I just spent about an hour tinkering with this new blog; making tags, and importing some of my favorite posts from the Other Place to this one. I thought it would make me sad, but I think I mourned the slow closure of that other blog over a period of months, so that now that the time has come, I feel excited about this new incarnation of the writing ME and no longer sad about the demise of the other one. All writing projects have their end, and knowing when to end is almost as important as knowing when to begin.

I’ve been thinking about beginnings and endings a lot today; coincidentally T. clamored all morning to watch Charlotte’s Web this afternoon and we did. I so sympathize with Wilbur, poor soft-hearted pig who just can’t stand how fleeting life is, and how everything must inevitably comes to a close, who mourned his unlikely friend Charlotte, and who so believes in the power of friendship. Oh but those beginnings and endings, they really got to Wilbur.

I love that pig–I forgot how teary the story makes me, though. Then I looked over and I saw T.’s lip trembling at the most poignant moment (when Charlotte bids farewell to Wilbur). My soft-hearted girl!


And around this time of December I am always struck with a little melancholy. I think I can remember feeling like this when I was a child, too. I love Christmas so much but even as we gear up for the holiday I feel it coming to a close. When I was little I had so much anticipation for Christmas that it was a big let-down when the day was over, and the magic began to dissolve into the air and it was back to life as usual. There’s a quality of suspended animation almost to Christmas; time stands still, for weeks it’s all about the Christmas tree and the lights, the smell of cookies baking, the mystery of packages and wrapped boxes. Then in a flash almost it’s done and time clicks forward a notch, all the Christmas memories are swept away and packaged up with the artificial tree (or dragged to the curb with the poor dying one) and this year’s favorite ornaments, and the next year everyone will be a year older, and the cycle begins again.