family - Peter slumped forward in his chair when his heart stopped. There are lots of times in life when you feel lucky to have a brother who is a doctor. To have one there to save your husband’s life is a miracle. Fast forward through the many medical nightmares. Peter spent two months in the hospital in Philadelphia. If there was a complication to set in, it found its way to his bedside. He fought back.

A lot of people have asked me how I made it through. You have two choices when something like this happens: you can fall apart, or you can step outside yourself and become someone strong. I willed myself to choose Option 2. I was lucky to have my kids with me for weeks, my teammates on Team Drucker. I was also so very lucky to have lots of other family and friends to help keep me afloat. Music helped me, and so did books. Both helped me forget, if only for a little while. Patients whose hearts stop (nope, they still don’t know why Peter’s did) often have amnesia about the periods just before, during, and afterwards. Luckily, Peter can’t remember a lot about what happened. I have some of that amnesia, too. I think it’s nature’s way of preparing us to go on, blocking out at least some of the worst memories and images.

I know you are eager to hear more about how Peter is doing (so much better) and how we like Nashville (so far so good). I have so much so say about both those subjects and soon I’ll be ready to say much more about them. I hope writing will help me begin to put the past few months behind us and fully inhabit our new lives. But before I move forward, I have to look back. I never got the chance to say a proper goodbye to Suzanne Vine’s Amsterdam before subjecting you to the next chapter in our lives. So, here is that farewell post, along with a taste of our new life. The goodbye to Amsterdam is coming a little late, and seems to belong to a long-ago time and place. And yet, it’s the lace I need to tie up before moving on. I hope you’ll understand.]

Obligatory bike shot. This one was taken at “our canal” - the canal near our apartment where I walked Casey every day. The bike sums up how I felt after dealing with all the details of packing up and moving.

I’ve watched more than a few friends come and go in Amsterdam. I always thought when we made the move back to the U.S., I’d go out gracefully, without a lot of fuss and fanfare. I wouldn’t have a long list of to-do’s and to-buy’s to scratch off. And yet, there I was, cramming it all in just like everyone else. The truth of the matter is, no matter how long you stay anywhere, there is always more to do, always people you wished you had gotten to know better, and places you wished you had spent more time. It’s part of the shoulda-woulda-coulda of life. I’m trying not to dwell on those regrets. Instead, I’m trying to celebrate our half-decade abroad. Join me for the highlight reel of my final month in Amsterdam. It’s a bit like the “Farewell Tour” many aging rock stars seems to be taking these days as they limp towards retirement.

So, speaking of Farewell Tours, I had the pleasure of taking in Elton John’s just a few weeks before our move back. When other more frisky friends talked about concerts they had gone to in Amsterdam, I always thought: No way. I’m done with crowds and long waits and late nights just to see old stars try to relive their pasts. But when I heard from some friends there were last minute tickets available to see Elton John, I sprang into action. Since most of those present were my age or older, it made for a very civilized experience. It started - and I really do mean started - at the slightly geriatric time of 7:30. Add that to the things I love about life in the Netherlands: things start on time. If the ticket says an event starts at 7:30, by God, that’s when the lights will dim and the show will go on. Sir Elton might be royalty, but he did not dare to cross the Dutch when it came to promptness. By about 10:15, we were headed for the exits and our jammies. And in between, I got to relive my glory days, listening to some of my favorite songs from high school. Yes, I’m still standing, after all this time.

Like all good expats, I had a farewell excursion with two of my best Amsterdam pals. I chose the island of Texel for my swan song. I love the beaches in the Netherlands. They are not just, or even primarily, for sunbathers. The sand stretches wide so they are great for walks in any season. Global climate change has brought more summer days to the Netherlands, but I love that the Dutch make use of their beaches year-round.

I highly recommend a trip Up North to Texel. Quiet, and supremely picturesque, although very windy.

It’s a strange feeling knowing the people you are used to seeing every week will no longer live a short walk or bike ride away. I practiced not thinking about that part of the move.

Oh the things you will do when you know you are moving away. Far away. Here I am at a good-bye party. Two friends wrote and performed a farewell song for me to the tune of Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start the Fire, using lines from my blog and the refrain, “Bookworm Suzanne Vine”. Then they made me put this Dutch cap on.

It’s often said that the Dutch take a long time to warm up to you. They don’t consider you a friend, I was told by many, unless you have known them for a long, long time. Our Dutch neighbors didn’t ever cross that thick concrete line from neighbor to friend. Nor did Peter’s work colleagues ever invite us over for dinner. However, these Zumba gals and Spinning partners from the gym were very friendly and welcoming and genuinely seemed sad to say goodbye. Or at least genuinely happy to pose for a farewell photo.

At the top of my Things I Love in Amsterdam list was my work at the Not For Sale Foundation. “Eat Well, Do Good” is their tagline and the phrase that hooked me. I loved taking visitors there for brunch, knowing the money went to help survivors of human trafficking. And more than that, I loved volunteering there to help women master the material on the culinary exam that would help them find dignified work in the restaurant. Teaching is such a monumentally difficult job, but the notes from grateful students made it all worthwhile to me. I was so touched to receive the notes (below) from two of my last students.

Farewell, Salmon Royale! I’ll miss you desperately.

And just in case you believe that things do happen for a reason, I found an organization ten minutes from our Nashville home that mirrors the work of Not For Sale Netherlands . I’ve already been to Thistle Farms Cafe for lunch, and started volunteering there a few weeks ago. Someone out there knew I needed this.

Packing up, purging yourself of all the stuff you don’t want to schlep back to the U.S., living among boxes: these are the Things I Didn’t Love about the end of our adventure.

I won’t miss those days cluttered with moving-errands and goodbyes. I will dearly miss my friends and the lifestyle we had there. And I’ll also miss the Dutch attitude towards life. They really knew how to enjoy themselves. As I often wrote in my posts, they actually talked to each other at restaurants, and weren’t captive audiences to their phones. I’ve also written quite a bit about my talent for mishearing lyrics. So when I first heard this song (in Zumba, of course) I assumed she was singing, “Live it Up”, and that made me think it could have been a Dutch anthem. Then I found out the song is titled, Level Up and I had to go in a different direction. What I now love about this song, since it can no longer remind me of the Dutch, is that the rhyme scheme reminds me of the 4th graders I used to teach. Who, other than a 4th grader, rhymes yummy with tummy? And the way she just seems to give up on rhyming as the song continues and just ends every line with the word level? I love that. By the way, these are the kind of thoughts that sustained me this summer. Oh the things I would think about when I was trying not to think. Yet even in the frothiest of pop songs, you can find a message you are meant to take away with you. So yes, I did find another level inside me when I most needed it.

What’s not to love about a city where you don’t own a car and can get around with your bike, your feet, or the tram? I loved our street, except when the construction noise and debris interfered, which was almost always towards the end.

I think the hardest part of moving back is the feeling you will probably always have of being caught between your expat and your after-expat life. You’ll be back in the U.S. but you will leave a part of you behind. Everyone tells you it’s a hard adjustment. In part, that’s because you leave at the top of your game, and return to Square One, often in a new place. You compare the apples of the life you left with the oranges of that new place. You forget the long adjustment period you had in the beginning in Amsterdam or wherever you were, the days when you didn’t talk to a soul, and wondered when you would feel settled. It’s important to remember those beginning times when you move back.

“Well you started out with nothing,
And you're proud that you're a self made man”

(Good thing I didn’t know how ridiculous these musicians looked back when I loved this song).

Our transition back to the U.S obviously took a different path than the one we imagined for ourselves. After what we have been through, finding our way in Nashville is a piece of cake. There were many days when I didn’t know if we would ever make it here. All the details that might be challenging for a repat - a person who is repatriating which is just a fancy way of saying ‘moving back” - like unpacking, figuring out where to buy groceries, navigating traffic, contending with the political sewage in the U.S.: those all seem like very easy problems, at least for now.

First night in Nashville, October 1. First plate of brisket as Nashville natives. When in Rome….P.S. Those are not pancakes on our plates. Those are cornbread hoecakes. Dorothy, we are not in Amsterdam anymore!

Health food, Nashville style, on our second night in town.

Not all the murals in Nashville are for millennials. Here’s one I can relate to.

This mural, a few blocks from our house, is talkin’ to me.

These days Amsterdam feels a long way away. Thankfully, so do- usually - the long days spent in the hospital. Jackson Browne can always make me feel better.

“Well, I'll keep on moving, moving on
Things are bound to be improving these days
One of these days.”

Our last trip In Europe before the move back to the U.S. also feels so long ago and far away. Peter and I chose a trip to Switzerland for our farewell to Europe, and Rachel was able to join us. I think it goes without saying that being able to travel so far and wide is at the top of my Things I Like, Things I Love list. The trip came right after our boxes were packed up, and just before Peter’s heart stopped. Unlike the ever-prompt Dutch, Lauryn Hill kept Rachel and I waiting for nearly two hours when we went to her concert at the Montreux Jazz Festival during the Swiss adventure. The idea that a late start to a concert could constitute a big problem came to me one day when I was sitting with Peter in the hospital. Sad that we can’t hold onto those understandings about priorities once we come out on the other end of trauma.

For some reason, Peter and I had often talked in the past about this notion of whether living through trauma really changes you forever, or just for a little while. What we didn’t know during those conversations was that Peter would come face to face with this question. We often referenced two movies that explored this theme: The Doctor (William Hurt) and Regarding Henry (Harrison Ford). The Doctor in the movie goes from a cold, career-driven surgeon to an empathetic one when he himself becomes critically ill. Henry is a lawyer, with the same Type-A, selfish personality as the Doctor. His brush with death leads to a similar Hollywood ending, with a personality change and a new set of priorities for our formerly cutthroat lawyer. Is this what happens in real life? When you have been through a near-death experience, do you change? And if you do, do you change forever and ever, or just until you feel better? By the way, we forgave Lauryn Hill once she opened her mouth to sing because she was wonderful. I’m not sure what the lesson is there. “After winter, must come spring; Change, it comes eventually.” I listened to this song often when I wasn’t sure if Spring would come for us this summer. Thanks, Lauryn.

Thinking back to this trip helped me through some dark days. If you look on the right, you can spot Peter taking some photos.

If you have the chance to get to Montreux, Switzerland take it!

I have to include at least one country song in here as we transition from Amsterdam to Nashville, my readers.

“Sweet dreams of you
Every night I go through
Why can't I forget you and start my life anew
Instead of having sweet dreams about you?”

Let’s start to get acclimated to our new Southern lives, shall we? As you - my loyal readers - know, I loved going to the Saturday Market in our Amsterdam neighborhood. We were so happy to find one 10 minutes from our Nashville home. O.K., it’s a 10 minute drive, not a 10 minute walk, but you can’t have everything. In addition to finding local honey and juice and produce, I also found my first introduction to the Nashville music scene. I was pleased to see the two ends of the age spectrum shaking some booty there.

So in answer to your questions: yes, we are settling in (slowly), yes Peter is getting better (back to work in the office a few days and working the rest of the time from his home office) and yes, we like Nashville. We haven’t listened to any country music (other than what we heard at the Farmer’s Market), but we did go to a jazz concert. Ahmad Jamal, who is one of Peter’s jazz heroes, came to Nashville and played the piano like a youngster at the ripe ole age of 89. There was something so inspiring to both of us about a musician pushing 90 who played with such enthusiasm and energy. Makes you think you can do anything. Even more spectacular to me than the music was the fact that Peter leapt to his feet for several standing ovations. This might not seem like such a big deal to you, but after our turbulent reentry to the U.S., it surely was.

“Try not to get too sad.” That was what one of Ben’s work colleagues said to him on the phone after a long online work session while Peter was in the hospital and Ben was working remotely from Philadelphia. He was trying to say something to Ben to acknowledge what had happened to Peter, but without going too far. The guy may have been a tech whiz, but he didn’t know how to handle this unfamiliar emotional code. At the time, we couldn’t believe the young man could think, “Try not to get too sad” was even close to appropriate. The more I thought about it, I wondered if he might be onto something. Maybe you do have to try not to get too sad in order to get yourself and your family through tough times.

So how are we really? We are doing fine, getting used to our New Normal. That’s how my friend Janet described her changed life when her husband Arthur developed ALS. From the outside, it all looks impossible and sad. But when it’s your own life, you start to adapt. It becomes your New Normal. The silver lining to the cloud that was our summer is that we didn’t have huge expectations for the start of our new life in Nashville. We’re here, and that’s enough for now. Actually, it feels like a miracle.

Rachel came to visit in October. We’ve got our own Parthenon here, so who needs Greece?

“You’re just too good to be true.” And we thank god you’re alive.

Lots of silver linings in these clouds. This is a sunset view from the backyard of our house in Nashville. Come see for yourself!