"Fart in your hat Brown"

ME-  "I love you so much Grandpa!"
GRANDPA-"Fart in your hat Brown..."

This was an expression I heard countless times in my youth expressed to me by my dearly departed grandfather Harold Haines.  To anyone else this might seem like an obscene gesture of ill mannered spirit, but to me it said so much more after I learned its translation.  Basically it meant "I know you love me, and you know I love you too so stop being so sappy."  Painting his way across the United States, Harold's work can be found in many homes covering countless decrepit walls giving them new life and new love.  He was an incredible man always looking for a good time, and always ready to try something new.

One of my fondest memories of him is from one day while I was sleeping over in their camper, a regular occurrence when I was young.  I looked up to see this old man hunched over on a cheap Huffy child's bike bombing down the hill at speeds far exceeding any prudence for safety or appreciation of life and limbs.  You see, earlier I had noticed him checking out my bike but thought it was with nothing more then his normal genial self appreciating one of my treasured holdings at the time.  The truth was if I knew he wanted to ride it down a ridiculous hill that was so steep I had to walk it up even in my youth, I would have had the common courtesy to tell him about its flagrant lack of stopping abilities:  it had no brakes!  As I'm sure he discovered when he reached maximum velocity, the smile plastered over his face as he blew by me gave no indication of his dire circumstances.  Being a long time motorcyclist, brakes must have been as unnecessary to him as a heart felt "I love you too Matt" because after flying past he gracefully brought the bike back under control and came to a stop not more than a quarter mile or so after passing me. 

The thing is my grandparents were always on the move.  Last night at dinner Charlotte, my grandma informed me that they had once owned a house and had sworn never to do it again.  They were nomads, living the wandering lifestyle and at the end of the day that's what made them happy.  While I think this could have something to do with strong Native America ancestry, at this point its mere speculation.  While I see the same patterns from my grandparents life repeating in my own, one thing that's for sure is they passed on their deep love affair with travel to me.

While travel has provided me with endless breathtakingly "perfect" moments in life, the biggest problem I've always found with the lack of staying one place for more than a year is always coming back to try to pick up the pieces of lost friendships.  Its hard to ignore the fact that every time I leave, I separate myself from my friends and family missing out on countless opportunities.   Many family members and friends have long ago substituted "Hi how are you doing?"  for "So which country are you off to now?"  Asking Charlotte how she always dealt with constantly picking up and leaving her reply was simple:  "Harold would talk to a garbage can if he couldn't find anybody else around to talk to."  She recalled how as soon as they rolled into a new campground, while she was making dinner and setting the table for two, Harold would be out sabotaging her in his own way by inviting four other new found friends over for dinner and eventually drinks.

To me that just makes sense.  After meeting so many people in so many different areas of the world, one thing that's for sure is that we're all human, we all like to chat, and we all have to eat!  Did I mention that my Grandmother excels in this area?  That probably helped the situation infinitely, as she always makes me an incredible meal when I stop, refusing to let me take her out to dinner even once.  Just last night we feasted on hot dogs and squash!  Okay, maybe me arriving a day early for my dinner might have had something to do with the last minute scramble but I never claimed to be organized, and I probably never will.

As an update to my trip, I take motorcycle test tomorrow morning (ignore any previous references to riding around already Mr. Police Officer), and then head out as soon as the ink dries on my license.   As I've previously stated, I would never leave anything ever to the very last minute so I should really probably get going, and click publish already...