it’s been over two months since i returned from india. two months since i came “home.” two months since i have written a blog post. two months since i have slowed down.
in those two months, i have coasted along maintaining my vagabonding. i have not paid rent since november. i have paid taxes. i have bought plane tickets. i have paid contract workers. but i have not paid rent.
india to paris to los angeles. los angeles to bishop. bishop to los angeles. los angeles to boulder. boulder to portland. portland to boulder. boulder to portland. portland to las vegas. las vegas to portland. portland to boulder. boulder to detroit. detroit to ohio to new york. new york to grand rapids.
here now. back in grand rapids. catching up with clients. keeping connections strong. meeting new clients face to face. seeing old friends. enjoying the sunshine. dreaming big, but getting exhausted. but it still feels home-ish. i know where to go to find my favorite yoga. i know which coffee shops have the comfy chairs. i know where to go without opening google maps on my iphone. it is rooted in me.
grand rapids to chicago. chicago to boulder. boulder to chicago. chicago to madison. madison to chicago. chicago to west virginia. west virginia to chicago. chicago to montana. montana to boulder. and then?
there is no return ticket booked yet.
“a small boy was being pitied because he and his family were living in a hotel. he replied, ‘oh, but we do have a home. it’s just that we haven’t anywhere to put it at the moment.’” (finding a home, from the christian science monitor, march 15, 1978)
i tell myself that i do not need four walls surrounding me to make me feel home, and i don’t. i have lived in three cities since i left chicago in high school. each one felt good. because the city didn’t matter. it was always the people who made me feel home. yet, recently i have realized that four walls don’t make me feel home, but they do give me a routine. a routine i miss sometimes.
a space to call my own. hang my artwork on the walls and play brian’s aretha franklin album over and over on the record player loudly in the mornings. finding the silverware drawer that is instinctual for me.
last week, i went on a road trip with children’s book author sue stauffacher. read the blog. see the videos. detroit to new york. four schools and a library. probably over a hundred youth. we were sharing the tale of wireman, a literacy comic book that currently has two volumes. an amazing tool. an amazing story. an urban setting. an ethnic cast of characters. a plot to which every single child we talked to could relate. their faces lit up when they could read something that was about problems they faced, problems they had to solve.
our youth are so smart. they amaze me with their intuition. their insight. their passion. their need to be successful.
you could see several of them dance around the depth that wireman was causing them to feel. but there were a brave few who took the leap. let wireman’s plot penetrate their reality. giving them a medium to speak anonymously about the bully at lunch or the family situations at home.
wireman creates a home for his crew. they live on the roof. they help each other. it seems so safe. they want safety. they find their wish fulfilled. a home. a safe home.
what is my wireman? who is my wireman?
there are only two volumes of wireman so far. eight issues. they bring you to a second grade reading level. did you know that there are 300 basic words that comprise 65% of written english? wireman includes them all. the story is ready to continue. volume three. four. five. a set of comic books that brings its reader up to a fifth grade reading level. we need this tool. wireman needs to find a home.
soon i will too.