Virginia is for lovers (or the slums of Sperryville)

My early Christmas in Virginia has already come to an end and now I find myself with nothing to do on Christmas day. The trip was incredible, despite the fact that my parents and I drove approximately 24 hours to spend almost exactly 24 hours with my brother at his home in (Little) Washington, Virginia. There are too many things to say about the trip and the time with my family in a blog. It would be a four parter at least. Working on an essay to cover everything that happened. Hopefully by putting that out there I haven't jinxed myself not to write it. Writers are so fickle.

I've been filtering through some of my old journals. I initiated this process to find a soup recipe. Alas, the recipe has not surfaced. I did, however, get a kick out of seeing some of my old stuff and really old thoughts. In times past I would burn my old journals, or soak them with water until the ink ran. Silly. Here is an entry I found from September 26, 2000:

things i will never write about? NO

children's clothes
politics
illness (vaso vagal)
skincare
sunglasses
revolution
erosion
comedians
Bob Denver
cooking
bowling shoes
the Reagan administration
post modern dance

letter to memphis

My toes are not broken. When I was in the shower this morning a rude tilt, a shifting of the city, imperceptible seismic-style, caused me to drop the shower head on my left foot. And although it took a while for me to be able to move those two toes again, and although they were(/are) bloody and swollen, I never cried. And I shall not.

My heart is not broken. I may have cried, but I have kept my footing through many tilts and shifts. I am still standing, and I am still whole.