Have you met Rarasaur? She’s a fellow blogger who I find amazing. She seems to always have her creative juices flowing, always posting quirky things on Facebook. At the end of the day when I am barely functioning enough to take my shoes off, she’s still ticking along. I try to tell myself that we must be in two very different time zones and that is why she seems so productive when I’m out of gumption. That may have something to do with it, but I believe there’s a lot more. She’s a bit of an inspiration for me. I… must… push… on.
A week ago, she had a Facebook post that caught my eye. She’s hosting a celebration of International Label Day on her blog. I clicked on the link for the previous year’s post, Bloggers Celebrate Label Day, and found it pretty nifty.
Urban Dictionary defines International Label Day as a holiday that celebrates the beauty of the words we choose to let shape us, the subcultures that we are proud to be part of, and the surprising meaning of the labels we all choose for ourselves!
I kicked around the idea. Did I want to participate?
I had just posted a blog about how I’ve hated having my picture taken. And here I was, thinking about having my picture taken. Even more daunting than the thought of me photographed was… what label should I use?
I thought about writer … but I have no photos of me writing. Hmmm…
What about the tomboy….
Or Irish Enough … I’m mean, come on. Look at that hair!
Or on that note… Token White Girl
I could have chosen gangsta …
Or crazy ass bitch … That night brought on a whole host of labels!
What kind of label do you give to a girl beating someone’s ass while she’s barefooted?
I could have been seen as simply the oldest…
Maybe the tree hugger….
Or lover of beer.
I’m a veterinary technician. Could that be my label?
Who would I be without the beach?
And my reign as the Crazy Pigeon Lady! Is that who I am?
It finally came to me. This morning, I had a ton of coffee… traded my jammies for some clothes and headed outside. This is what I came up with ….
My ESVA peeps are hooting and hollering right now. That’s how you’ll be able to differentiate who knows what my label means.
ESVA is home. The Eastern Shore Of Virginia is where I was born and raised, where I will live and die. Home. I’ve been a crazy person in several respects all of my life, but who would I be without the beaches and the farm land? The bay and the marshes? The long winding back roads, the quaint little towns. Shore gossip, either when you are the gossiper or the gossiped. My wild stories start and end here. My roots are planted strong. They stretch out to West Virginia and North Carolina but it all started here. Where I have made all of my friends, where I met my beau. Home.
There’s a love to this land. If you were born here, you may deny it at times. I can tell you I have seen people go and I have seen them return homesick. I’ve seen come-here’s become lifers with the rest of us. It’s quiet, it’s simple, it’s home. I would not be the same without it. I would not change it for the world.