The past week has been full of chores - fetching firewood, tending to the animals, making coffee, chopping vegetables for soup. Trying to keep the mountain chill at bay. Trying to cobble together a vision of the next six months and two years. Flipping through cookbooks.


When I was in high school, I was driving bleary-eyed from a friend's funeral and "Should I Stay or Should I Go" came on the radio. I took a detour home so I could finish listening to the song. I still can't hear it without thinking about that day and I still take detours for the radio.


When I worked at Western's study abroad office, I advised students leaving the country for the first time that no matter how much you prepare and read up on the place, no matter how many pictures you see and people you talk to, the transition will end up being at least slightly psychotic. You make the necessary arrangements, you board the plane, your life changes, and you take it as it comes.


She was going to stay.

Not “stay” precisely.

“Not leave” is more like it.

“I walked away from places all my life and I’m not going to walk away from here."

“You have to pick the places you don’t walk away from."

[...]

“You don’t get any real points for staying here, Charlotte."

“I can’t seem to tell what you do get the real points for,” Charlotte said. “So I guess I’ll stick around here awhile."

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