We are moving.
So instead of writing, or blogging, or even just being, I have been decluttering, packing, and donating many carloads of memorabilia.
Mom probably thought she was doing me a favor by giving me boxes upon boxes of old photos, notebooks, report cards and train stubs. But it’s been an emotional few weeks going through closets full of who I used to be.
Today I found a couple of old stories. One was written at the tender age of 8, in which I imagined (a tad over-enthusiastically) that my sister had been eaten by a tiger at the zoo.
Another, written at age 10, had me envisioning a poor helpless witch who discovers a blue potion and snoops around to find out how its creator activated it. She says the magic words and finds her home transformed into a cute, clean cottage, and transported to a much nicer village “where everyone knows each other and says hello to one another.”
It’s good to know I am still that 10 year old girl. Loves blue. Loves magic. Dreams of a cute, clean, small home in a friendly neighborhood.
This was in my drafts folder from May 2014. Not sure why I never hit publish then! But it makes me happy that I was a writer even way back when I didn’t know it yet.
FYI, we ended up not moving. How’s that for an anticlimactic ending? =)