mr. davidson

mr davidson

It’s early. The birds have only just started to stretch their wings when the dark air outside my bedroom rips open like an angry lion about to devour it’s prey. I awake with a start, my heart momentarily deciding if it has the will to continue giving life to my rigid, wide-eyed body. A startled noise escapes my mouth and I strain my ears to correctly categorize the sound that has just ricocheted off my bedroom walls. Then, as recognition slowly seeps into my mind, I sigh and turn over in bed with a groan. Mr. Harley Davidson must have an early morning breakfast date and, multitasker that he is, has decided to simultaneously impress the entire campground with the rich, angry sound of his motor. If we were not impressed now, the night before gave ample opportunity as Mr. Davidson sat around with his leather laden buddies swapping stories and a few choice words, loudly, late into the night. It was at this time that I discovered not only that my pillow can effectively buffer late night noises if folded over my head in a taco-like manner, but also that my husband has the uncanny ability to use motorcycle party noise as a sleep aid.

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at home

“The sky overhead, the earth below, the mountains around. I stand in the middle place—at home.” Dr. Tine Swentzell, Santa Clara Pueblo

Mesa Verde Overlook

A few days ago I was standing in the visitor center in the Mesa Verde National Park and read the above quote.  It whispered into my ear and dripped like thick honey into my heart.  At that point our family had been on the road for 12 days traveling in our van. Our road trip was taking us from Idaho to Nashville, Tennessee and back in a lazy fashion. This was the longest stretch we have taken as a family on the road. As I write, we are finishing up the final hours of our return voyage.  In the last fifteen days we have traveled 4, 714 miles covering 14 states, 5 National Parks/Monuments, 12 hotel rooms and countless potty breaks. It was rushed, there was a lot of rain, at times we couldn’t remember which state we were in, we but we loved it entirely. Continue reading “at home”

loving limits

I’ve taken a few deep breaths between my last post and this one as we wrapped up our school year and settled slightly deeper into this lifestyle that is not yet old, but a bit beyond brand-new. In that time, I’ve been stretched to figure out where our family boundaries lie when our home-sweet-home rests within an RV park on public grounds.
I’ve discovered that newly formed friendships may seek out my children with a knock at our front door during breakfast, mid-morning school, afternoon or evening dinner hour. I’ve grappled to discover my appropriate response when new park playmates ask me for food, drink and band aids while their parents (whom I have not yet met) camp a short distance away. I’ve struggled to define appropriate personal space within this public place (i.e. which (if any) kids are allowed into our home and when and for how long?). These decisions demanded honest self-reflection and clear family communication.

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instant illumination

“Set your mind on things above, not on things of earth.” Colossians 3:2

In writing about our new adventure and the town that we are getting to know, I realize that I have painted an image in your mind that is very idyllic. Perhaps it is time that I come clean and confess that it isn’t Mayberry as some have suggested. In fact, there are some very sad realities that accompany many of the people who live here. Generational problems abound. Substance abuse is common. There is a lot of hopelessness. However, I get to choose what to focus on and thankfully those situations are not the complete picture. I can stare at the trash or the treasure. I can focus on the frustrating or the fascinating. I can complain about what I don’t have or focus on what I do. I’m given the same choice every. single. morning.
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dishwasher disillusionment

Today was going to be a banner day in our kitchen. Our oven and dishwasher have been on strike since we arrived. Every meal has been carefully planned around not needing an oven and every dish has been scrubbed clean in person. This was the day that some unknown delivery man was going to drive up to our front door and deliver happiness and freedom in two large boxes. I washed dishes this morning after breakfast, silently soaking in the celebration that this would be my last date with sudsy water and dreamed about the dessert I was going to bake later that day. I then proceeded to ignore the lunch dishes and willingly permitted them to pile up knowing that soon, very soon, I would simply slip them into their magical steamy sanitation chamber.

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