Orange is my son Orazi's favorite color. He has two orange shirts on the
trip. He loves eating carrots and oranges. He loves picking oranges.
Today, unfortunately, he is in orange misery.
Our fearless
hunter/gatherer crossed the field to the left of our cabana with machete
in his right hand, plastic bag in his left. He's gone to bring home
oranges from the two trees that sway in the morning breeze and shower in
the afternoon rains. He returns, poisoned. From a worm/caterpillar sort
of orange-tree-protector who was not as enthused as I was about my only
male offspring picking the fruit of the nectar.
Turns out, our
young crawling friend shoots out dozens of quills when threatened, and
he felt quite threatened by my orange-loving son. We can't vouch for how
he gives off his poison but this is what the locals said. They also
said some people respond with a form of paralysis to his poisons; and
some people require immediate medical care when attacked. We didn't know
and just gave him lots of love, and waited. Isn't it lovely how wise we
all become after the fact?
So, he's got three or four clusters of
these irritated bumps all up his arm. It burns, it stings, and its
puffing up. "My head hurts," "I don't feel good," and his head and arm
turn red and hot. We give him some fennestil. We apply some topical skin
relief cream (which it did not) and let him spend most of the day in my
arms in bed. His sisters prepared his the ultimate sacrifice in these
parts, and the absolute declaration of undying love and commitment: they
gave him from their candy. (I know, I know! We were also impressed).
So,
the Universe brought us today a handful of misery, five really sweet
oranges, siblings caring for each other, and a mom who spent her day
holding her son. I wonder if those oranges' sweetness was directly
proportionally magnified by the amount of pain that it took to get them.
I know that our nomadic family's sweetness was directly proportionally
magnified by the amount of pain we witnessed in our midst.
We've got tons
of great stories about our adventures, as a nomadic family, around the world, who we've met,
what we've done, and how we've gotten poisoned by different worms and by
our own thoughts and fears. We've got high highs and low lows and
everything, I guess, in between as we discover the world, and ourselves
on the road.
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The poisonous wormy thing |
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Miserable Orazi in his orange shirt |
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All we need is a little bit of Mommy |
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Candy for Breakfast- blasphemy! |
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Ahh. We worked hard, but here it comes, the first smile |
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Being a wounded hero has its definite advantages |
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Gabi's practicing being miserable; Orazi's practicing being joyful. |
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A longing gift made by Solai including sandwhich, candies, &.... oranges! |
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She pretty much wouldn't leave his side. |
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Orazi shoots a picture of his gift, and Solai's skirt. |
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