Life in a Backpack, Part 3

After seeing Qaddafi’s tent, I am thinking life as a semi-nomad takes a lot of logistical planning. 

But I still think you can put your life in a backpack (but credit cards and cash in your front pocket). Of course you would have to wear your backpack as a frontpack like you were carrying a baby, because if your life is (figuratively speaking) in your backpack, you would really need to watch it. 

Then you would need a camera to document just how bad your life is that you were forced to pack up your life in your frontpack.

 I am going to rest now from all of this thinking.

Life in a backpack

A family friend once had to pack up to flee a hurricane and there was room only for her, her dog and her backpack.

So, what would you do if you had to strip down your needs to what can fit into a backpack?

Me, I have been ruminating over this since Sunday  evening when I heard the story.  While our friend was recounting this, I thought of the time my sister, then 6 years old, announced that she, my brother (then 5 years old) and I (2 years old) were running away from home and I decided that I needed to pack my bathing suit.  I hope, now 43 years later, I will make better decisions.

Reminder about what counts

A friend just sent around a quote from Erma Bombeck after she found out she was dying from cancer.  Good reminder of what counts, but hard to remember to see past the small stuff:

I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or the sofa faded.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my partner.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while watching life.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, “Later. Now go get washed up for dinner.”

There would have been more “I love yous” and “I’m sorrys”.

Rest in Peace, Erma.