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Travel: I don't think anyone who reads my blog has to ask what travel means to me. It's in my blood. That's evident to me now, but as a youngster I didn't always think it was so. We moved around so much when I was a kid, I couldn't wait to grow up so I could put down roots somewhere and never leave again. However, once I reached adulthood, I found itchy feet and the need to change and discover Other had sneaked into my blood. For the moment, I haven't found a cure, haven't been satiated. But, you might say, the word is traveling and here you are talking about moving. The two are actually closely tied for me. Because I know I'll likely stay 3 to 4 years tops in any given place, I'm not growing roots. I'm just wayfaring.
Photos: I've always been a fan of photography, and I used to look longingly at beautiful photos and wonder why I couldn't achieve those results with my little $30 Wal-Mart camera. It wasn't until I met Julien that I really thought about the art behind photos, and it wasn't until the advent of digital cameras that I actually starting playing with picture taking myself. Developing film was just too expensive for me to go crazy with experimenting. I think I have a good eye, but I still have to work on mastering my tools and getting down some basics that ought to be evident by now. I enjoy photos for the moments they capture, but I love them just as much when they are artistic statements.
France: Funny that I ended up in France. I just happened to want to live in a foreign country and I just happened to have taken a year of French in high school, so I thought, "Why the heck not? Paris ought to be fun." So, I got on the Internet, found a job as an au pair, and bought a one-way ticket. My one year of French wasn't next to useless; it was useless. Though that was no fault of Mr. Johnson, my French teacher. I went through a serious culture shock period where I was pretty close to hating France. But it wasn't the fault of France. It was moi. I couldn't understand anything; I seriously entertained the notion that the French couldn't either, that their language was just a big joke to piss me off. Egoiste? Moi? Mais oui! That was over nine years ago, and I still remember exactly where that entertaining notion occurred to me: on the métro, line nine, Porte de St Cloud station. But little by little, Paris grew on me. And then one day, I met a handsome French boy. The rest is, as they say, history.
Well it is and it isn't. What needs to be said is that I actually love France now. I feel wonderfully at home there, moi, who has a hard time with belonging.
Dreams: Do you know that I've actually had a presentient dream before? I have. It was very freaky; I was seven at the time. A mundane event, but I dreamed it before it happened. Now, that aside, the word "dreams" means many things to me, as it does to the rest of the world. Yet, when I think of dreams, aspirations are not the first things that pop to mind.
I dream a lot, the whole gamut of sweet to nightmare. It is more rare for me not to recall my dreams than to remember them in keen detail. I'm always amazed by the effect the life of my sleep has on waking me. Sometimes I wish Miss Snoozy Q would keep to her side of the boundaries, but all in all, I can't imagine being one of those poor souls who can't remember what went on behind their closed lids.
And to those who say dreams are black and white, I say phooey. I'm a technicolor dreamer.
Mothers: Oh, Kev. You funny boy. Mothers. Upon reading the word, I very flippantly said to J, Mothers, can't live with 'em, can't come to life without them. Well, unless you're in a scifi world.
I was being flippant. Honest.
I have a mother. In fact I've had a couple. And I love them all. Each taught me and brought me different things, for which I'm grateful.
But mothers are too messy for memes. Honest.
Messy things, kmkibble75 , belong in fiction.