My Mom's been alluding that I'm a missionary. I guess she can't explain why I'm Living in Paradise, and gave up working for the machine.
I say, yes, missionary position.
My parents keep waiting for me to get over my mid-life-crisis. They want me to get real hungry and come crawling back, broke, disallusioned, defeated.
I disappoint them.
They don't visit, (it would "validate" what I'm doing) even when I try and blackmail them into coming down by saying I'm not visiting this year, its too expensive. But every year I visit my parents. It reminds me why I moved away. They know I'm bluffing because I need to shop for clothing and unmentionables - in my size - because they don't carry my size in the land of Lilliput (Mexico) and there's NOTHING absolutely NOTHING for sale in Belize, unless its a peice of fabric to wrap around your ass and tuck on the side.
Every year I visit my children, its hard to leave. I wish I could be there more, and not have to deal with the day-to-day business of living in the Metro Detroit area, working, cars (essential) mortgage, credit cards, power lunches.
The only thing I miss about Detroit is my children and now grandchildren. Three grown up daughters, 3 granddaughters and 1 new grandson named Adam (because he's the first)
If I could, I would transplant them all here in my garden. But this is not their dream, its my dream.