There is always hope I will learn more.  My cousin was here for his third visit. I tried to explain to him my circumstances were limited to the point I was so broke and was not able to go out to eat. He must not have heard me or something-so when he got here I had to explain that I had to borrow 40 bucks to drive to Jacksonville to pick him up, and that was the only 40 bucks I had. But I also explained as long as he put gas in the truck to go places that the rest would work itself out-at least my part, as frugal has been my lifestyle

For too long now, I know how to live poor.

 The visit had stumbles-especially over my cousins misunderstanding about money…meaning, he learned that it was not my intention to ‘bum’ off of him…something he had come to conclude was going to be the case from the beginning. He made a comment regarding it-and it hurt, so we talked it out-and it worked itself out.

 

It was a humbling experience. All of his meals were taken at a diner in the town near here-some 14 miles away each way. It is awkward sitting in a restaurant with out any means of your own.

 

The visit went on well enough. On the third day we had a bonfire behind my house and sat and drank a few beers and talked while we watched the fire. I have the impression it was cousins first time ever doing that-he was not impressed when I suggested the idea, but the chill in the night changed his mind. We were really able to talk-a good camp fire does that.

I told him the story as how my wife and kids and I came to live in these woods-homeless. And I told him how I hitch-hiked home from work with a few boards of lumber each day-that to build the cabin we lived in.

 

I remained humbled the entire week that he was here. Cousin is aware of what happened to me in the Navy-but does not understand my PTSD. Actually-I’m not even sure if he knew that crowds bother me-set off an emotional zinger that make me afraid and cause my anxiety level to go through the top of my head. He wanted to go down to Daytona to experience another ration of a motorcycle fest-I felt as long as it was daylight I could handle the press of people. At dark it turns into something else and the crowd expands. I asked several times if he was ready to go-and one time he told me “I have no reason to complain…he was paying for everything”. I allowed myself to cow down to his remarks-those I felt hurt by.

 

I drove him back to the airport yesterday. I sweated the way the gas gauge was going down to one level where you know it’s getting critical-but somehow made it home with out running dry.

Because it is a dirt road one can always tell if the mail has been delivered by the tire tracks in the dirt-you can see them as they go off the road towards the mailbox.

God again humbled my heart and blessed it at the same time.

My artist friend mailed me a check for 500 dollars.

I never get tired of learning.

 

                 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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