A Gitan Heart

I think I’ve always had a gypsy heart.  I don’t know that much about my ancestry (hey, I’m American), but I’m sure there were some gypsy-types hiding back there somewhere.

I started wandering away when I was pretty young. Mostly down the street to neighbors’ houses, occasionally from my elementary school (which caused some concern apparently), away from jobs when I got bored, and now wandering across the country.

For about 5 years now, my Super Hero husband and I have been planning to ‘sell our belongings and hit the road!’  Lest you assume I’m some leftover hippie in a VW van and tie-dyed t-shirt, I’ll let you know I’m a pretty straight-laced business owner and hard-working, not-yet-retirement-age grandmother.

We did as most folks our age did –  got married, had kids, got a mortgage, got another (bigger) mortgage, raised the kids, decided to start a small business, worked 90 hours a week at the business, grew the business bigger and got rid of the mortgage.

And we bought a motorhome.  Not one of those quaint ‘tiny houses’ that seem to be so popular now (sheesh, those things look pretty much like our first house), but a big ol’ rolling house-on-wheels.  This beauty is 40 ft of sleek, awesomeness to behold – and with our trusty old Honda Pilot strapped to the back we are rockin’ a train as long as a semi!

So here I am again – wandering away, but this time with more purpose and less baggage (both literally and figuratively).

PS – (Gitan – It means Gypsies in French)

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