Wednesday, September 19, 2012

A brace of hope, a pride of innocence

Today we reach the first point where the packing process feels profoundly weird.

I've packed all the clocks.

I've packed my altar, even though I would have switched its contents for the fall contents on Saturday.

I've packed my poppets.

The bedding and pillows are starting to go into boxes.

It's all becoming real.  This isn't my house anymore, and my home isn't here.  The things that made this house my home are all in transition now, some to come with me on the road, some to be shipped and to wait for me to find a new, more permanent home.

I've known that Baltimore wasn't my home anymore from the moment the plane wheels hit the tarmac on my trip back to Portland in August.  But now I'm finally truly letting go of this house, of this identity, of this me.

Oh, glory, what a ride is ahead of me ...


  1. And I love you, my dear. I'll be there soon ...

  2. By now you should be wee past the weird part of your journey. Please give us an update on your status. After all, you started it. The blog, that is.

    Are you still in Portland?

    Life is funny, and yet cruel at the same time.

    Oh, how I want to laugh, or cry, which ever strikes me at the moment.

    Just tell us that you have had a good life since the wheels hit the tarmac in Portland.