Where is Home?

Where home is has been on my mind now that we have decided to move across the globe.  Is it where we store all our possessions?  Is it an unwavering establishment? Is it our country of origin or culture we grew up in?  Is it where we can take baths in drinkable water?  Is it a particular political system?  No, it cannot be any of those, because our next home will be our fifth in two years.  And we are “selling it all” to raise the funds to get to a residence where the luxuries we once knew, will be no more.

 Gideon, our son, lives in the moment.  He babbles happily as we approach home; not knowing that this place will not be home in a couple weeks.  He doesn’t know that we will be in Alaska May 23^rd or California in June.  He is not aware that his emotions will be affected by our move across the world.  He only knows, in his 17 month mind, that home is just around the corner. 

Paper Doesn't Grow On Trees

I've never been much of a collector. I had a collection of bears when I was 7. It consisted of a lamp, a handful of bear Beanie Babies, and a glass statue of a bear dressed like a clown. Or possibly a clown dressed like a bear. But these were all given to me--birthday, Christmas, I-saw-this-at-a-garage-sale-and-thought-of-you, that sort of occasion.

Things have changed. Our family has started collecting paper.

It started slow--of course, we both had social security cards, and birth certificates, and then a marriage license. And a baby came and became a collector in his own right--more papers, more official documents.

Our collection has been feeling a little staid, so yesterday, we all three hoped on a bus headed downtown to the county title office. And we added something new to the collection.

Passports.