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We have been hanging with economically poor people for our whole teen and adult lives.
I went on many orphanages and dumps to visit people when I lived in Southern California.
I chose a nursing school on the East side of LA that staffed a hospital that took care of the poor. I remember cleaning all the maggots out of wounds and showering them with various insecticides before they were admitted onto the ward.
During this same time Andrew was hanging out with drunks in Australia. Filling a thermos of coffee and going out to hang with them.
Andrew and I met on a ship that brought really inexpensive educational books to poor countries in Central and Latin America. We slept in warm bunks and sailed away to the next port.
After having a couple of kids we lived in San Francisco. Almost at the corner of Haight-Ashbury, just as the area was being overcome with street kids after the death of Bob Marley. Sometimes we would sit with the street kids and hear their stories. We were counted as one of them by passers by and were spat upon. People would look at me and my kids and shake their heads. We ran a feeding program. Brought a big pot of soup and bread into the park and shared it with whoever was hungry. We went out onto the streets and invited the street kids into our home for a shower, a meal, a chat, a song, a conversation, a cuddle. We even shared some of their diseases. But we were still separated by the fact that we had a bed under a roof in a house where we paid rent. Granted it was just a couple of mattresses we strapped to the wall with a safety belt during the day so the kids had a place to play. We also shared the flat with 7 others. It was still something that set us apart. We sat on the streets during the day and went back to sleep under a roof. We were looking in from comfortable lives.
Now, we are counted with the poor.
We are downwardly mobile.
We live in a truck.
We are global nomads.
We are travellers.
This brings about certain problems. My kids don’t need a toilet to go pee. They all prefer to find a nice, private “shrubbery” to pee on. This is fine in Morocco. This is not fine in the United Kingdom. They eat lots of weird food but they are beginning to shun private plates and utensils. What does this mean? Well, for one thing we are having more and more difficulties hanging with the middle classes the more we hang with the poor. Not as someone who goes back to their apartment after but sleep side by side with the poor. It is out of choice, we are counted as poor. But what about our kids. For those that have eyes to see our kids stick out from the norm with their acts of generosity and inclusion. However, their inability and seeming ambivalence to typical social games can make them appear immature and weird. They are flexible and independent but Andrew and I get to bear the judgement of being bad parents when we give our kids freedom and responsibility and a voice that is alien to most kids.
We are counted with the poor. Are we doing the right thing? Are we being fair to our kids? As adults Andrew and I have a choice but are we plunging our kids into a strange existence and outlook on the world that can marginalize them. I am so proud of my kids and young adults (to see the joy and the pain look at Sam’s last 2 blog entries on his diary entry and coming home ). I really dont know how to raise kids differently. Are they going to get beaten up in a world that may never understand them? They are being counted with the poor and the marginalized. I don’t know if I feel like a good parent right now.
We are counted with the poor. We are becoming less and less able to fit in to Western middle class. We share the shame.
We are counted with the poor. What are we learning? 
Inclusion and acceptance, 
sacrificial generosity,
flexibility,
creativity.
How to love and forgive complete strangers. 
How not to judge.
How not to let anger take over when we feel injustice.
Shanti, shanti, shanti. Peace, peace, peace. Hope.
We are SUCH slow learners but we are finally starting to catch on. We continue to have bad experiences at traditional campgrounds. We normally meet some nice people but looking back, the fact is that we are weird and getting weirder is making it harder and harder to stay at normal campgrounds.
These are our problems. Our truck looks weird. We look weird. We are traveling full-time. We are traveling with kids. We are traveling with extra adults that we are not related to. We are now traveling with a Moroccan friend. We invite local friends, new and old, to come and visit us. So we have memories of getting kicked out of British campgrounds because we “didn’t look right”. We have had to smuggle friends into a campground in Portugal for a BBQ party. We are continually getting in trouble for the kids not wiping out the sink well enough after washing dishes or wiping down a toilet properly. Our kids are not slobs but they are not mini old people either. No matter how many bad experiences we keep on going back.
 It is not relaxing at all when we go. We normally do mountains of laundry, shower, refill the water, recharge the batteries, etc. Campgrounds are hard work for us. And, as they say, it is hard to teach an old dog new tricks. When we lived in a motorhome full-time in America we could stay quite cheaply if we were staying for a longer time and we were driving an old Winnebago. So, we stayed at our 4th motorhome park since we have been in Morocco. 4 in 2 months, not to bad, especially since we stayed at 2 for 1 nite and 1 for 2 nites and the one we stayed at longer was called a campground in only the loosest of contexts (no door, or even a curtain, on the pit toilet and no security man sitting by the gate all night). We also frequently ate and sang in the house of the man running the campground while we were there. That is another story. A good one.
So, we went to another campground in Safi. The only campground in Safi. We hung up our mountain of laundry. Karim was not allowed to stay with us because he had lost his ID and is waiting to get it sent by his brother. A drag but fair enough, he slept in his tent elsewhere. But when Karim came in the next morning to have breakfast with us the angry man at the front made him leave. I asked is it because of the ID or because Karim is Moroccan. 
No answer. We left. DUDE.
The following nite we were on our way to Marrekech and decided to wild camp instead. What a great experience. Andrew and TJ found our place. They discussed the criterea. They were privacy, hills, rocks, trees., safety. We took a Piste (donkey trail) off the main road near some hills and found a great place! Andrew was quite pleased with our 4 X 4 vehicle and took lots of pictures of the Land Rover on the hill as we left. He took no pictures of the new sedan we passed on the way out.
 While we were there we met lots of amazing people from the nearby villages who gave us Leben (fermented milk) and eggs and bread and goat butter. Alana and Abi have a great story of a house they were invited into. I think we all have stories of cows trying to steal the veg we were cutting on the table, bird houses in the bushes, snake stories, little kids, generosity. All in all a great time.
Coming into Marrakesh we were again confronted with the choice of campground or not. I mean, seriously, we are going into a big medieval city, we are big, we only have addresses of campgrounds and we ARE pathetic creatures of habit. Well, we resisted and instead of trying another campground we drove into the city looking for a parking place thinking we could just leave every night. Instead we found a parking lot next to the main mosque and the souks. Great location. When we came in they said it would be 50 derams and asked if we were planning on sleeping here. Uh…. yeah. We were sent to the back lot where we are hanging with about 20 white plastics and self-builds. We are a short walk from the souks and some public toilets.
Yeah, about toilets in Morocco. Don’t read the rest of this paragraph if you don’t want to know. It is kinda weird talking about it on a blog but it just needs to be said. The toilets are squat style and toilet paper is generally not used. They use water from a tap that you can find in each toilet along with a small bucket. You can buy TP here but it is expensive. To the defense of the Moroccan toilet system. Squat toilets are healthier than sitting down ones and water is much cleaner than toilet paper. Just facts that were established early in our time here. We STILL have had an extensive adjustment period but am now feeling comfortable with the Moroccan system of things in this area. Sometimes we still reach for the TP just not nearly as often.
 While I am at it about getting kicked out of wild camping places in Morocco. If you are way out in the wild. Don’t worry. Just meet the neighbours, if there are any and be nice. Offer to share your meal with them or a cup of tea. We have been kicked out of one wild camping place in Morocco by the police but they were really nice and said some of the wild campers got robbed there, they haven’t been able to catch the thieves and they wanted to protect us.That isn’t so bad.
If you are looking for our great parking lot in Marrakesh and are looking for this great motorhome parking place we are under the phone tower with the storks that is behind the main mosque and the big park. The parking sign is on the main road going to the Fna place.
So to wild camp or go to a campground. I give you full permission to question me if I become a softie and go back to a campground. There are lots of alternatives to the campground for laundry and bathing and water. Yeah, swords raised, one for all and all for one. We shall wild camp!
Andrew was reading a book online that included bits about the changing role of women in the western world. I woke up this morning with my mind spinning with observations and questions from my time in Morocco so far. Unfortunately, not many answers but hey if we spend our lives rushing to answers we shortchange the journey and dont ask enough questions or make enough observations. Or we only see what supports the answers we came up with to early. So, in trying to keep my eyes open here are some of my thoughts.
The most obvious thing to look at first seems to be dress. It is difficult to know how to dress. I live in a personal dilema of trying to balance individuality and cultural sensitivity. I have found this has special challenges here. I have found that it is easier to dress like an individual in cultures that we are more comfortable in and are similar to our own. This is only a recent observation as this is a culture that is alot more different than anything I have ever known. So, when we first got here I put on a headscarf everytime I exited the truck. This seemed to work quite well. I enjoyed the rare times I got the headscarf on right and snug. I loved it when Rachel said that I looked Berber when we went into the ladies co-op in the atlas mountains. I enjoyed feeling like one of the ladies. However when I put on the same headscarf and baggie clothes in Aourir I was asked if I was muslim and laughed at. Someone told me that it makes the locals feel comfortable for the tourists to look like tourists. Back to boxes I suppose.
I let the girls dress like they feel comfortable. I encourage them to note the amount of attention they get showing different amounts of skin. After we had been here just a few days TJ was wanting to stay in the truck all day and when I asked her why she said, “everybody stares at me and I find it disturbing.” My 7 year old used the word disturbing. We had a long talk about being different. I am beginning to think we all get lots of attention no matter how we dress because of our hair and skin colour – or is it something else like posture, walk, eye contact or smiling? Trying to nail down something in regards to dress.
One good idea we got from Perine. She bought a man’s Djellaba. She puts it on and pulls up the hood when she doesnt want to be noticed. Like at night. People assume she is a man and leave her alone. So here are my temporary conclusions in regards to dress. Go native in small villages that dont get tourists. Leave your head uncovered but cover up your upper arms, at least, and have something hang over your backside and keep your legs covered at least over your knees.
But, if you are getting ready to go on a 4 hour hike into the mountains on a very hot day your might opt for comfort.
If this hike involves hitchiking in the Sahara, like some of our friends, you might try to incorporate more modesty.
Sometimes I think too much about all this and go out afraid to smile or look a man in the eyes. Then I realize that is walking in fear and that is a place I don’t want to be. Obviously no conclusions yet.
Dang, this is getting to be long and Andrew is up and wanting the internet dongle. I think I will have to limit this post to my observations on dress.
Thought I would post my response to Pippa’s nice email as they are really good questions.
” would like to ask if you would add some information to your blog about how and why you decided to travel. Did you own a home and work jobs previously? Is it hard to travel between countries? Visas etc? What about crime, have you ever had any problems break ins etc?”
I will answer the easy bits first. We have owned 3 houses in 2 countries. We gave up our last house that we owned in order to use the profits for Andrew to go to school. We still think that was a great choice as it was a catalyst event that sent us on the track we are on now. When we sold the house we went to the camping store and bout a sierra designs family arch tent and really good sleeping bags for the family in order to celebrate our freedom. When we bought maggie our truck the kids were quite keen on noting that we were home- owners once again – only our home has wheels.
We have worked jobs before. Regular ones. I have worked in offices and hospitals. I was trained as a nurse. Andrew has normally worked many part-time jobs at one time. I think he likes to wear lots of different hats.
The hardest thing about travelling between countries is our own fear of the unknown. It seems the news loves to broadcast the negative about anything bad so more people to watch or something. It seems those with bad stories of travel get heard more. You know, that one person who gets robbed – not hearing about the thousands that had no problem at all. Not all the visas and documentation can be lined up beforehand. Sometimes calls need to be made just before a new frontier to arrange insurance, a visa needs to be obtained at the border or plans just need to be put on hold. Right now, we have been looking into going to Mauritania and Senegal. When we tried to get visas in London it proved near impossible. In Rabat you can get visas in one day and 34 euro. After realizing that we could get our visas, however, we found out we need a carnet de passage for our old truck which will take over a month to get. We will need to change our plans now and try to get a carnet de passage for next time. There is no replacement for the information you get around the table with other travellers. We all learn from each other as we are doing it. Sometimes you have to backtrack 800 km to get a visa or visa extension, sometimes you go to a nice man in a small village who gives you the stamp you need. Lots of unknown but I am thinking we fear the unknown too much because the unknown seems to bring more opportunity than dissappointment. at least for me. We just need to be flexible and embrace the unknown. If we dont get across a border into a country there is always another path – possibly a better path and we can go back and try again at another time. Also, visas can be expensive when you multiply that by 6 or 7 or 9.
For us the hardest border to cross, by far, is the British border. If you dont have a british passport and your passport has too many funny stamps expect to get interrogated for long periods of time by scary, intimidating people and possibly sent away – for a 19 year old member of our group she was handcuffed and escorted to a detention centre before they could book her return flight 4 days later. There are more scary stories from this border among our friends than all others put together.
We have had things stolen in the past. Not this trip so far. At one point, when we lived in San Francisco our cameras kept getting stolen. We ended up buying a working toystore variety of camera and that one didnt get stolen. You have to be reasonably careful – as you do at home, lock your doors when you go out, dont put your phone next to your window, dont leave tempting items on your dash, dont pull out a fancy phone or computer in a slum, etc. We have a safe – but that is mainly for passports and essential documents. We also keep photocopies of passports and extra photos in our safe. It also helps to keep in mind what our real valuables are – each other. All else can be replaced.
Now, for the hard questions. How and why we travel. I try to put as much of the how in the blog as I can think of. I know there are things I am overlooking. For that I apologize, I’m trying to get better.
As far as why. Wow. I think if you get right down to it I think it is what makes us feel alive. With both me and Andrew there is a part of us that sort of dies inside if we dont travel. When we start travelling there is a part of our minds and hearts that wakes up and becomes electric. We see things in a whole new way. Like, we were created a little different.
It is funny how our western cultures seem to accept geographic stability as sensible and nomadic lives as irresponsible and immature when things used to be just the opposite a long, long time ago. To travel full-time nowadays there are so many stereotypes to break down. The stories of full-time travellers not caring about the earth, trashing the place and steeling everything is just rubbish. We have been hanging out with people very aware of their carbon footprint. Teaching africans how to compost in their gardens, carrying their trash til they find an acceptable place for it to go. Trying to bless those they stay with or around with food and love and music and money and respect and encouragement. There is community, sharing food, knowledge, rides, a needed hug and kiss. I think when you travel full-time you are more vulnerable. Sometimes a thought will race across my mind, “I am trusting my life, my passport, etc to someone I have known a few weeks… or a few hours.” We need to trust each other. We must. We dont have the luxury of big houses to hide in – we need each other.
We are just outside Guilmim in Morocco. We are borrowing a “dongle” for internet. We have not managed to buy our own. Always ” a day late or a dollar short” as my mom used to always say. They just seem to be waiting for some more every place we go to. Anyways.
Saw a beautiful bunch, herd, flock, whatever, of camels today along the road. We are at a hot spring tonight. The last few days we have been staying at a few campgrounds the last few nights. They are only between 4 and 11 euros a nite but I have been quite enjoying hanging around hippies and travellers. Andrew says I am becoming a snob.
I think part of my snobbery comes from a nice Moroccan man I was talking to last week.
He asked me if I was a tourist or a traveller.
” I dont know”
He looked at me intently and said, “Do you like the Moroccan people?”
“Oh yeah”
Do you like to go out alot and meet people and try new things? You do dont you. I think you are a traveller. Tourists just sit like this (he stretched out his arms, closed his eyes and put his head facing the sun like someone sun bathing) and they do nothing. He looked intently again and said, “Yes, you are a traveller”.
Dang, wow, Yeah. A traveller. Loving and experiencing new cultures and making friends. Problem is now I have snobbery issues with hanging with “White plastics”.
How lame am I. OK I need to try not to be a snob and I need to love all cultures – even the white plastic/tourist culture. They are normally very nice and dont deserve my snobbery. They travel with cute little travel sized dogs, take pictures of flowers, read lots of novels and have great tans. Deep breath. Tonight we hang with white plastics and some nice surfers in an old beige plastic with a bit of personality. Perhaps tomorrow we will venture out to the uncivilized hot springs, 4 km from Fask. Apparently we need to drive to Fask and find a guide as there are no roads going to the uncivilized hot springs.
TJs birthday is coming soon. She turns 8 on the 28th. We would like to take her on a camel ride for her birthday.
So, lost another post to the trials of Ecto. You see I have sort of a love hate relationship with Ecto. Anyway, not much lost just my moaning mum stuff as 2 of my kids fly the nest in the same week.
The night before the flight to London the nearby river overflowed and took the path of least resistance down the road in front of the mechanics. In the middle of the night people were climbing over the wall and tow ropes were hauling cars in from the road as the river took over. In the morning what was left was some destroyed fish carts littering the street and sludge everywhere. We put on our welly boots, Sam took our boots back in a bucket as we jumped in our… taxi.
Lizzy is taking off to Texas to hang with Jessica, our amazing, wonderful Woman friend (notice the capital “W” for woman which I reserve for only my favourite women in the world) who we love.
This is a photo of our first leg of the journey. Lizzy’s first hitchhiking experience. Actually we were waiting for a taxi to the airport and some of our friends saw us and gave us a ride in their big blue horsebox.
The rest of her trip was a bit more normal with planes and trains. Well, maybe not that orthodox as we flew ryan air to London. Every time we fly ryan air we say NEVER AGAIN but we always get drawn in by the illusion of cheap prices. We did get free entertainment on the plane this time. With a handful of drunks, an angry primadonna with a huge carryon and a man with a lost boarding card.
Sam, Donald and Alana took off for Scotland. The only drama we heard this time came from Alana. Dear Alana, Andrew drilled and drilled them in the taxi on the way but her carefree attitude, optimism and lack of extensive funds were no match for the near impossible border control in london and she was denied entry. She is now in a detainment centre in London – Ramada with bars – waiting for the next flight to Morocco in 2 days. Not sure if she will continue on with us or what. So, this time our clan got to provide the drama. Ahhh life.
Miracle of miracles Sam and Donald got in. I guess they had to let Donald in because he holds a british passport. Samuel, however, well, he did try. He put on all clean, all black, clothes that promptly got really dirty as we are presently living in a mechanics backyard. You see, miracles do happen in the modern day.
I AM feeling much better. Glad you missed my empty nest moan and groan. It was very sad and I am sure would have brought you all to tears.
Now we are all thinking, North or South. Do we continue south towards the Sahara or do we high tail it North. Hmmmmm, you know we do have sandmats proudly displayed at the back of our truck. We also have a large group of new friends gathering in Sidilfni preparing for Mauritania and beyond. There are visas to get and a carnet to figure out if we go further south.
The Mauritania visa is near impossible to get in U.K. Once you go to the Mauritanian Embassy, London website that has no clue to the Embassy’s closure until you take the long trek and knock on the stranger’s door where the embassy is supposed to be. If you probe deeper online they say to go to the French embassy where they say send in lots of paper and wait 4 months and they might say yes. Seems the thing to do is go to Rabat, Morocco and you get it in 5 hours. You know, you try to set things in order before you get on the road but I think it takes a leap of faith. Jump on out there and the answers come along the way. Oh no, there I go again with one of my rants. STOP ME PLEASE!
You know alot adds up if I havent blogged for a while.
Enough for today.
After all our fears of bad health in Africa and we have been doing OK. We have all been taking turns with stomach aches and diarrhea but not to serious. We ar’e in banana beach so eating alot of bananas helps out. Skin problems. Abi got a bad burn on her hand before we arrived in Morocco so we were very careful to keep it clean. A Moroccan man kept putting flower pollen goop on it which was greaas well.
The problem I am having is with people outside our family. We are hanging around alot of full time travellers. European young people mostly. What great people, loving and giving. They are not living out hedonist dreams but wanderlust mixed in with missions of global peace. Quite beautiful. They love natural medicine. They live simply and are normally broke.
However, here is the problem. Youve got this young man who has walked his feet bloody because of bad shoes or no shoes. He pees on his foot faithfully every morning to disinfect it, I have heard this is actually quite good. The problem is that he continues to walk around barefoot with an open wound and soak it in water full of special south Moroccan bacteria. Staph infection. He gives his infection to 10 others. They are all at least a 4 hour walk from a doctor.
So, where do you go when your foot swells up like a football? Mom. Since I have grey hair and alot of kids they come to me. I actually love helping people out with this. Hey, isnt this why I went to nursing school?
In the short time I have been here I have seen some of the worst wounds of my life. I know my first aid kit is fine for a family but is sorely inadequate for this many people with bad infections. I have already given away my emergency antibiotics to a wonderful french father with an old burn that was causing his whole leg to swell up and no money for medicine. I gave him the antibiotics and asked him to take them to the pharmacist to see if they were right for the job. The pharmacist said they were the best for his infection and are not available in Morocco. He is very grateful and getting better but I now have no antibiotics.
Helping out all these people with infected wounds is actually a bit selfish too. Staph infections spread to other travellers and to my family. Aggressive little bacteria that can jump into a little mosquito bite on a leg and cause a disfiguring scar or amputation.
Sorry for my rant. I was trained as a nurse so I can help with early problems but people are coming to me too late, way too late, when amputation is on the tip of their tongues. I feel quite ill prepared for this. Is there a place for extra training and alot of supplies? Do I need extra training or just more confidence? I dunno.
I feel better. Thanks for listening.
Sorry, no pictures with this post. Honestly now, would you want pictures!?!?
Well, I finally did it. After over 12 years of talking about it I finally got my tattoo. Paulo worked on it for 2 hours. It did hurt – alot. He would still like to do some more colour. But, this is the one I have been imagining all those years. It is the tree of life with a wild vine wrapping around and from it. I am Sooooo happy.
I guess I never thought it was the right time because a tough guy stranger etching a permanent mark on me that represented my spiritual journey was just not the image I had. But, when I met Paulo I knew I trusted him and I respect him and his own spiritual journey. Just seemed the right time and the right person to do it. I have been talking to Paulo about doing it since May. I have found out that Paulo is not just a great person but one of the best tattoo artists in Portugal. He has been doing tattoos for over 20 years. He said that when he first wanted to do tattoos you couldnt buy a tattoo machine so he made his own out of a blow dryer.
He did many sketches in November before finding one that we both liked after about a month of efforts. It is a different sort of thing combining a tree and a vine I guess. So, I went into Spider Tattoos in Olhao today with Paulo and Serge and have come back with “ink”. Andrew and Sam are kinda jealous I think. I am so pleased. Paulo said it might not seem like my arm, at first, when I see it in the mirror, but actually, I recognize it. It has been in my imagination for so long and is perfect. I love it.
Just wrote a new page on Countries. Thought I would put it here at the same time so you could have a read. I am also working on pages on Portugal, Germany and England at the top. Take a look but realize they are still a work in progress.
As we have been traveling about we have learned many things that we wish people would have told us before. Things to enjoy. Things to watch out for. Things to help us understand better. So, as we learn them, or think we learn them, we put them up here. Feel free to agree, disagree or add to. When your home has wheels you are aware of being on a journey. All about us is on a journey, what we know, what we love and our awareness of who we are.
A quick word on travelling to different cultures in general. I love experiencing different cultures. It is like a latent part of my mind and my imagination come alive. When a woman leans forward to kiss my cheeks, when a man I have never met insists upon standing uncomfortably close as we talk or when I see a woman on a hot day hanging up clothes on the line while wearing only a bra and unders. I say to myself, “I am definitely not in Kansas any more”. I LOVE IT. I have learned something new. “People kiss on the cheeks 3 times in some parts of Switzerland as opposed to twice where I just was in France”. “WOW, why do I feel so uncomfortable standing this close?” “I think my home culture is more modest, I wonder how much of our modesty is good and how much we might just have extra baggage around body issues, hmmmm.” And there I go. Learning new things. Asking questions. Not really looking for right and wrong. Not passing judgement about who is better but celebrating the diversity in our world. We are all different from each other. Not just from country to country but person to person.
We have a choice. I have a choice. I can throw off that insecure teenager complex of making my insecure self feel better about me by putting down anyone who is different and stand in amazement at this beautifully rich and diverse world I live in. We can stop looking for McDonalds, supermarkets and Coca Cola. Lets go into that run down cafe, that smelly fish market or drink Kofola (communist coke).
We can stop fearing “other” or just anything different. The news thrives on creating fear. We think about launching out and we are bombarded with stories of pirates, kidnapping and strange diseases when the countries we come from could very easily be more dangerous than most we are going to. It is just plain fear of the unknown and it keeps us from living.
Live life.
Love People.
Happily waking up this morning surrounded by billowing, beige, canvas and doing way too much thinking. Thinking why do me and Andrew choose to sleep in our little tent when we were offered a bedroom in the large villa next to us. Our girls are in the bedroom because we didnt want it. We normally sleep in our truck and sleeping surrounded by canvas is a special luxury for us because campgrounds charge extra for our little tent and it looks too obvious when we are wild camping. We didnt want the bedroom. Are we weird or something?
So anyway, as I got out of our little canvas sleeping chamber (tent) I saw the crooked window in the shed I see every morning since we arrived. I see the crooked window. Or is it. The other day I was talking to Edna about it while we were staring at this window. You see the window only looks crooked. It was put in with a “spirit level”. The window is straight. The window is fine. The window is true to its nature. The building was built by the builders of the large villa. A place to shelter from the sun and siesta. A place to rest and sleep. The building lies straight with the lay of the land so as to lessen its impact on the land. The building is straight. The building is fine. The building is true to its nature.
We havent been very good at saying the why of what we are doing on our blog. The truth is, now that mum and dad are in their 40s, we are learning about being true to our nature. Giving ourselves permission to be ourselves. True to the way we believe God created us to be. You know, no two of us are the same, inside and out. We started traveling again because it is true to our nature. Sure it is not the norm. It doesnt seem consistent with the straight line of contemporary culture. We are lousy at keeping up a house, our hearts just arent into it. Sure, we like to play with a house but we sure dont act grown up and responsible with it. I figure what if we traveled not because we are hedonists or rebels or circus performers or outlaws but because it is true to our nature. Are we blazing a trail for others like us. It is time to stop playing house and feeling guilty about not being like anyone else. We actually are grown up and we are settling into our lives. Lives that are true to our nature.Yeah, we ARE weird but this is who we are. You know I think we need to accept each other with all our differences. What is right for us may not be right for you. What is right for you may not be right for me. We need to accept the uniqueness of each other. To DANCE together in a technicolour celebration of diversity. Maybe there would be less wars if we did this. Less judgement. More joy.
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