Dreaming

I got on the computer this morning fully intending to write a post for my student midwifery blog.  I was looking through sites and reading articles to formulate the post when I came across this beautiful little family:

Enchanted Gypsy

And the crazy little nomad that runs my brain started dreaming; dreaming of finding an old bus or van, converting it over to WVO (waste veggie oil), and traveling; dreaming of falling asleep surrounded by redwoods one night and next to the ocean the next night; dreaming of offering women’s health care at festivals and gatherings around the continent out of the back of my little house on wheels.  It’s been my dream since 1996, when I was 19 years old and living on site at Hawkwood Fantasy Faire.  I became pregnant with The Boy at that faire and wanted so badly to just stay ensconced in that beautiful little world inside a world. It felt safe and comfortable; cloistered, but instead of religious vows, vows of freedom and love and autonomy.

It’s idealistic. I know.  There is no part of me that is delusional enough to believe that my dream is idealistic and romantic.  The life I have created is not quite condensable to bus size, i.e there is no way on God’s green earthThe Boy or W would be willing to sell off everything and live in a bus.

But I won’t give up the dream all together.  I will travel at some point.  Most likely it will be after The Boy is gone on his own and it will only be for summer’s, or  a month or two at a time.  Most likely it will just be me and one of the dogs.  But it will be my travels and my adventures and my dream.

Families On The Road

Live Lightly Tour

Happy Janssens

Building Luna

I used to write

I wrote constantly. Emotion wrought poetry, memoir-esque short stories, and simple journal entries overflowed from notebooks and binders on my bookshelves.  I wrote thousands of words daily on my LiveJournal.  And then suddenly, it stopped.

I know that I can attribute some of the slow down to aging.  The intensity of life has worn off some and now things seem more settled and less exciting to write about.  And I can attribute some of the slow down to a series of betrayals that made revealing my private life too scary to face on a daily basis.

I have considered taking a writing class, hoping that the expectations of the class will force me to sit down and let words take me over again, but scheduling and finances always seem to get in the way.

But there is still a part of me that screams out for words.  Every shopping trip includes a trip to the stationary aisle to pine over bound blank books with fresh pages that are craving a felt tipped pen.

Sick of glasses

Lately my glasses have been driving me nuts.  When W and I kiss, they end up covered in smudges.  When I take the dogs for long walks, I am constantly pushing them up when the sweat on my nose makes them slide down.  They’re just in general driving me crazy.

I’ve been thinking about Lasik for some time now, but I’m scared to death of it.  Why?  It’s such a totally routine procedure now.  But when I was somewhere around 10 years old, my mom and I watched a special on 20/20 about “assembly line” eye surgeries being performed in the (then) USSR.  They literally laid people down on conveyer belts and slid them through the procedure with a different person performing separate parts of the surgery.    I know, I know.  The  surgery has vastly improved in the last 20 years.  I got alot of information when looking at Lasik in San Francisco.  I think I’m going to keep researching here in the area, and hopefully I can find someone who can do that for me here!