Genesis

I just came in from a walk, drunk with spring. It is the first full-on morning of such light & sweetness, with the sun shining bright and hot. Out in the woods, the Indian plums are beginning to bud: they are the first shrubs to go into leaf, and soon they'll be flinging out of their pockets clusters of tiny white bells by the thousands, incensing the forest air. Down on the ground I spied the first fragile tendrils of what will be white fawn lilies in about two month's time. Over by the field I could hear water seeping down the length of the slope. The bald eagle is back: I heard his surprisingly high, gentle call while sitting under a regal maple. I also heard a hummingbird, whistling as he does his acrobatics of love. On the pond a small flock of Canada geese was grazing among the reeds.

It was after such a walk, a year ago today, that I came in, flipped on the computer (I was labouring on my ancient laptop then--what progress we've seen) and gave birth to this blog. To celebrate this first birthday, I thought I would give a full creation account. This tale will likely go down in history, and will be one you tell your grandchildren one day, so listen closely.

It all started, as such things often do, one Friday night at the pub. My friend Matthew and I were gathered around beers, bitching theological in usual form. It is more than likely that at one point I went on my usual rant about the fact that in a community of 600 like-minded Christians there is not one guy I can date. (Apologies to those who might be reading this, but c'mon, you know it could never work between us.) But instead of nodding as usual, sympathetic but bored, that night Matthew brightened up. That night Matthew was the man with the plan.

"I have found the perfect guy for you," he said.

"Really?"

This I had to hear. Matthew is my closest friend, and knows more about me than just about anyone else (save for one notable exception--you two would have to slug it out as to who gets the title.) If he thought he'd found the perfect guy for me, there was a very strong possibility he might be right. So he started describing this guy to me: he's a philosophy student, he's incredibly smart, he's a poet and a damn good one, he's Christian, he's funny, he's an awesome writer and if he were to walk in one night at the pub where all our crew congregates he wouldn't miss a beat but fall right in line with our thinking & humour. Wow, I thought, he does sound perfect.

"Who is this guy, anyway?" I asked, probably quite eagerly.

"His name is Daniel. He lives in Texas."

Uh-oh. Texas?

"Are you seriously suggesting that I consider not only an internet relationship, but one with a guy who lives in Texas? How desperate do you think I am?"

At which point Matthew was probably mercifully quiet, and understood that he needed to change gears. So he started telling me about his own blog, and this guy's blog, and how I needed to start my own. Despite my extreme wariness of anything virtual, I still had to agree that this blog thing sounded pretty cool, and that even though I seriously, seriously doubted it was a reasonable way to find a boyfriend, I figured it would be good for my writing.

So I started my own blog. I checked out Matthew's. I checked this guy Daniel's, and though I had to agree that Matthew was right on all accounts that still didn't change the fact that the guy lives in Texas, and I, at the time, was just not willing to consider such a situation.

Well, as it turns out, the joke's on me.

But this is the story of my blog, not the story of Daniel and I, so I'll stop here. The rest, as the saying goes, is history. Of course now it's altogether hilarious and amazing to think back on that night at the pub, considering the way things did go down. It just serves to confirm my theory that all writers, ultimately, are exercizing their craft in order to find love.

And some of us lucky ones just happen to find it.