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I spent my childhood in Texas – a part of Texas that looks as if it came right out of the set of the movie “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly”.
I knew when I was 4 years old that I was leaving Texas. I told my best friend, H. N. Bitter, all about my future as we sat beside a road watching for cars that weren’t going to drive by:
“What do you think is going to happen to us when we grow up?” he asked. “Do you think you’ll travel down a road like this?”
“H. N., when I grow up I plan to leave this place and see the world. There’s a lot to see at the end of this road and I want to see it all. I plan to see it all.” I replied.
“Well, I don’t think I’m going to go anywhere. I don’t think I’ll ever leave here.” And, H. N. didn’t and I did.
Venezuela was my home for a while. I lived in an oil camp in the interior of the country. We were 50 miles in 1 direction from a grocery store, and 50 miles from headhunters in the other direction. And, finally, a 3rd direction offered the literal end of the road at the Orinoco River.
For over 30 years I lived in the the Washington, D.C. Metro area with a spouse whose career field was spying and I didn’t even know it.
During this time I learned to be a healer. And, that’s where I came to explore life’s issues: the meaning of life – what happens when we die – where I came from, really.
Of course, the big questions are still out there.
Whatever happened to the Anasazi?
Why didn’t I meet up with Woodstock and all the many adventures it offered until I was over 70, an age when we’re all supposed to be winding down and enjoying life?
Why?
So much strength is needed to do all the things I’ve done in Woodstock.
Good luck to us all.

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