I don't think I'm here yet.
Dad's truck is still packed with the last of what in the end could only be considered junk. During times like these you can start to shake your finger at your consumerist side. It had been a while since I had taken inventory and there's nothing quite like a move to make you look at what might be worth hauling. You were here. I had a rummage sale, took truckloads of purchases to a local charity. Even went to the dump in the hopes somebody would just bury it.
It feels like jet lag, culture shock, where do I sit, do I walk in there, front porch/back porch. I have yet to unpack my skillet.
I do carry shame unwrapped 'cause there's no wrapping paper left. How could one woman and one kid collect so much? And why. Past a good night's sleep, proper food, covering up our privates with at least a banana leaf and being kind to those we meet what else are we doing? Sometimes I think we like to watch shows like hoarders so we can feel better about ourselves but we're not any better. Just doing it differently maybe.
Here's the thing.
If I had to report to you my findings in this new place where I have yet to truly settle we'd call it the early discoveries and I'd tell you there is a kind people here, always a wave, some nice smiles, a night sky with more stars than you've ever seen and families settling into Sunday lunches all over town.
The way to do fieldwork is never to come up for air until it is all over.
Today I am grateful to have a place (time to get that truck unpacked).