I'm sitting in a brand new kitchen with paperwhites and a budding amaryllis in the window. During the day, light streams in on the oak floor and illuminates every bit of dreck on the white composite counters. German lace drapes the window over the sink, where my DAR legacy crystal bits catch the sun in sparks and glimmers.  It's dark now, only passing cars and streetlights in our almost downtown neighborhood streamer by the windows. 

The light little Ikea drawer table is cluttered with assorted votive holders and unpacked crummage.  Dinner simmers on the ceramic-top island stove. 

Neither one of us has ever had a refrigerator with an ice maker. We do now. 

People keep asking "Aren't you glad to be back in the US?" as if criminally negligent, incompetent driving, fast food and unwalkable suburbs are some pinnacle of culture. 

They also ask if I miss Germany.. 

Na ja, kann die Leute nichts hoeren, weil mein Herz gerissen ist..

Meanwhile, here we are, and we have both made do with far, far less. 

And we've both had our own kinds of homesickness, for most of our lives.