Travel Envy

I’m convinced I have a little gypsy blood because there’s nothing I like better than going places. We have a small teardrop camper and I keep a deck of Tarot cards in there, just in case. You never know when somebody will recognize that aspect of my personality and ask for a reading. I adore road trips. Even one to Snohomish, about 20 miles north of where I live, can qualify if I haven’t been anywhere in a while. Envy is categorized as one of the  seven deadly sins, if I recall the catechism  teachings from my Catholic elementary school, and so I’m in trouble. I feel envious of people who go not only on lots of road trips but also to exotic places. I have a small handmade ceramic figure I bought about thirty years ago at a street fair. He wears a distasteful look on his face. The poor guy’s been being shaped and hardened so he’s stuck with that grimace. He can’t change his RBF no matter what. The artist who had this for sale told me this dude would protect me and my household from feelings of jealousy. I immediately thought of my travel envy and snapped him up. He has sat silently (because how else could he be otherwise?) on my desk or windowsill for many, many years. I think he’s finally come into his own because a few days ago my neighbor stopped me in the street to say she and her husband were about to leave on a two-week trip to Greece. “It’s been on our bucket list,” she told me. (Let me go on record here by saying I think bucket lists are foolish but that’s beside the point.) The point is, I actually squealed with pleasure at her travel plans. To visit Greece would indeed be wonderful, no question. Yet I felt nothing but great pleasure at her news and didn’t give it a thought beyond joy at her upcoming trip until I got home and saw my little green guy sitting on the table. I swear I saw a smile on his little green ceramic face.

Photo courtesy of me, Mary Kunkel