“Burrowing”

Yet another reason to love J.K. Rowling and her magical world of Harry Potter and friends: “The Burrow.”

The Burrow (for those of you poor, unfortunate Muggles who have not yet experienced the magic of HP) is the home of Harry’s best friend Ronald Weasley. Ron is one of 7 children (all redheads) in the humble but happy household of Arthur and Molly Weasley, a noble wizard and witch who love each other fiercely, who sacrificially stand for truth and justice, and who have cobbled together an eclectic dwelling place where they manage to raise their many children on Arthur’s modest salary. They’re ordinary people, with extraordinary spunk, who happen to be slightly scatterbrained and somewhat sloppy.

So when Vi recently compared us to the Weasleys, our house to The Burrow, and our Tercel to the wizarding family’s Flying Car, I instantly experienced 2 strong emotions: pride and relief. Pride because the Weasleys (with the exception of Percy the Smarmy) are a great bunch. They’re “the good guys.” They’re strong, stable and trustworthy. Yes, I’m proud to be called a “Weasley.” Relief because the Weasleys’ house is so…well, lived-in. As is ours. If Vi sees their house as a warm and friendly place, despite its flaws and foibles, and if she deems the Weasleys decent folk—loveable, even—then maybe she’ll stop saying: “I wish I was part of a normal family!”

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P.S. My friend Frances informed me today that I now share a common problem with talk show host Regis Philbin: a psoas injury. According to Fran, when Regis told the crowd about his problem, someone informed him that “filet mignon” is actually the psoas muscle on a cow. Is that a fact? I’m not sure. But I know it doesn’t make me feel any better, true or false.