Threshold

So . . . my parents gave Sam a Costco Membership for Christmas (yes, we got it early).

And we feel like we have entered this new phase of adulthood. 

Costco shopping dates, Costco samples, and Costco pizza are now all at our fingertips. 

If this isn't power, I don't know what is. 

270 books, 30 articles

270 books and 30 articles--that is the amount of reading I have done for my general examinations (which start on Monday--eep!).

It's quite the task, and not something I want to do within a period of 4 months ever again. There are some books on my lists that I honestly couldn't tell you much about at this point--some of the books were underwhelming. I feel that one of the lessons I was supposed to learn from this herculean task was how to tell compelling arguments from half-baked ones, and the underwhelming books helped me learn that lesson.

Since all I can think about right now relates in some way to 19th century U.S. history, and since I've read almost 300 books within a 4-month period, obviously I figured the best way to help connect you, my delightful readers, to my life is to mention a few of the best books I read. Even though I doubt many of you will ever read these books, the books below are the ones that were the most compelling for me and ones I think would be compelling for others. I don't know what your beach read wish list is. One of these books just might hit the spot. (Haha, I kid myself. But. I guess I never do know.)

19th Century U.S. History 

Anne F. Hyde, Empires, Nations, and Families: A History of the North American West, 1800-1860 (2011) 
(For if you want a good overview of U.S. history that tells it from a western perspective and focuses on fur trading families.) 

Stephanie McCurry, Confederate Reckoning: Power and Politics in the Civil War South (2010) 

David Blight, Race and Reunion: The Civil War in American Memory (2001)
(A history that explores the difference between history and memory, and gives insights into why the Civil War is such a controversial topic for Americans.) 

W.E.B. DuBois, Black Reconstruction in America (1935) 
(Okay, so this one is v long but also v worth it.) 

Sarah Barringer Gordon, The Mormon Question: Polygamy and Constitutional Conflict in Nineteenth-Century America (2002)

Rachel St. John, Line in the Sand: A History of the Western U.S.-Mexico Border (Princeton: Princeton University, 2011)

William Cronon, Nature’s Metropolis: Chicago and the Great West (1991)  

Karl Jacoby, Shadows at Dawn: A Borderlands Massacre and the Violence of History (2008)

Margaret Jacobs, White Mother to a Dark Race: Settler Colonialism, Maternalism, and the Removal of Indigenous Children in the American West and Australia (2009)

Jared Farmer. On Zion’s Mount: Mormons, Indians, and the American Landscape (2008)
(This one was particularly interesting to me, because it was the history of where I grew up--right at the foot of Mount Timpanagos.) 

Jackson Lears, No Place of Grace: Antimodernism and the Transformation of American Culture, 1880-1920 (1981) 
(I really, really, really liked this book. It is one of the reasons I think we're living in a "new Gilded Age." The disenchantment many people feel today is reminiscent of the same fears, concerns, and discontents with modernity in the late 19th century.) 

[This is from a different book called What Hath God Wrought, by Daniel Walker Howe. It is dedicated to John Quincy Adams, and I get a kick out of that all of the time.]

      Women's and Gender History 

Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality, vol. 1, An Introduction (orig. 1976)

(If you read this, let me know and we'll discuss. I'm always up for discussing more Foucault.) 

 Joan Scott, “Gender: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis,” AHR 91 (1986): 1053-1075

Wendy Anne Warren, “‘The Cause of Her Grief’: The Rape of a Slave in Early New England,” Journal of American History 93 (March 2007): 1031-49.

(One of the most moving articles I've read--I really enjoy reading meditations on historical methods, and this article does just that and more.) 

Jeanne Boydston, Home and Work: Housework, Wages, and the Ideology of Labor in the Early Republic(Oxford, 1990)

(I get that this book might not really be interesting to most folks out there, but it makes a very good argument as to why the household and the workplace have been and always will be interconnected.) 

Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, A Midwife’s Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard, Based on her Diary, 1785-1812 (1991)

Tera W. Hunter, To ‘Joy My Freedom: Southern Black Women’s Lives and Labors after the Civil War (Cambridge, Mass., 1997)

(Such a good book. This is one of those history books I read and went, "Yes. I want to write history like this.") 

Sarah Haley, No Mercy Here: Gender, Punishment, and the Making of Jim Crow Modernity (University of North Carolina Press, 2015) 

(Harrowing book. But also so important.) 

Global History (1850-present) 

Jürgen Osterhammel. The Transformation of the World: a Global History of the Nineteenth Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014).
(SUPER long. Like. You-could-break-your-toe-on-this-book it's so thick. But, if that's your thing, this gives a good overview of the 19th century.) 

 Dominic Lieven. Empire: The Russian Empire and its Rivals. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000). 

And, of course, there is this video. I probably cannot quote it on my exams, but believe me, I'm tempted: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nllg_8hfIMs

=

ANYWAY. There is my nerdiness for you today. If you have/if you do end up reading any of these books, let me know. :)

churches and trains, they all look the same to me now

Churches and trains

They all look the same to me now

They shoot you some place

While we ache to come home somehow. --"Amsterdam", Gregory Alan Isakov 

i've been on a gregory alan isakov kick for the past, oh, like, two weeks? ever since fall break (which was really great, btdubbs, just in case you were wondering--truly rejuvenating and good for my soul.) ever since driving down from princeton with samwise down to the land of dc and we listened to gregory alan isakov for a good portion of the trip. it's perfect music for road trips. just beautiful. soft. soothing. smart lyrics. and an acoustic guitar. perfection. 

[10/10 recommend the music. and the music video is lovely, too.]

i've been listening to a lot of gregory alan isakov outside of road trips, too. like while i've been on my couch, sick. yes, friends. i got sick. really sick. like, walking pneumonia sick. which is not as bad as regular-pneumonia sick, but still pretty miserable. i'm so much better now than i was this weekend. still, i have a lingering cough that i probably will have for a month and whenever a colleague asks me how i'm doing (since i missed a couple days of class to recover), i say, 

"much better." 

"did you find out what it is?" 

"oh yeah. i have walking pneumonia." 

and then they give me a look like i am walking death or carrying a zombie disease. which might be true. but the truth is, it's my own personal sorrow. 

how did i get it? karma? maybe. maybe it's just life telling me that i should be kinder to people who are mean to me or maybe it's life telling me that i should really focus on what matters because i don't plan on getting much out of my readings for the next couple weeks. and maybe ever. which is just life. for my table is still littered with tissues and empty cough drop wrappings with empty mugs which used to be filled with licorice tea. 

but i have learned a bit more of the kindness of people. of colleagues who show up to my apartment with bags of soup and orange juice and herbal tea, and friends who bring panera muffins and thermometers, and other friends who find me on campus to give me more herbal tea. and kind messages and a longsuffering boyfriend and a mother and sisters and brother and father who talk to me when i go stir crazy. and doctors who believe me when i say that i've taken a turn for a worse and then prescribe antibiotics which are saving my life. (and also the people at the pharmacy counter who were super patient with me as i was near-delirious trying to figure out why the prescription hadn't come in yet and called the health center to make sure that i could leave with health in my hands. thank you all of you.) 

i've had some classic meg moments recently. like when getting aforementioned antibiotics and the nice lady said to wait fifteen minutes and so i decided to wander around the grocery store in a daze, grabbing chicken noodle soup and gatorade. and then ten minutes later i ended up seeing that nice pharmacy lady also shopping, but then i felt like i had to avoid her, but then kept almost running into her and it was so embarrassing. 

but not as embarrassing as going into a professor's office hours and then somehow my water bottle opened and spilled a disgusting amount of water onto the floor and that was just great. just really, really great. eh. it happens. 

so does fall. it's still happening. and it's beautiful. 

Also this.

So this makes me feel pretty legit. Not gonna lie.

(Also, if you go to the Princeton History Department Graduate Students page, I'm the first one that shows up! Hidden perks of being a first year with a name that starts with "A".)

Squinting into the sun

I just think these pictures are funny: 

The sun was so bright and the struggle was oh, so real. 

Overheard at Sergovia

Today I ventured outside of Madrid and headed to Segovia, a medieval Spanish town set on a hill.

[A view for sore eyes. But not for sore feet. Because I realized I had to climb up there in 100+ degree weather. But, I did love how quiet it was there. It was refreshing after the hustle and bustle of Madrid.]

[The Jewish Section of town]

[Overlook]

[Marketplace]

[The Cathedral!]

[I never get tired of cloisters.]

[But really. I never do.]

[This castle (along with Neuschwanstein) is said to have inspired Walt Disney's Sleeping Beauty's Castle.]

[Love these alleyways]

[Aqueduct! "That's pretty neat." Yep. That's seriously what ran through my head when I saw the aqueduct. I think I was getting a bit dehydrated and I thought I was super funny.]

[Viewpoint from the top of the aqueduct. I almost didn't go up because it was so hot and I was almost out of water. But I did. And I'm glad I went up because I got views like this, and there was a charming man playing his accordion and singing in one of the alcoves, and it was quite lovely.]

One of the themes of today was things I overheard. For example, I heard some Russian tourists! I wasn't able to talk with them because they were in a different part of the bus than I was (and they ran off before I could talk to them/I didn't want to run after them because that would be #creepy), but it was fun to hear snatches of their conversation. It made me feel at home, actually, because I could understand them, and I can't really understand anyone in Spain.

(Although, I did manage to make a purchase entirely in Spanish--it was a bottle of water--and the woman of the counter was very kind and was commenting on how hot it was and said to me that I should drink lots of water. I understood that. And got to Segovia by myself. So, I'm definitely winning for today.)

Another great line from today was from a 10-year-old American girl who was tugging at her dad's backpack as they were walking up the hill and said to him, "Do you feel that? That is the weight of your parenthood."

I died. I almost burst out laughing. Too, too funny.

After Sergovia, I decided to go to the Reina Sofia to see Gurnecia. That is another post that will have to be written another day, since it really moved me and I'm still processing it, but it was incredible. Really, truly, incredible and moving.

[We're not allowed to take pictures of Guernica, but this was the courtyard of the Reina Sofia. I really liked the courtyard and the building itself. And it was a good place to relax from a long day and to process the meaning of human suffering after seeing Guernica.]

Children of dust and ashes

Sometimes I randomly find new or old musicals and get obsessed with one or two songs from those musicals. (Sometimes, it's the entire musical, like with Hamilton.) But the other day a New York Times update buzzed on my phone saying that a musical called Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 had been nominated for 12 Tony awards.

It caught my attention because it's an adaptation of War and Peace. And basically anything that has to do with Tolstoy or War and Peace will definitely catch my attention.

Anyway. I've been listening to the some songs. And there's one that I'm just obsessed with. It's sung by Pierre, who is (arguably) the main character of the novel. Pierre's great. And by great, I also mean that he's confused, searching, kind, selfish, and ultimately has a beautifully messy soul. I love his character arc and watching him grow. He has a lot of "ah-a!" moments in the novel, but they don't always last (but that's also so realistic--often we have those moments where we recognize that we have to change, and we fully want to, but then life happens and we forget, or we lose our zeal--and then we have to be reminded of our need to change--and the other beautiful thing about Tolstoy novels is that there is no statute of limitations of the amount of times someone can recommit to changing their lives).

The song I've been obsessed with (and thus the one that gets featured on my blog) is a song sung by Pierre after he's dueled a friend of his (such a trope in Russian novels and it never goes well), and he realizes that he has to make some major life changes. And the song is just so beautiful, powerful, and full of Russian existential angst--it captures the essence of Pierre:






Is this how I die? 
Ridiculed and laughed at
Wearing clown shoes. 
Is this how I die? 
Furious and reckless 
Sick with booze. 

How did I live? 
I taste every wasted minute
Every time I turned away 
From the things that might have healed me. 
How long have I been sleeping?

Is this how I die? 
Frightened like a child
Lazy and numb. 
Is this how I die? 
Pretending and preposterous 
and dumb. 

How did I live? 
Was I kind enough and good enough? 
Did I love enough? 
Did I ever look up 
and see the moon 
and the stars
and the sky? 
Oh why I have been sleeping?  

They say we are asleep 
until we fall in love. 
We are children of dust and ashes. 
But when we fall in love we wake up 
And we are a God 
and angels weep. 
But if I die here tonight
I die in my sleep. 

All of my life I spent searching the words
of poets and saints and prophets and kings
and now at the end all I know that I've learned
is that all that I know is I don't know a thing. 

So easy to close off 
place the blame outside 
hiding in my room at night
so terrified. 
All the things I could have been 
but I never had the nerve
love and life
I don't deserve. 

So all right, all right
I've had my time
close my eyes
let the death bells chime. 

Bury me in burgundy 
I just don't care. 
Nothing's left
I've looked everywhere.

Is this how I die? 
Was there ever any other way my life could be? 
Is this how I die? 
Such a storm of feelings inside of me?  

But then why am I screaming? 
Why am I shaking? 
Was there something that I missed? 
Did I squander my divinity? 
Was happiness within me the whole time? 

They say we are asleep 
Until we fall in love 
We are children of dust and ashes. 
But when we fall in love we wake up 
and we are a God
and angels weep. 
But if I die here tonight 
I die in my sleep. 

They say we are asleep 
until we fall in love. 
And I'm so ready 
to wake up now. 

I want to wake up. 
Don't let me die while I'm like this. 
I want to wake up 
Don't let me die while I'm like this
Please let me wake up now
Don't let me die while I'm like this
I'm ready
I'm ready 
To wake up. 

There you go. My latest/not-so-latest obsession (because I've been obsessed with Tolstoy for years now). But it just speaks to my soul. And I love Pierre.

"It was clear and frosty. A dark, starlit heaven looked down on the black roofs and the dirty, dusky streets. Only by looking up at the sky could Pierre distance himself from the disgusting squalor of all earthly things as compared with the heights to which his soul had now been taken. 

“And there in the middle, high about Prechistensky Boulevard, amidst a scattering of stars on every side but catching the eye through its closeness to the earth, its pure white light and the long uplift of its tail, shone the comet, the huge, brilliant comet of 1812, that popular harbinger of untold horrors and the end of the world. But this bright comet with its long, shiny tail held no fears for Pierre. Quite the reverse: Pierre’s eyes glittered with tears of rapture as he gazed up at this radiant star, which must have traced its parabola through infinite space at speeds unimaginable and now suddenly seemed to have picked its spot in the black sky and impaled itself like an arrow piercing the earth, and stuck there, with its strong upthrusting tail and its brilliant display of whiteness amidst the infinity of scintillating stars. This heavenly body seemed perfectly attuned to Pierre’s newly melted heart, as it gathered reassurance and blossomed into new life.” (War and Peace 663)

Tri-lingual affirmations

Did I mention I'm studying three languages this summer? I'm taking a beginning French course, an intermediate German course on German culture and history, and then practicing my Russian with a friend for an hour or so each day. It's great (I really do love learning more about these languages and their cultures), but also, I don't know any languages anymore.

Case in point: Today I had my German class. At the beginning of the class, the professor asked (in German), if any of us had seen the film Luther. I have, so I nodded my head and proudly said, "Da." Then I realized I had spoken Russian, so I corrected myself and said, "Oui." Then I was really embarrassed and finally found the right language and said, "Ja."

So. What we're saying is, I will know ZERO languages by the end of the summer. Or just speak a mixture of all these languages. Hopefully someone will understand me.

Chocolate polka-dots

My friend Chloe and I have decided to do a "Russki Chas" (Russian hour) this summer in order to practice and improve our Russian. Every day we decide on a different theme--and it has ranged from Russian literature to electrical engineering. It's really fun. Like, really fun.

Today it was cooking. Because, let's be real. How often in Russian courses do you go over how to read even basic recipes in Russian or read a cookbook? Not often.

Today I learned the Russian word for "chocolate chips." Which you would think I would know, because, oh, I don't know, chocolate chips are one of my 5 basic food groups. But I never learned it because they don't really have chocolate chips in Ukraine or Russia. (When I baked chocolate chip cookies in Ukraine, I always just cut up a chocolate bar.)

But it's the cutest thing. It's "schokoladny kroshky," or literally, chocolate polka-dots.

Isn't that amazing?

I love Russian.

And I love chocolate polka-dots.

Three times a bridesmaid

What gets posted on Instagram.

Reality. 

Identical Cousins

When I was moving to Salt Lake, I was looking for an apartment. My cousin Leslie helped me find a place. It's been great being in her ward and seeing her more often.

Something else that's great is people's reaction when they find out we're cousins.

And it's great that we inadvertantly match every once in awhile. Usually at ward functions.

[Like at Thanksgiving dinner. Where we found out that Leslie is grateful for beards. And I am grateful for Hamilton. Oh wait. That's not actually a surprise.]

[We also ended up kind of matching at the Stake Christmas fireside. Maxi dresses for the win!]

[It's like we're related or something.]

[And in black and white. Just being models. Nbd.]

Leslie said that I only needed 2 pictures of us to make a blog post. But I even got four. So you KNOW it's an official blog post now.

What it feels like when I try to write a youth article at work

Yup. 

There's a reason that I am not working for the youth magazine. 

In which I realize that I am actually part Slytherin. Or Spartan.

Once upon a time in a land not too far away, Megan was a cute little twelve-year-old with huge glasses, braces, and an obsession with ancient Greece. This obsession was enabled by the fact that her 6th-grade class was studying ancient Greece, and her teacher had divided their class up into "polises." 

Megan was sure that she would be assigned into Athens. I mean, she was pretty Athenian down to her core, right? Loved the arts, loved literature, loved winning debates . . . Athens must be her polis. 

But nope. She got Sparta. 

Which made no sense to her. Sparta was the athletic polis. They were the warriors. 

Whenever Megan played soccer, she always got kicked in the face. She was the second-slowest runner in her class. So she generally stayed away from sports and would swing on the swingset, or make up imagination games with her friends. 

But here she was. In Sparta. 

But what Megan soon discovered while in Sparta was that her thirst for competiton was just as fierce as any Spartan's. 

And there was a rule, written right in the "We are Sparta!" worksheet, saying that they, as Spartans, could do whatever it took to win. Whatever. They could beg, steal, borrow, or barter (or lie, or bribe, or whatever) to win. But particularly to beat Athens. 

You shouldn't tell that to twelve year olds. Particularly to usually-demure twelve year olds. Because when you do, the floodgates break loose, and drama always ensues. 

Well, my Spartan mentality came back to me Monday night during our ward Family Home Evening activity. 

[Quick aside: Basically, for those unfamiliar with Mormon terminology, a ward is a congregation of Mormons. Like, a mob of ravens, a dazzle of zebras, a ward of Mormons. Family Home Evening is a Mormon tradition where you spend Monday night doing activities with your family. For a Young Single Adult ward, Family Home Evening can be any number of permutations. Usually they involve doing silly things or playing sports. And they always involve food.]

Anyway, this Monday we had a road rally/scavenger hunt. You had thirty minutes to do/find and photograph or video yourself and those in your group doing a bunch of random things. They could be anything from finding a Utah state quarter to making a half-court shot blindfolded. 

My roommates and I were really skeptical and didn't think it would be very fun, but then our competitive natures came out. And we had a little bit too much fun. 

Here's some proof: 

[My head is cut off. But we managed to do this human pyramid.]

[Becky just happened to have a sewing mannequin? Weird. So Jessica gladly posed next to it.]

[Planking.]

[Yoga poses.]

We were running around our apartment and the apartment complex trying to get as many things done on the list as possible. One of the girls jumped in the pool. We also took a super awkward picture of Marcus giving me a piggyback ride. Basically, we are crazy. 

And we found anyway to bend the rules to make it work. Or more like, make what we were doing fit inside the rules. Like how Becky wrote "For Sale" and held it up for me to take a picture to say that we had a picture of us with a "For Sale" sign. (Hey. It works.) 

We also attempted that half-court shot. And by we attempted, I mean that we asked the teenagers who were playing basketball to make a half-court shot for us. (Hey, there was nothing that said we had to make the shot ourselves. Just that we had to have a video of someone making the shot.) And the kid made the shot! And it was on video! And we knew that we had most likely won, because, dude, that was worth 500 points! 

[Also, as an aside, one of the items on the scavenger hunt was, "Get an autograph from a stranger." So Becky had the kid who made the shot autograph her hand, because that's all we had. And he signed it "Young-sexy." So this is where we are in America today.] 

We zoomed over to the church building to get there on time, added up our points, gloated that we had made a half-court shot, and were generally congratulating ourselves on winning. #teamwinning for the win. Per usual. 

We looked like Slytherin about to win the House Cup. 

And I say that literally. And that "about" is important. 

Because when the moment of truth came, and we were announced the winners, the judges of course asked to see the video of the half-court shot. 

And we couldn't find it. 

We accidentally deleted it. 

And so the House Cup was taken away from Slytherin and given to a bunch of boisterous Gryffindors. 

I never identified so much with Draco Malfoy as I did in that moment. 

Another team did vouch for us and say that the kid had made the shot, but it was too late. Dumbledore had already given Neville Longbottom those 10 extra points and it was over. 

Well, it was fun while it lasted. 

For all my Ravenclaw-ness, I guess there's a little bit of Slytherin (and Sparta) in me after all. 

in rooms unfamiliar

what i've been listening to lately:

guster.
iron and wine.
sara barellies.
chess.
jump little children.

if my life were a sitcom
then one of the recurring motifs
would be my issues
with opening the parking garage gate.
i have never ONCE done it gracefully.
not once.

so that would be the motif.
but a full episode would be the day
that megan locked her keys in the car.
wait.
did that happen?
yup.
did that happen today?
ummm, maybe?
i'm really winning at this whole adulting game.

--------------------------------

i have all these things that i thought i would say
it was going to be clever or eloquent or something.
but the words aren't coming.
but i guess i'll say this.
mount olympus is strikingly beautiful.
it is just simply stunning.
it takes me aback every time i see it.
so.
for as unexpected as these two weeks have been
and as much as my life
looks more and more like a mormon sitcom
there are those granite giants
that ground me
and elevate me
and remind me
that God is good
and the desert, hills, vales, and mountains still sing
carry on.

Learning to Let Go (A Tribute to My Messenger Bag)

09 August 2016 

Dear Pavel (my messanger bag from Ukraine), 

Well, it's been a good run. Four years, three months, two weeks, and three days of a good run, to be exact. 

I remember the first time I saw you. I was a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, naive young missionary, just a week into Ukraine. 

In my naivety, I thought that I could "get by" with my hands and a small, simple beaded bag I had brought with me. My trainer soon helped me see the error of my ways. 

[Young missionary and my wise trainer.]

She took a look at my beaded bag and then a long look at me as I tried to stuff pamphlets in it. 

"You're going to need a lot more space," she said. 

And she was right. 

So on a warm Monday in late April, we went inside a nondescript shop on Lenin Prospekt in the city we lived in. Inside was dingy, dark, and smoke- and body-odor filled, but the shop was semi-organized. Shoes, belts, and bags filled the store. 

My trainer handled the talking while I looked around for a bag I wanted. I saw you out of the corner of my eye and I knew. So when Sister Hudson asked me which one I wanted, I pointed to you. 

"That one. That one up high." 

To be honest, you initally caught my eye because you were an attractive messenger bag. 

But what won my heart was your character, which was branded boldly on your side: 

"Polo Qisi," I read. "Valued. Simple. Decent. Fashional. Classical. Humanistic." 

[No one is as humanistic as you.]

I still haven't a clue what you meant by those words.

But you had me at humanistic.

[Doing humanistic service with my humanistic bag.]

You were an excellent mission bag. You carried pamphlets, copies of the Book of Mormon, a Russian Bible, photos from home, my "Masha and the Bear" wallet, and often an apple or two without complaining. 

You saw me through thick and thin. You came with me from city to city--Donetsk, Kharkov, Mariupol. You experienced bitter winds and balmy summers. You saw despair, anger, hope, and love in the faces of people I met. you heard stories of faith, of doubt, of miracles. Oh, the stories you could tell! 

You came with me from Ukraine. I was a sadder and wiser woman; you were a worn bag. But, like the land you came from, you were resilient and had a lot of life in you still. 

And me? Well, I am simultaneously lazy and resourceful. Which means I decided to keep you with me--from BYU and beyond that, to Oxford. 

Again, you've experienced a lot with me--running to catch trains and planes, scores of dates, trips to Kansas, Massachusetts, London, Croatia, St. Petersburg, Red Square, the Baltics--you are a world-class traveller. 

But all good things come to an end. 

I noticed it a couple of months ago--back in January, I think. Your inside zipper broke off. 

Then you started peeling. 

That classical, decent, humanistic faux leather started coming off in bits, and then chunks. It looked like you had some kind of bag leprosy. 

More recently, you've exhibited signs of aging as you've grown holes inside yourself, making it easy for me to misplace things--usually Chapstick--in the very bottom of the bag. You've also started molting more than usual. It's normal with age; don't be embarrassed. 

I thought I had lost you in St. Petersburg. I was searching for something when I felt a bit of cardboard. I was afraid that I had destroyed you somehow. Instead, I found what makes you sturdy at the bottom--some sort of old Spanish cardboard box for Chicken Soup Mix. (How that ended up in a Ukrainian bag, I'll never know . . . perhpas you're really a Spanish emigree?) 

But you weren't dead yet. Just roughened up a bit. 

Being the good, tough bag you are, you kept fighting until I realized today that it might be better to give you a final resting spot here in Oxford. 

You won't be coming back to America with me. It makes me sad, too. But we both know your time is at hand. You're on your last legs, and I'd rather leave you here in "England's green and pleasant land" than to risk that journey across the pond. 

I think it is a fitting send off: leaving a piece of my Ukrainian heart with my British love. There's something symbolic about the two of you coming together in life and death. 

What I'm trying to say is, thank you. For everything. I'm a better--and more organized--woman since you fell into my life four years ago. 

With love, 

Megan