Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Gypsy Life: Community and Support

I moved again. Surprise. Surprise. Right? It's going to be a more frequent thing over the next month or so. Hope you all can keep up with me in this gypsy life (which by the way, every time I go to type gypsy, I end up writing g-y-s-p-y. I think it must go back to my inner longing to be an actual spy).  

I'm so thankful for my little sis and her husband who are letting me crash at their house for a few weeks. This isn't the first time I've lived with my sister. Way back when I first moved to this mountain town, before I moved in with Mountain Ma and Pa, I lived with my sister for a few weeks. 

Only back then she wasn't married yet. Back then she had a couple of roommates, and no spare bedroom. Little sis loved me enough to let me share her bed for a week or two. We hadn't done that since we were children. We survived for a short time, until the Mountain Folks offered up their spare bedroom, and I'm pretty sure Little Sis was glad to see me go. 

Thankfully, she and her husband own a house now. It has more than one spare bedroom. One which I get to claim for a little while. Don't worry. I am pitching in, and washing dishes, and taking out the trash whenever I can. I am grateful. 

Little Sis and me
There was a time way back in my former gypsy life when I realized that the difference between the unemployed me and the homeless on the street was the family and friends who loved and cared for me. Who made sure I was fed and clothed. Who didn't get fed up with me when I was rejected for another job, even if they were convinced I was bombing every interview. They loved me. They supported me. They lifted me up. They prayed for me. It wasn't just my parents. Or my family. It was a whole slew of loving and supporting people who had my back. 

I don't ask for help. Usually not even if I need it. I was blackberry picking the other day with a friend. And being stubborn like I am, I had to go for the berries way up high. It didn't end well. I ended up stuck in a bush. I had to ask for help out. My friend feigned shock at my request before helping me out of the thorns. I don't like asking for help. I don't know if I would've asked my friends for help way back then when I didn't have a job or a place of my own. But they offered me help anyway. They offered me support anyway. 

I was talking about living in community with a neighbor. What it means and how rare it is to find a neighborhood that has it. For me, it's knowing that I'll have a roof over my head even if I don't have a place of my own. It's a smile and chat on the walk home from work. It's sitting on the front porch with a friend. It's knowing that someone next door has my back if I need anything. It's having the help I need, even before I'm willing to ask for it. 

I am so thankful for the community I found living in that little mill studio. I hope when all this house hopping comes to an end, I can either head back to that little community or find another neighborhood that recognizes the value in knowing who lives next door.  

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