Mr. Wolfe said you can't go home again. Well, here I am. Or at least as close to it as I think I am.
Six months ago, everything was packed up into big white boxes and taken away by three robust young men. Here, on the other side of the pond, the process was repeated in reverse, only things went into a storage unit. Strange to think of my life condensed into such a small space. Even stranger to open these boxes and to have conflicting emotions occuring. Sometimes opening things and seeing old friends. Sometimes opening and thinking... whyever was that important to me? And finally.. oh yes... someday soon, you will be on the mantel again soon, I promise. To quote another luminary.. I feel like the Maureen O'Hara character in A Quiet Man, whose husband couldn't understand why she was deviling him about having her dowry. "I must have my things about me" she says. And I exactly what she means. Who wants to camp when luxury means having a favourite book at hand?
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