Tomorrow marks one full week since moving day – a day that arrived with hurricane force. Literally, in a manner of speaking.
Nine Cartersville Purple Hurricane football players helped get us here. They blessed us with their hearts and their strength. My daughter and son-in-law were here to help too. Without them all, we couldn’t have gotten it done. Words can’t express my love and appreciation.
Since then, we’ve unpacked boxes, set up the kitchen, arranged furniture, assembled beds, unpacked more boxes, unrolled rugs, learned to cook with a toaster ovens (backorder backstory), hung artwork, unpacked more boxes… well, you get the picture. And we’re not done yet.
But one room is finished: the library. It needed to be. For my sanity and soul’s sake.
A room without books is like a body without a soulCicero
Thus spoke Cicero… and he and I, we’re in philosophical agreement.
And this room — it has soul. Lots of it. My daughter and I exhumed an entire library of souls, including Darcy, Dalloway, Celie & Shug, and granted them a new resting place. We even shelved a few who sold theirs — Dorian Gray, Young Goodman Brown, Nathan Price, the Vampire Lestat. And there’ll soon be a new girl named Addie LaRue!
I will feed on these souls like the Vampire Lestat. I will stoke the rich, yellow flame that rests in the seat of my own soul with the content of the greatest of creators. Austen, Walker, Kingsolver, Woolf, and so many, many more. Because, as my famous mentor said:
One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.Virginia Woolf
So just this morning, I carved out a couple of minutes to settle in for a seance with the GOAT herself. No, really — Woolf was nicknamed Goat as a child by her family back before GOAT meant what GOAT means today (Nailed it!), and she famously said:
A woman must have money and a room of one’s own if she is to write fiction.
Well, I now have the room.
A beautiful room where the beauty of the world with its two exquisite edges — laughter and anguish — may ripple and ripen beneath my fingers. A room where my soul sings to me in concert with the souls singing all around me.
Virginia Woolf and I are also in philosophical agreement. A woman must have money and a room of one’s own if she is to write fiction.
Well, I’ve got one covered so far.