Wild Apples

Last night I attended the launch party of the new local litterary and arts journal Wild Apples. They had a pretty good turn out. I went with *J* and her family, and was introduced to one of the editors of the journal. Which, of course, was a painfully socially awkward event. I hate meeting people - I have no idea what to do with myself, and I'm sure I come across as having something "wrong" with me.

It was a nice event (by small town standards- I was pretty impressed), and we were able to listen to a poetry reading by one of the contributors (we left early, as *J*s baby was not feeling so well, the poor thing). It's really neat to know that our area has produced an artsy journal of its own- locally based. There's some comfort in that. There's a lot of comfort in that. I'm delighted to know that there are enough interested people around to support such a endeavor in our little corner of the world.

In the past few months, I've come to realize that all of the searching for home in various localities has been - well, not a waste, perhaps, but a bit misguided. We've been looking for a magical place that we can move to and feel comfortable and connected instantly. Ironically, it was here all along. I just had to dig deeper. Perhaps this housing bubble burst could be one of the most important events in my life. It's forced me to abandon the "move along" attitude and really settle in and get to know a place. I'm continuously surprised that our more or less "snap" decision to move to this particular house in this particular town may have been a sound one, and we may, actually, really fit in after all.

There is a lesson in there somewhere. It's down there somewhere. Guess I'll keep digging.