Holding Steady II
We took the plans for the road trip to the next level last night with a shopping expedition to start rebuilding our camp kit. One of my oldest running habits is keeping a "Tramp Kit" which holds all the creature comforts I need for a bivouac. I shoot to keep my tramp kit in a compact, discrete space where I can load it in 20 minutes or less to escape whatever domestic threat and/or travel opportunity might arise. The tramp kit I used to set up operations here on this farm has been neglected and abused since I abandoned it early in 2017 for Big Brother's funeral pilgrimage. That pilgrimage segwayed chaotically into the Great Lakes tour which segwayed into the crisis string which is still normalizing to stability our young orphans can grow on. Pulling together the remnants of that tramp kit has been a challenge.
My arithmomania has been rearing its ugly head. The beast has been attempting to calculate the percentages of people who are still masked and germaphobic. Last night, while I was working to keep that beast in its cage, Big Bro impulsively hugged a random maskite in the bread aisle. ?!?!?!?Hug a maskite?!?!?!? Hugs are germy affairs, my love. Never, never hug a maskite. So said my paranoia. Fact is, this particular maskite was a youngish man who did look quite allot like the second grade teacher he just lost. I think. Maybe. I still can't really see past the masks. Hubs reported that this particular maskite seemed quite thrilled to receive the surprise hug, germs and all.
Still my angst over the masked instability **out there** niggles but I am ever so gently pushing past it to stretch my comfort zone. The children are super excited over the prospect of their first road trip. Hubs and I seem to be holding steady in the planning stage.
Testing, 4, 5, 6. . .
Replies
A road trip sounds like just what the doctor ordered.... I hope that you, hubs and the wee ones have a wonderful time... I haven't been camping since my 20's... But I remember lots of good times.... Big hug.....xo
Thank you, Jan.
I can imagine living without a house more easily than I can imagine not camping. Even here on the farm I often sleep better outside than indoors. I'm about ready to trust the memory that I was a feral kid, preferring to sleep in fields, creeks, etc., over sleeping in that nomadic domestic war zone I was raised in. Whether the memory is true or false, my adult memories leave nary a doubt that I am a camp master.
Trusting and responding to the townie laws is a whole different skill set and the maskite yaddahs have carried that ball of confusion to a whole new level. Been surfing the web in search of clues on what to expect, but. . . Ya know ya know. . . The changes in protocol are as clear as toxic mud. It's a scary new world **out there**.
Plying therapy tools. . . Letting God lead The Dance.
Life is a dance we learn as we go
Sometimes we lead
Sometimes we follow
Don't you worry 'bout what you don't know
Life is a dance we learn as we go ~Steve Jay Seskin/James Allen Shamblin