Us

The very first bag I remember packing was a runaway bag, inspired by Ramona Quimby. I can’t recall what made the cut, besides my two favorite stuffed animals and Beatrix Potter books, but it didn’t really matter; I only planned to lug the bag as far as the front door, just to see what kind of reaction I’d get from my mother. She diplomatically looked over the contents and suggested adding something edible, at which point I lost interest. At any rate, no one has ever accused me of neglecting food for the soul.

We’re getting ready to pack again. The stuffed animals of the next generation and Peter Rabbit and company will huddle in boxes while we roll out the wide clear tape, screech by guttural screech. We’re not moving across the country this time, but it will mean leaving this house — our baby house — where we dreamed and rocked and celebrated first Christmases, where we grew from a very expectant family of two to a family of four. It will mean settling into a new part of town and introducing ourselves with homemade cookies on porches and over slow tricycles on summer walks.

And that brings me to the doorstep of this new blog, because I’m still settling in, and introductions make good cornerstones for relationships. Without them, we’re just awkward neighbors, or grocery carts passing in the night with a vague flicker of recognition in aisle 12. But they are part of the home-ing process. To me, a house becomes a home not merely when all the boxes are unpacked, but when we’ve put down roots in our surroundings, and moored ourselves among what Anne Shirley would call “kindred spirits.”

So, we are a family of four: Y, Amy, Lucy and Little Jo. These days I stay at home with the littles and write when they are sleeping, partly for lucre and mostly to breathe the way I know best, and Y goes to his office and works magic with mountains of VID (very important data). Lucy goes to preschool, and Little Jo is working towards saying her first sentence. These aren’t their real names, but Lucy is as joyful and earnest as her Pevensie namesake, and Little Jo as spirited and heartfelt as her March one.

Other details are already scattered throughout this blog, but that might be a good place to start.

A blog by nature is a very one-sided thing, but I am always glad to know who’s reading, and it helps me know better how to serve through writing. So please do introduce yourself here if you’d like, any time.

0 comments

  1. As far as runaway bags go, when I packed mine–at the ripe, rebellious age of three–all that made the cut were two pairs of shoes. I guess I thought I was going to walk for a very long time? Or maybe they were the only things in the world that seemed unmistakably mine (after all they did not fit on anybody else). An hour later my mother found me by spotting the shoes lined up neatly by the neighbor’s front door. I was eating dinner inside.

    All this to say, between you and me we would have had everything a couple of aspiring runaways might ever need (plus or minus a few donuts). It’s like we were meant to be.

    Love,
    Your Other Half

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