verge (vʉrj)
the edge, brink, or margin (of something): also used figuratively the verge of the forest, on the verge of hysteria

to tend or incline (to or toward)
to be in the process of change or transition into something else; pass gradually (into) dawn verging into daylight

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Jump Start

Ok, ok, ok.  It's been long enough.   I have missed this place--the Verge--and can offer no good explanation for being away except that I, well, I guess I don't really know why, to be honest.  But let's not get stuck on that part.  Bear with me as I connect the cables to jumpstart this thing and get the road back on the Verge.

A series of visits with Tucker to the birthplace of spring seemed to trigger a tide of change that rolled in faster than I could imagine. Tucker lives on a hill that houses spring--a visit there reveals that spring is always right under that rock or just to the side of that barn door.  It smiles at the snow banks as they wilt away.   The air shines. All the Verge-y things that I have anticipated are happening; I hired a big blue beautiful dumpster and hunked all of the ancient junk in one massive swoop.  Under the supervision of my punctilious parents, I (they, actually) detailed the house.  On a snowy day I listed my house then received notice that my school position is being eliminated.  After a few sentimental sobs and tears, it dawned on me.  Spring whispered in my ear.  This is not more winter, she said.  This is the start of the new start.  I know not where I am going or how I will get there, but I've buckled my seat belt, I've started the engine and I'm ready to cruise this road to wherever it leads me.   And speaking of cars, with my recent  Recalled Recall-yota dust-ups, I am free as a bird with my house, job and car all up for grabs.  And I couldn't be happier.  I never imagined I could feel such relief.  I am breathing the heart and soul of spring. Could it get more Verge-y than that?  It's something to celebrate.

And speaking of celebrations....

Happy Birthday to Mom and to Meredith.  My mother is the Mother of all mothers.  I have yet to wear her out.  I can't keep up with her--I walk, she charges.  And while I'm all spring-like about my current circumstances, I know that she knows that if my road leads to her second floor, that will be ok with her.  Even 50 year olds can go home to Mom.

And then there's Meredith.  Mere, the youngest....about to turn 18 years old.  When-oh-when did that happen, my dear?  You were just yesterday squishing peas and yogurt together in your little plump fists and practicing your spins on the ice, and suddenly you are....oh are a very stunning young woman.  And you too are on the Verge.  You are about to take that shutter of yours and go snap-snap-snapping out into the world, transforming dark into light.  And you too can come home to Mom.  Always.  Forever.

And where will that home be? Now that we've started the engine and are springing ahead, home is On the Verge, darlin', always on the Verge.  


  1. Welcome back. Get busy.

  2. A Fan,
    I swear you should write a book. The way you write your blogs just entertains me and I don't usually sit down and read. I would definitely read a book if you rote it. something adventure like.... Maybe a mystery with a dog and their owner... :) just a thought. Keep Blogging...

  3. It sounds deliciously exciting... I'm a wee bit jealous.

    Can these girls really be 18!! Yikes you are right, when did that happen.

    All is well here and plodding along as usual.

    Let's meet for breakfast again soon.

  4. Good luck selling the house and with your spring :)

  5. Alice, great blog....I love reading each new post and look forward to reading your next one.

  6. My whole friggin' life has been verge-y. Jimmy