I married a practical man. A down-to-earth, responsible, and nearly unflappable man. Adventuresome is not an adjective I would use to describe him, and so the heart within me that is ever searching for my own wardrobe into distant lands is having to find adventure in the nearby and not-so-crazy.
This last month has provided the opportunity for a few gray hairs, or perhaps something more... To be honest neither my husband nor myself would mind a few gray hairs. He would begin to look his age and I would have another blog-worthy anecdote. I digress. In the last month I have travelled hundreds of miles, seen Niagara Falls, bought a house, travelled a couple hundred more miles, sat at the hearth of dear friends, packed up my house, been evicted from current house by putrid dying rodent, returned to house and continued to pack up closets, clothes, and toys, and all during the record breaking heat that has swept the East Coast and tipped its hat to old friend North Carolina.
We are tired.
Yet, as we piled children and suitcases back into the car the other night to seek refuge from the stench of a dying bat, Josh smiled at me. "Life is an adventure," he said.
All I could do was smile back. After all, I have asked for unexplored lands, whitewater rafting, trips to Europe, and perhaps a bareback ride through Colorado mountains. Its hard not to see that saddling the Toyota with suitcases and sleeping next to our children in the proverbial campground of others' homes is quite an expedition. Add to it that we are displaced and without waffle maker or frying pan for the next week and I let out a silent breath of laughter.
Life is an adventure.
