the road home starts with packing, in our case, many, many books. I packed almost 13 boxes of books last night. we still have more. I am always eager to reinvent myself when I start packing. "This time, I will be so organized". My first box was perfect. I traveled from room to room gathering poetry books. I filled it to the top with beautiful poetry. R. S. Thomas, Wendell Berry, Shakespeare, e.e. cummings, and so on. Next I proceeded to apply the tape ever so taughtly, and then I wrote with my big fat marker, POETRY. As the the English say....brilliant. I wish the other boxes were so perfect, but instead, they were merely a source of entertainment to my husband. Examples of other boxes: 'Seminary books and field guides", "english men who talk about God" (Lewis, Tolkein, McDonald..this is obvious, right?:) . My last box was simply labeled "random". So, I am not the best at categories. This is because so few things fit into one, at least in my take of things. Take, for example, Bonhoeffer's "Letters from Prison". Well, this is both memoir-ish, biography-ish, and spirituality-ish. I am not sure where it ended up. Probably not where a normal person would have put it.
all this to say, I have begun the process. the process of leaving one home to go to another. I have tried to write an entry several times, but cannot bring myself to write the goodbye blog. I cannot bring myself to recollect my favorite this and my favorite that. I cannot bring myself to wish my friends well, to let go of them. This I cannot do just yet.
Back to the boxes.
brooke
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