So I'm home. Back from the month spent in the house filled with memories that I imagined where Thurber's; which became the house filled with memories that are now all mine.
My name is now part of the unfinished wall behind the a/c duct inside the closet in the attic -the wall that all Writers In Residence must sign. (Lucky me - I get to have my name just below Lisa Yee's!)
It was a great month - an inspiring time - and one that I appreciate even more now that I am home and back already into the life that was always here: (school started today - which means I've made my first lunch and driven the dreaded "route" to and from the place my son groans about).
Endings are hard - as writers I think we all take them literally, looking for the perfect escape from a situation that will be full of irony or suspense or possibly full of our own deeply felt new understanding of ourselves.
My ending at the Thurber House was perfectly Thurber and all I learned about myself is - if you set off the security alarm, the Police will come! And they will not believe that you are a "writer in residence" and insist you let them in and show them that you really do have a set of keys that open the doors. Then they will leave and not let you take their picture.
But they came - and that was cool because what if the alarm had gone off because I was in trouble...or the ghost was in trouble...or because they wanted to read one of the great American humorists all alone in the quiet of the parlor?
Back to work. Back to life. Home again, home again....