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...but I, like Frodo, am getting rather used to being Master of my own Bag End...
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Lyta, you have summed up my entire feelings in these shorts words. It's something that I found very hard to describe; I commend you for your excellent work in saying it half a sentence!
To wake up in the morning in my own little room and hear the birds singing and little feet just beginning to run about... Sure, I could have a little room in the Shire (or wherever I would live in Middle-Earth) but it wouldn't by my little room, because I already have a little room. Birds would sing, but they wouldn't be the birds I've tempted for hours a day with seeds so they would come perch on my hand. Little feet might run about and I might hear children's laughter but they wouldn't be the dear children I've become accustomed to hearing.
And to wander out into the garden and bid good morning to the flowers, feeling delighted when I see new little buds blooming. It would be highly unlikely that I wouldn't have a garden in the Shire, but it wouldn't be my garden because my garden wouldn't be home.
I could have books in the Shire, I suppose, but they wouldn't be my books that have been passed down through the family till they came to me. And I could sit by a fireside and read, but it wouldn't be the fireside of my childhood, the one I have sat by for years, the one I sat by when I first heard tales of Frodo and Sam.
I could live without these things, sure, but it would be hard to be somewhere else, in an entirely different world, and still have these things that were not mine. Rather like raising a little boy who was your own and then switching sons with some other woman. You'd still have a little boy but he wouldn't be yours, would he? Of course the pain of switching books, gardens, etc. would be
much less than the pain of switching sons! I merely use it as an example... not one quite equal to the situation, I fear.
I would have small regrets about not going to Middle-Earth... it would be lovely to Walk to Rivendell for
real.
