If anyone’s noticed, I haven’t been writing much lately. Ever since this pregnancy began, way back in the summer, I’ve found it very hard to sit down and write very much. First it was the morning sickness and utter fatigue of the first trimester that stopped me. Now, in my second trimester, new issues have cropped up. I think my pubic bone is cracked and misaligned, so much of the time I feel fairly crippled. I’ve also had bouts of sciatica that have made me consider amputating at least one butt and thigh. And finally, something about pregnancy tends to make me more introspective and less likely to write publicly. I’ve thought of, and even started, many blogs posts, but finishing them just doesn’t seem to get done. It’s hard to motivate myself to actually write it all out. Thankfully, this is a blog with two writers, and Arp has taken over well.
I’ve also been incredibly busy packing and getting ready for our Great Move. While Arp often seems to be happy about shedding stuff, it’s been hard for me sometimes. Remember those seven bags of baby clothes that Arp bragged about sending to Goodwill last week? They were a little harder for me to shed freely. You see, I had imagined in the past that all my babies would wear them. Already, so many cute outfits have been worn by both M and J. For instance, the white terry footed PJ with the ducky that M wore home from the hospital was also worn by J right after she was born at home. Is it practical for Costa Rica? Well, maybe not, but I had to save it. Along with quite a few other outfits that will be shipped by barrel to our new home. Maybe this is why packing for an international move while pregnant is a bad idea?
Another thing that has been hard is our book situation. I’m a bit of a book collector, as my father was before me. When I was little, I well remember the feel of our swerving blue station wagon with the fake-wood trim as we made a quick turn to follow the signs for a yard sale on a warm summer morning. The big lure for the both of us was always books. In my childhood house, we had a big, well lit attic in which you could stand. Lining all walls were floor to ceiling bookcases filled with books. Shakespeare, all the plays, with books giving commentary. Beat poets. Old Hardy Boys and Nancy Drews (the originals, entire set, from the 40’s?). An entire original set of the Oz books. Anything by Tolkien. Books on all the U.S. presidents (Ok – that sectionl, I must admit, was boring to me). And behind one set of bookcases was an entire collection of National Geographic magazines, organized in piles by years.
People save books for different reasons. Reference. To preserve the good memory of reading it, sort of like looking at a photograph. Smell. Nothing like the smell of a library of old books. Planning this move to Costa Rica has been hard because it has forced me to evaluate each of my books and decide which ones are worthy enough to move. Thankfully, the invention of e-readers helps a little. Many of the classics are now available for free download, so they can be donated. But what about that classic that has my father’s name stamped inside the front cover, and includes his notes in the margins from the college class he took when I was a kid? Hmmmm. That’s a hard one. Logic and money be damned, some books just have to come with me. If only I were rich, I’d rent a climate-controlled space and save a whole library of books with family meaning. But I’m not, and I suppose that’s that.
As I’m writing this blog, I’m thinking how good it feels to get this out. Maybe that’ll be enough to make me write more? I suppose we shall soon see if that is to be.