The People We Meet

I haven't posted for a long time because of a tiresome and endless work schedual, which is kinda a joke with substitute teaching - I never know when I'll be working all day.  Yesterday I was called in getting ready to take the boys to school - Mercury is always up and takes the bus - it was Ez's class, just a half day, which subsequently turned into a whole day, which is also problematic because Samson gets out at 1:45, the others at 2:45, but the kindness of a new friend allowed me no worries there - as Samson's teacher brought him to the room at 1:45, Samson's friend's mom popped in right after and offered to take him home - amazing the people we meet - she's a single mom of 2 boys and a girl - the eldest the girl, so Mercury and her are buddies now and there is a mutual help involved in the friendship, as well as empathy and understanding.

But that's not what I want to tell you about.

For a couple of years septic has been backing up into the lawn and out onto the street when I do laundry (daily).  I told my mom but it has rested on my shoulders to pay for it until I forced the issue - not to mention I really don't have that money.  She let in and gave me a check.  It turns out to be a nightmare that doesn't much matter here - what does matter is that the roto-rooter man happened to also be a mechanic, a diesel mechanic who was very interested in the bus - who isn't?  He took a look around and crawled underneath, dictating the fuel filter numbers because he deduced that to be the issue with it not starting up for me (did I mention it won't start up for me?).  He swore on it.  He gave me great advice on maintenance, a local garage and checked the oil, even said he'd put in the fuel filters for free when he comes back to fix the nightmare.  The people we meet.  You know?

Beyond that, I have work obligations this weekend at 2 jobs, and social obligations tonight and Sunday, then work again Monday, then I feel like I'm ready to get that blasted insulation blasted in finally and make some phone calls towards the engine conversion.  A friend ran into another friend who happened to be a truck driver last week.  Said second party happens to also be very interested in the bus - who isn't? - so he passed along a number of his boss.  Not sure why, but apparently this third party may have a hand to lend.  The people we meet. . .

The Necessity of Learning through madness (for some)

I had to explain to the solar guy, we'll call him Troy, mainly because his name is Troy - that my money was eaten up by things like bills and gas and that dang tailpipe that jumped out of the highway and bit my gas tank wide open a few weeks ago.  I had to explain how the money I'd had reserved for the solar had been invested in other more pressing issues like food and toilet paper, insurance and underwear.

So then there I was, palatable explanation in the air and a payment plan worked out - working three jobs in order to tread the waters, and well, I decided to take a 2 day drive up to Pennsylvania because my life just isn't full enough of adventure and daring (or tempting God, my mom would say - I see it as Trust, but that's yet another post. . .).  Actually, it began as a dual journey, a flybytheseatofmypants thing that included, or rather, circled around proving my friendship to someone. . .but knowing it probably wouldn't end up the way I thought it may. . .elusive, I know. . .

So, we set out around 7pm last Friday.  I asked all the kids if they were up for 20+ hours in the car, ect.  All in favor.  We set out and made a stop to purchase White Fang and Call of the Wild on cd.  I drank half caf/decafs - the first taste of caffeine in over 5 years.

First gas stop 130 miles in - checked the oil - dry.  Ok God, sorry for tempting you, but I trust my heart is in the right place and even if I'm completely out of line at least I'll learn that lesson.  Oil added (4 quarts) and car is fine.  Civic with 206,000 miles.  Fine.

Drive 9 hours north.  Just before dawn I need a little more of that caffeine stuff.  Kids are asleep, ok - i lock the doors and take the keys, park right in front of the truck stop doors.  Get back in the car, which has a flat tire.  Ok.  Go back in and ask about the air pump and tire gauges - gauges are $4.99 for the cheap-o ones, so I pass and eyeball the air.  It goes right in, and hisses right out.  Blown tire.  How did we not wreck, or lose steering ability?  I know how, and God still isn't fed up.

I pull back into a good space and start pulling out the toy tire and the necessary tools - I can do this - I mean, I have a CDL.  But it's cold, I'm shaking from the caffeine and Samson had wet himself.  I refuse to accept the stupidity of the trip.  Oh, and the friend I was sorta driving up to see and surprise, well, he didn't want to see us - neigh - he refused to let us swing by.

Enter angel number one - Vincent from upstate New York, a trucker of 25 years, chatted politely and changed the tire amid talk that sounded as if we were old friends.  He asked if the kids were alright, but he also treated me as if I was completely capable of doing all this and more.  He never made me feel stupid or lost, which I was, and am sometimes.  My wallet had 3 ones and the rest twenties.  I offered a twenty and he politely refused.  It was then we exchanged names and said goodbye as if we'd see each other in church or the coffee shop or work soon.  Bless Vincent.

The iPhone directed me to the nearest Walmart, a cheap fix.  We drove 45 mph on the interstate and reached our destination-at-present in an hour.  We cleaned up in the bathroom and perused the isles, wonderfully window-shopping with only Samson thinking we were actually going to purchase more then the juice and yogurt we needed.

Where now?  Momentarily feeling completely idiotic and embarrassed, I turned again to the iPhone, which told me Hershey Pa was not too far away.  We set off, sleep really calling my name loudly.  It began raining - severely.  We arrived in Hershey and it was nothing what I pictured - my version, a sleepy town with Wonka's factory looming in the horizon, quiet, secret, mystical.  No.  This place is built around millions of roller coasters and elegant Northern mansions.  What??  The surreality overwhelms me even now.  We change in the car, blankets hung for privacy.  Parking is free, and the tour is free.  We take the tour twice because we could, and because I wasn't paying $40 to see a 3D movie about making chocolate.  Hershey employs mentally challenged people to hand out candy at the end of the tour.  Our man dug into his ear and examined his finds before handing Mercury the candy.  Priceless.  Bless the mentally challenged Hershey employee.

Re-cooperating from the experience, we plot our next destination - Gettysburg, not far.  It is a flood outside everywhere.  This is the day north Carolina was hit with those deadly tornados.  Wow.  The kids are not into history at this point.  I'm not sure why. . .

iPhone takes us into town, and we eat some pizza at a place I could have sworn was haunted, Samson prying me to ask the waitress.  I do, she says it's not, they are disappointed but not convinced as I scare them in the bathroom.  I call their dad, three hours away, but he cannot meet us because of circumstances.  I'm really beat.   Ironically questioning if I can afford a hotel room.  Could I have afforded any of this??  This excursion brought to you by restlessness, doubt, distraction and procrastination.  Why not get a $90 smoking room for the night in the middle of a place no one wants to be that it literally flooding??  We started to, then I thought we'd actually begin using some wisdom and common sense and mosey on down the highway to a cheaper spot.  I had to sleep.  I could sleep anywhere but the kids had been so incredibly good that they deserved a bed.  Mercury and I toured the battle fields until dark while the boys slept, then we headed toward the highway.  Actually, we were at the highway somehow and Mercury told me her disspointement of how she wanted to go to a train museum.  I toyed with the idea.  I didn't want to go back at all, but we had driven 9 hours north, why not?  I turned back and we found it closed.  We did get out and walked a bit, got soaked and were blessed with the warmth of our car again. . .then headed back to the highway towards a bed somewhere down there. . .

Turns out I couldn't find the road we were on earlier.  We had to take a detour.  I'm not sure I was supposed to be on the previous road at all. . .we meandered through the gorgeous country surrounding Gettysburg for an hour until well after dark and the rains were relentless.  I finally called upon the iPhone again and as I did, with my four-way flashers on at a stop sign, our second angel pulled up beside me and basically told me to follow him - through 10 washed out bridges.  He was in a Bronco.  We were in a Civic.  For anyone who doesn't know, Civics basically touch the ground and Broncos are a foot above it.  Civics lose in floods.  Our brakes got wet and went soggy, literally, with every river we crossed, but the Bronco saw us through, instinctively waiting for us after every pass.  We got to a town and suddenly there were lights and traffic - a bridge was washed out, but they were directing us through anyway.  It was a joke, as the last 10 we had crossed were multiple times worse then this one.  I was amazed and awed and incredibly blessed.  No luck there.  Maybe some temptation (Mom) but we were seen through.

We made it to a highway and I was confident that it would empty into 81.  Well. . .anyone know highway 15?  Me neither.  In the dark and squandering rain, I could tell we were in prosperous land.  Canaan.  Beautiful country from what I could tell, set off somewhere in PA and Maryland maybe, and VA, west of DC.  I stopped at a coffee shop which I judged with the help of the surroundings, but going in at 11pm on Saturday night, I found 2 teenage boys singing their hearts out to the Beatles and Led Zepplin, some absolutely intriguing art on the walls talking about the segregation women felt in the Old Testament, whoa!  Samson came in with me while the others slept, doors locked and me standing outside while my mocha was borne, watching intently as no one neared or even stirred outside.  More surreality.
Deja Brew.  That's not my words, that's the name of the place, somewhere in Maryland or Va, west of DC.

I decide to confer with the iPhone, and it tells me I'm close to 66.  Way off route, but I know 66 well, so we truck on down and meet 81, my nearest friend.  I stop when I feel I can't go anymore but the prices tell me I can go just a bit further.  I stop at a place where my mom had met us years ago when I lived in NJ and met her halfway, I was pregnant and hadn't known it at the time and was very ill (with Samson). I knew it was cheap because my mom is, well - not cheap - but thrifty.  The front desk man gave me a 35% discount.  Bless that Days Inn front desk man.

We slept.  I slept.  We had breakfast and learned of the deadly tornados and said some prayers for those folks.

We got home.

It was beautiful.

Did we change the world, or even another person?  Probably not.  But we rallied our independence and also dependence on God's blessing enough to know even if I make some pretty radically stupid decisions, that if our hearts, my heart, is in the right place, pure and intentionally good, well, what will be will be.  I learned so much.  what a silly way to be taught, but it's just my style.  If anything, it served to solidify the idea of taking off on a bus for 14 months with three kids and no money in order to help others as an idea of high standards and a blessed gift of wisdom.  And knowing that my kids are cool with that sort of thing.  We (my family) learn through some wild madness the gifts that are. . .

Getting to know - Samson Ninja

I now have an iphone - the older one, 3g, refurbished - but props to Jill for hooking us up with slightly more technology and options then I'm ready for. . .my friend John is always talking about how ridiculous 33 flavors of ice cream is - how are we supposed to make choices when you're constantly doubting the one flavor you happened to chose?  Why not try them all?  The iphone and all the capabilities is like 33 million flavors.  I'm gonna try most of them and yes, I know I'm gonna be sick. . .

Here's an intro to Samson in his natural environment.

The rain comes down

The kids' paternal grandmother - Jill (my mother-in-law always) has been here from New Jersey since Saturday.  It's been a vacation.

I have to make the decision to make this work.  Fumbling in the rain, in the dark, with nothing in my hands, but needing to draw on some slippery stock - believing with enough blessing, ingenuity, wisdom and patience that I can figure this out.

For now I'm still on vacation, and I'm dragging it out all the way up until tomorrow afternoon when Jill leaves, going as far as staying up half the night just because.  Just because if I stay up I can have more vacation.

Transitory

One lovely, humbling aspect of the venture I'm going with here, the insight I give up here, and the insight I gain by making myself keep up with this blog (at least) is this - I am completely admitting I'm in a constant transition - from what I am pretty sure of, into what, I'm not clear at all on -

I have come a long way, as I hope most of have, but a long way from where I need to be in order to feel out of others' hair, prayer lists, charitable causes, concerns, hassles. . . get it?  Not that any of those things are necessarily bad or inhibiting, but most of us need someone else to count on that doesn't need 5 other people to count on.  So many times have I been called to help some one, some project, attend some journey, travel some distance - I mean, convicted to do something, but in order to do that one thing I would have to enlist several others to help with the kids and appointments, finances, etc.  Seemed pointless to me - surely someone with not so much 'baggage' would come take my place.

And they always have - wonderfully cooperative couples who worked in perfect symbiotic flow, enthusiastic college kids who are surprisingly labeled 'poor' (I experienced poverty as a college student myself, and it didn't translate. . .), the elders who have seen it all and come 180 and are giving it back . . .

I would quietly retreat, defeated and feeling meaningless in my purpose, or perhaps my purpose is just to give those who need to help, purpose.  I am the ultimate widow, orphan, the poor, the cold, the hungry, the meek, the rejected, the imprisoned. . . yes, I was the epitome of weakness, the receiver of love. . . or rather, humbly accepted that position as my position - my place in life.

It's feeling like it may kill me, or drastically perturb my blood sugar and general appearance, but I am being there for others now, in whatever way I can.  I still need others, though.

As I'm sitting in my backyard, the warm spring wind quickening, telling rumors of a storm close behind, the spring peepers are coming out. . . the sighs post-news rustling in the tops of the pines. . . gentle plinks and tings of the wind chimes across the violet-padded lawn, the smells of lilac, rain in the air, grass - well, I hope I can be at least one of these simple things to someone - what the spring, the earth, this absolutely incredulous creation under my feet - what it gives me constantly, I want to be that same thing to the world.  Just a simple something, a part of a giant picture of tiny dots, an impressionistic rendering of a life of love - I strive to be a green dot somewhere in the budding leaves. . .

Here's the poetic point I'm dying to admit - I am a vessel that has been bought and guaranteed to hold many things for awhile without leaking or bubbling too much, then process those things and create a nutrient-rich product to be taken from freely.  I'm describing fermentation for those sauerkraut and kefir geeks.  For fermented veggies you put a bunch of veggies in a crock and let it sit and basically sour/rot.  Then you have some potent, healing food - but wise women (and men) take a little of the fermented food (yogurt, kefir, sourdough, veggies) and use it as a starter for even more. . . once the process is begun, with proper care, it will be a related chain of super-foods for an endless time.

I am the vessel that holds all the fresh ingredients - all I do is allow it all to sit quietly, inside me, my head, my heart, then when it has changed and homogenized and become even more nutritious by the power of combining and time, I will share with anyone hungry.

I'm pretty empty now - of knowledge, experience, I don't claim to know anything much save for the convictions and attraction and opinions on community.

Instead of studying others, arriving into these working communities armed with book smarts and no living or even visiting experience - judging, comparing, engaging hopefully impressive conversations about the qualities of historic lasting groups - well, this seems to be a good place for the practice of emptiness, eh?

Everything is Ok

I have been thinking about getting a megaphone for a long time.  Maybe this can be my service.  This is the ending thought of the day.

Sisters! Brothers!

Just thinking about Curtis Mayfield this morning.  When I moved to Philadelphia in late 1999 to work for Americorps, the world was about to end.  I was living in the safe suburbs with my Italian friend and her mother and sister.  Then I met my future husband and moved into the ghetto.  I naturally slipped in next to everyone on the subways, completely uninhibited, unable of shock.  I thrived well in the city.  There is an ease I feel there with humanity, the worst of and some of the best.  I feel it's easier to care and love for each other as much as it is to hate and despise and segregate in the crowds of the city streets, buses, grocers.  I had more mercy and grace there then I have in my little castle here in East Tennessee, where when I walk outside I'm not faced with immediate decisions concerning homeless, beaten children, prostitution, lost souls, hungry folks, poor crazy men and women wandering the streets.  Outside here it takes a more trained eye to recognize need, and it's far easier to ignore the needs that our eyes don't miss.

To live as humble servants of those that are the most difficult to serve, that's something there.  My mom hates the city.  Maybe she needs to live there for a year.  I don't particularly want to move back to a major city again, so maybe that's where I need to be?

I listened to alot of Curtis Mayfield in West Philly.  I can't wait to visit the Simple Way.  Heck, maybe I'll say forget the film and stay there. . .

Listening to, "If's There's Hell Below" - fair warning, if you aren't familiar with Mayfield, there are lyrics that could be taken as racially offensive, while really they are just social commentaries of the times.

In Service - teaching to be there by example

I just rushed in the house - I have 35 minutes to type this before I pick up Samson from preschool.

I was driving home in my warm car, sipping a sweet tasty hot beverage, a backseat filled with cotton shopping bags carrying organic produce and juices, soy-free vegan chicken nuggets and sweet potato fries for my dinner guests tomorrow night - a big show.  How limited it all seemed, the bus trip and all. . . the newspaper article called it a year long field trip - oops, so did I at the top of this blog.  Time to re-arrange my priorities.

I'm not kicking off a sightseeing tour of the US at the expense of others' time and support - I don't want to be the curious white woman taking photos of the natives within a safe distance.  I can't be that person with a telescope jotting down notes and comparisons and blogging them daily - facts and figures and regurgitation of forced experiences.

About 1 in 5 road trips I've taken in my life involve breaking down in one form or another.  Solo, with friends, with family, solo with 2 babies, solo with three children. . . I feel most comfortable broken down - the humility is enlightening, and opportunities emerge that would never be available otherwise - to talk to folks, even to help people with your stories or kindnesses.  Sharing your food at the bus stop, rest area, providing water, a phone, a dollar, an ear, information.

I am hereby vowing to prioritize our goals by placing service on the TOP of the list.  We're going to go out of our way to offer whatever a single mom and a 5, 7, and 10 year old can provide, which in reality, is probably a whole heaping lot more then we will allow ourselves to think.  I'm going to write to a few non-profits today to see if I can represent them.  I have no idea who or what, but that will come to me, like the seed for this did with Jack Johnson and a mocha.  Indulgences fed the guilt that I recognized but refused to let it grow, instead that guilt spurred the growth of a new idea, a new focus, a new meaning.

After all, the best lessons are learned by example.  How will my children learn to love unconditionally (and by default, be stewards of the earth and accountable to the inhabitants on earth - all encompassing concept, very simple) if only watching from the sidelines?

Giving It All Up In The Storm

There is a severe thunderstorm with heavy gusts going on outside.  Inside these walls and under this roof, there are sleeping children, a nervous dog, humbly glowing night lights, and me.

When a boat is sinking, or a plane is falling, don't people in the movies chuck the goods in order to save the lives?

        Throw that crap overboard!  DANG!                  

I had a look into the future on the 50 minute drive home from work this afternoon, rushing to be on time for Samson out of headstart.  I was early.  And I had a great interview with myself concerning the (then) past dispersal of my material possessions.  In my mock dialogue, I was telling someone all about the decision I had made to live simply, all this after chewing off just the first 50 pages of The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne of the Simple Way - one of our first stops.  Everything he wrote so far in that book has been already swimming around my head for a decade, but because I tried the whole marriage (martyr) thing and then the whole job thing and then the whole going-back-to-school-to-be-a-nurse-since-I-already-have-a-degree thing and the almost married again thing.  .  . I kept putting simply living, living simply, love and service on the side burner as a cool thing that was worthwhile once I got everything else established and working out for me, for me and the kids. . . That was also what Claiborne was saying - looking for the wrong thing in things.

Like when I smoked cigarettes, I would decide in the middle of an expensive pack of Amercian Spirit organics that I was quitting for good, but would feel guilty letting them go to waste.  But guilty over giving them away.  What to do?  The only reasonable compromise was to smoke the rest of the pack myself - of course!

How do I get rid of my TV and the petty knick knacks in my house?  Tv's are awful - once you buy them, they are endless polluters - do you know where they go once you trash them?  This doesn't really explain, but it's a good little bit of insanity on the part of the World Bank - and you can guess by the title where most electronic garbage ends up.  .  .
http://www.counterpunch.org/summers.html

All that aside, I'm thinking of this house - three bedroom, 2 full bath, living room, dining room, large kitchen, large laundry room that used to be the garage, out buildings and free-standing garage.  All our 'stuff' here makes it our space, our comfort zone.  Tonight Samson made me literally bury him with stuffed animals.  I try to go through their animals but they're all so darn cute and memory-invoking.

I remind the kids out loud only to remind myself, that in two and a half months we'll be living where?  I ask. . . "on the bus" comes the monotonous replies every day.  But who likes to shop for simplicity?  Oh dear June, hasten your hour, for that hour will be the only remedy for such a weak woman who needs to aleviate the guilt of having so much Stuff with assuring that all that Stuff gets used, has rightful ownership by one who is more active in it's uses then I have been.

I will save the piano and the bunk beds.  And the thousands of photographs I have from back in the film days.  Boy, what a lot of crap to dump to get this ship moving.

The day we drive away from this beautiful house, is the day we will learn that home is with each other.

And a shout-out to an old acquaintance, Pulitzer-Prize winning (and judging) photographer John Kaplan, who has made an amazing auto-documentary film about his journey through some serious cancer and ending with remission.  You can order a free copy (100% free)
here if you've been touched by cancer.  I'm very happy for him and his family - this guy's stuff has always been amazing.

One more thing about today - watch the movie Catfish  - that's what I did tonight after writing to Chaco's.  Seems like the physical bus conversion is holding space while I transition inside for more contact work.  Sometimes it all seems like wheels spinning in the mud.  Or gas draining out of a tank onto Wal-mart's parking lot.  Refer to earlier posts to make any sense.

Giving Thanks Before We Have It

Since my disk space is all occupied on my computer, I cannot upload any new photos or put any videos up until I figure this external hard drive out.  It's rather impeding progress, but we'll all work together, won't we?

Here are a couple of self-portraits from last summer.  We have a tradition of collecting eggs and tiny monarch caterpillars from milk weed plants, caring for them (fresh milk weed every day), watching them metamorphose, and hatch into gorgeous butterflies.  Like birth, it's simply awesome each time.

Good news! - my ex-husband Jay Bertsch drove the 13 hour round trip to Western Pennsylvania to pick up a composting toilet from Joe Jenkins and his awesome company, Joseph Jenkins, Inc.  who is responsible for the Humanure Handbook, and the Loveable Loo (which they so generously donated).  Jay's mom will be driving down for a visit next weekend with toilet in tow, and hopefully Mark will be spraying in the insulation the following weekend, and then we'll be concentrating on the engine conversion, which I'm more then intimidated by, mainly because of the cost - I was under the impression that a DIY could expect to pay about $400 or less, but new information is saying it's more like $2000, give or take.  Eek!  After the near blown up experience 6 days ago and a new fuel tank later for my $500 Civic (endless thanks to Casey and Jeremy!), well, the funds are exhausted.

Troy, the solar guy, is shipping the solar kit tomorrow and letting me owe a few hundred on the total, and that will take some time to work off, but then it's all in God's hands after that.

I did, however, go ahead and purchase some beautiful stainless steel mess kits for all 4 of us - dishes are simple and accounted for, and a super-duper friend who shall remain nameless just in case - has taken on the purchase of the Waldorf curriculum for both Ezekiel and Mercury - thanks and love to you-know-who. . .

So nothing else new to write about today - will be waiting to hear from the auto glass man this week about getting my new window put back, so I can finally take the flattened air mattress out of the door and it won't look so totally trashy.  I have volunteered to do WAY too many things this week, and have to take all my 'emergency' money (all of $50) for gas and to assure I have enough in the bank to pay Troy the partial payment for the solar equipment.  I am working a day job now, taking it thinking it was more of a baby/nanny position, then realizing it was, well, more of a maid position - but the family is wonderful and the space is good and it's much needed money.  I'm happy over it all, albeit running ragged.

The rest of the week will be taken up with cleaning and cooking and writing to more prospective sponsors, and designing the side window mosaics - that takes nothing more then some aesthetic fortitude and time - easy - not weather or temperature dependent.

Here are two more photos I took of our family in the vestibule of the old Cameo theater in Bristol, Virginia.  When I was a girl, I would see double features here - mostly old westerns that I didn't care for, but I loved the antique and quaint atmosphere, and especially the balcony.  It was simple to me, but there was a lingering sense of the luxury a film used to be still present in the details - the colors and worn fabrics, the curtains, mirrors, lights, workmanship in the wood.

God willing, the conversion will be complete by the end of May so I can really concentrate on smoothing out all the inevitable details, issues, concerns, disasters, and end-of-the-worlds.  I don't have any clue how it's going to be done, but I do believe it. . .

Love.

popularity contest

I'm feeling a massive flux of doubt, despair, futility, and borderline failure.  As if confirmation, when I searched for something descriptive of doubt, I came across this gem labeled "inspirational poster"

I'm new at this blogging business, just like I'm new at installing wood floors and driving 36 feet long vehicles and air brakes and solar power and composting toilets and metal framing and letting go of almost all our belongings, and making a film.  I looked up the 'blogs of note' and sank into a deeper despair.

I don't have an etsy account, I don't make sweet little books or dolls or hats or jewelry or twisted iron sculptures - I believe in simplicity - can get easily swept up in the cute and decorative, but would rather just keep it unbearably simple, like have 2 Saris that I wear all year or something.  I can barely wait for the imperative simplicity of the bus with three kids.  No room for un-necessaries.

I don't tweet.  I have the cheapest version of a go phone from the pharmacy.  It doesn't have a camera.  My G4's disk space is taken up.  I'm not a very good cyber-networker.  I'd prefer to be offline.

I suppose there is a general interest and genuine purpose why people are interested in blogs about etsy artists' daily lives, comedy blogs, and angry recovering alcoholics.  It has something to do with the common human thread that binds all our hearts, and comforts and reassures us that we're actually more alike then we act out In Real Life.  That is how it's so easy to be online, and for the popular blogs having  six hundred plus followers.  I thought I was doing well with ten.

The fact is, I have a thread to expose, too, but instead of a commonality that is allowable and expected only with a keyboard and some cool gadgets, some design and tech skill and a screen - this is something that we all need to take into our real lives, into our homes, out of our homes, into the fields and mountains and cities. . . there must be community first and we must take responsibility for our neighbors before we sit back with a caramel latte and chuckle at the latest cooky stunt so and so's husband played, or order the newest fuzzy dust bunny barrette by the top-visited artist.  There's time for our society to change, and there must be a change in the mirror we look into. . . hopefully someone will think this idea and my current project is worth passing on.

I know it's not the most attractive aesthetically appealing blog, there is no flash, there aren't even any videos yet, and I don't even have a bio.  I don't even post everyday.  But how many times have you seen the welfare nation rise up and say, NO MORE!  And make that change?  Actually, ask yourself, how many welfare families do you actually know?  Ours is a society moving towards a more individualized, and blindly content 'middle' class country - people who do work hard and innately look down on the welfare as lazy and incompetent, foolish, and advantageous.  Well sir, I am none of those.  And for that, I risk un-popularity, but I've been lumped into worse categories.  It won't change my plans any. . .