Well Here We Are Again,

I will probably write again soon.

Nov 22/13

A Pleasure Deferred, A Need Fulfilled.

Over the last few days my aunts and uncles had been planning furiously for a gathering that would happen as a result of my dad comming to the US for a couple weeks. It was the plan that on Saturday, the 14, we would go to visit one of my aunts, and that the rest of the family would travel to meet us there. However in the two days preceding the event, several members of the family had to decline the date due in part to bad weather.

So at the request of the many, the date was changed to Sunday the 15. So that made today kindof a free day. Right? Biggest misconception I'd made yet on this transition.

I got up this morning and had gotten straight to work— typing up The Beginning of The End. I had nothing planned ALL DAY LONG. I'd been typing since about 7:30 and it was nine. It was time for a break. Wandering lazily down the hallway, I became accutely aware that something wasn't quite right. I could hear my grandma calling, " Irene? Irene?" I was also aware of my dad running, and trying to get his shoes on rather quickly. Grandma Kuball, was an old friend of the family. She was one of those people that was always happy, and would always find something to laugh about even in less than pleasant circumstances. But this didn't sound right. There was something wrong.

I ran back to my room and got out of my pajamas and into my clothes from yesterday which were set in similar fashion to the way in which a fireman's suit usually is, thank goodness for that. As I stripped my pajama shirt, thoughts raced through my mind. I raised my shirt to get into it, I stopped. I brought my hands down so as to better see them. They were shaking, I also became aware of a lump in my throat. I took a deep breath, another, and another. Now was not the time for emotion. I pushed it all out of my mind, and swallowed the lump. After I got my belt buckled, I ran and put my shoes on as fast as it was possible. I darted out the door after my dad and aunt Diane who had already been gone for a few minutes.

I ran, following my dad's foot prints, frankly because I couldn't find aunt Diane's. I didn't have time to take in the snow that was splashings into my shoes, nor the bitter cold wind that tore (it was really windy earlier) at my face. Because, I wasn't even out side for a minute before busting through the door into the house. The first thing I saw, was my dad and aunt Diane just standing in the kitchen. I wasn't quite sure what to make of that. By the looks that they gave me I would imagine that I looked pretty worked up. I peeked around the refrigerator, which blocked most of the rest of the room from where I was standing. I didn't see anything on the floor on first glance. I was about to ask where grandma Kuball was when I took a second glance and saw that she was sitting at her table. What the... What!?! I was confused.

She greeted me, and I her. We talked a bit about the fact that I was back, and what that meant for the future and stuff like that; and the weirdest part of all this was that she seemed fine. Aunt Diane, who had been kindof walking around, but not really pacing looked out the window and saw the ambulance and then promptly, but not hurriedly notified us of its arrival. Two paramedics came in, a rather large (in height) woman, and an avarage sized man. The woman never said much of anything, and the man had one of those voices that kindof trails the last sound of any word or sentence much longer than he should, or than is helpful.

"So, what happened here sweetie?" He said, addressing gramma Kuball. I had never herd anyone speek to any woman over 50, referring to them as "sweetie" I was a bit taken aback by his mannerisms, shall we say. Grandma Kuball told him of how she had felt a weight on her chest and then took something for it, and how (according to the protocol of the substance in question) she'd taken a secon dose 5 minutes later. Then as a last resort, she had tried to call my grandmother; but that was all she remembered before waking up and finding herself on the ground and my dad and aunt Diane at the door.

After hearing this he questioned her about her medical history, which I have redacted, with the same annoying vocal mannerisms. It might not need to be said, but I was relieved when the irksome paramedic loudly announced that he and his companion were going to retrieve the stretcher. Good, that means you're leaving! That gave us a few minutes to hear properly pronounce interogative clauses and sentences, and also for aunt Diane to help grandma Kuball get changed to go to the hospital. I'm not sure if she wanted to go or not, but I did know one thing: if she was going to the hospital; she was going in style.

While the paramedics were strapping grandma Kuball down on the stretcher, I looked over the verious photos that were displayed on the walls of her house and I found it kind of odd, the fact that there were no pictures of grandma Kuball wherein she wasn't at least 50. Oh well, she likes to be up to date on these sorts of things I guess. The paramedics left, and dad and I locked up the house. But as we were leaving the place, something in my spirit fealt troubled, and I hoped and prayed that this would not be the end of grandma Kuball. I have seen enough death in this life already, and the fact of the matter is that I would like to go a little while longer before someone I know dies again.

One thing that I'd managed to miss however, was that the paramedics had taken aunt Diane with them to the hospital. It mattered how little or much sense the fact made, we were going to have to go and get her. Honestly, I was looking forward to going to pick her up; I hadn't been to the emergency room since I busted my foot with an axe last year. The way there was a short one (as usual), but then; how long can you make a five mile cartrip? We arrived somewhere between 10-15 after we left. 

The Christmas spirit was definitely in the air, or at least that's what I think those fluffy white cotton-bally things were. All around the colored lights shown and I took note of an enormous light star atop the old smoke stack at the hospital as we drove around it to the emergency enterence. The hospital staff, I noted on entry were dressed festively in all-black coveralls and upside down grins decorated every face. The sharp contrast between the festivities outside, and those inside, was almost enough to make me light headed. Across the room from the enterence we walked toward people that my dad and grandma seemed to recognize, who were also sitting with aunt Diane.

Mrs. and Mr. Kuball greeted us warmly and we sat and talked for a while. The conversation went the usual way and included, but was not limited to things like; how I liked the weather, if I liked being back, "Wow you're so tall!", and a lot of stuff related to Africa. 

Before we'd left the house to go to the hospital, I had posted an urgent prayer request in the family forum and so I decided to update that with new information that I had picked up about grandma Kuball's case, notifying them that all was for the time being well. I had just finished typing that up and posting it when my cousin, Kim, messaged me; thanking me for a birthday card I'd sent her. My location services must have been activated because before I had a chance to write "You're welcome.", she had already asked,

"Why are you in St. Joseph?"

"Because I live here?"

"Oh I thought you were in Africa."

"I was, but I'm staying with grandma now." With typing that came yet another reminder of what I'd left behind.

"Oh ok cool" 

I sat quietly for the rest of the time that we spent at the hospital. But on the drive home, after we'd arrived, and far into the evening, one thought continuously passed through my head. Imagine what would have happened if you'd gone to the reunion to day. And over the days since then, I've come to accept that it was no accident that the family opted to reschedule. It was by design.

The Beginning of The End.

I'm sure that by the end of this new chapter of my life, I will have told this story several different ways. But now I'm going to write my diffinetive version of this story.

It began with a check-in trip to Maun. In the temporary absence of the Veiths my dad, Matt, Katherine and I went to Maun to check in on their home. Just to be sure that none of their possessions had been sullied and stuff like that. Katherine brought some of her school work with her, and Matt.... I'm not really sure what he was there for. As for me, I was there (mostly) to here the news from the immergration Exorcist, as soon as possible. 

We arrived at the house about 9:39ish. Matt and I had a good time, we would watch funny YouTube videos, and Katherine would shush us— good fun. Good fun. 

After a while we all got hungry. Now, that house had been empty for quite a while, so if there was any food in the house; we didn't know where it might possibly be. Since Matt and I were just being annoying, she decided (with a huff) to go and look around for food.

It wasn't long until I heard "Chrrrrriiiiiiiissssssss!!!!!!!" come from the kitchen, which happened to be right over my left shoulder.

"Where is every thing!? All I can find is spices!" 

I'll admit it, I was puzzled. The only things in their cupboards, which were full, were either, dishes or spices which weren't  edible... By themselves anyway. I was stumped. It was then that I remembered just how diminutive Mrs. Veith is, about 5'6. In the lower cupboard (benithe the counter) we found an unopened bag of baguette chips, and we found some cottage cheese that was sour enough to act as sour cream in the fridge.

In those brief happy moments, we reflected on the awesomeness of teenage ingenuity. After that we reflected on how stupid we sounded for reflecting on such things (that actually might have been just me).

While eating Kathy and Matt and I talked about feinging starvation, which we decided to call off due to several extremely unconvincing test runs. What can I say? We're high energy kids that have never had acting lessons.

Any way eventually dad returned as usual, and we went out to lunch. Hilary's is probably the best place in Botswana to brief people, with it calming atmosphere, and peaceful air— not to mention its FREAKING AWESOME FOOD. Hilary's is the only 100% organic resteraunt in Botswana. As we sat down and ordered my dad's cool demeanor would have never given me any reason to suspect what was to come.

I was either going to have to scramble to get all the paper work we needed together so that I could apply for a permit, which may not have gone through any way,

 

Or return to the US.

The Road Is Never Predictable.

It's been a while. That's just kind of the nature of things at this point. I have been putting off writing this post and the ones that will follow for security reasons. I think that the time of danger may be over, it is time to begin disclosing. 

Where have I been? I returned to the US.

I have retired from MK service. I am no longer in Botswana, and in all probability; I will never return there. I'm sorry Bole; you had your chance. Don't come back.

To the rest of my family, I'm sorry. I miss you all dearly. What has come to pass cannot be changed, all we can effect is the future. I can't wait to see you again. :)

Note to self: 77526

Never begin a humorous story with the phrase, "Oh my gosh this is so funny!!!", or anything to the same affect. 

Nov. 25/13

My worst fears came to life, not two days after my 18 birthday, I have to leave home. Though it happened in a way I didn't expect. I chose it. I asked to be sent away rather than to scramble to try to produce the necessary paperwork which would have been late as is. Yesterday evening, as I sat eating my dinner, I realized something, that had been persuing me for a long time, but now I know why.

A while ago, my dad was in the running for a prestigious position, that would require us to move back to the U.S. When I heard about it, I fealt a little tug in my heart. So I encouraged, and even pushed my dad to apply for the position. And he did.

His interview came and went. And the feeling was growing within me. A month passed before we heard anything more. The interviewer called back. He said that he didn't usually let people know when they were out of the running, but that he fealt led to.

Even with that news, the feeling in my heart went undampend. A feeling that wether my dad got the position or not, it was going to impact our family in some huge and unknown way. 

I heard my dad say, last night; that they were selecting the person that would be put in that position. So in a way, I was right. Not in the way I thought I would be, and not in a way that I could have predicted. I'm sad that I have to leave Africa, but it's the right thing to do.

My brothers took the news the worst. I'm sorry for that. If it happens that I don't see you again, please know this: there is no place, rich or poor; no where in all of creation, where I would rather be than with you. I'm sorry for this. It was the right thing to do.

Nov/20/13

I started packing at about 5:30ish this afternoon. It's 9:27 now. Plans have been made, I'll be boarding a plane Monday. I'll arrive in DC where I'll meet my grandparents and possibly cousins. From there we'll be taking the Amtrak to Michigan.

My new home.

The simple fact of the matter is that I'll never come back home. This is a hard thought to swallow. Yes, I may live with my parents again, but it will never quite be the same.

This is going to be hard. I have already calculated that in 15 days from Nov. 25, I'll break down with my fit of home sickness. You guys keep track, I'll post when it happens. 

I'm already starting to miss them, and I still haven't told them that I'm leaving. But I must be doing well with this because dad said he thought he might throw up at the thought of sending me off. 

This'll be hard.

As with the first part of today, you'll be seeing this a long time after it has happened.

How to stop worrying.

1.) Look at the birds. 

2.) Look at the flowers

3.) Remember that God loves you more than either of them.

You'll be FINE.

Oh, it's because I'm white. isn't it.

I have a hard time remembering (for some reason) that in Botswana, white skin automatically equals loaded with cash. 

And I am by few means wealthy, spiritually being the exception.

I don't understand this prejudice, few if any of my clothes are still yet untorn, and I don't dress up in collared shirts like the Afrikaaners; I hardly ever even wear shoes!— as opposed to the Afrikaaners who almost always wear military-grade boots. They keep their hair short, mine is long. They all speak Afrikaans, I know less than twenty words in Afrikaans!

What more could we have in difference?

Even just today, I went on a walk around the block, which I would have usually done in the evening; people were trying to sell me stuff left and right! Puppies, gym equipment, CHICKENS!!! 

I know that the only reason is that I'm white, and it almost hurts.

Now while it is true that I don't have any black friends (in Africa), the reason is all the same: The only reason that people wanted me to be their "Friend" was for monetary (or sexual) advances. I really did try to overcome that obstacle, but their minds could not be changed by fact: their opinion had been made.

I tried though. Which is more than I can say for my brothers who were always either monetarily taken advantage of, or caught in the middle of brawls.

I don't understand. I really don't understand why people refuse to look beyond the skin, I am just as human as they are; and I'm a little upset that they are behaving this way towards me especially because they would be aghast if one of them had done the same to another motswana. They would be furious, and said persons' relatives would forever shame such a person.

It would be like me walking up to a random woman on the street and saying, "Give me your purse," only the difference is that here, she would be compelled to give it. It's madness! I can't adapt to their cultural norm or else I'd get "give-me-ed" out of house and home. But at the same time, this makes me look, to them like an Afrikaaner; which means I'm rich.

I really am upset about this. I think I'll probably take a while and cool off now. But still; why?

A Totally Unrelated Title.

I began to read The Hunger Games today, and as a writer, I found it to be most intriguing.

I had seen the movie, and was inpressed by the plot, or the bit of it that was portrayed in the film, but my intrigue was not based on my affection for the film. In the first place, the film didn't even have the same introduction as the book.

I thought it was interesting that Mrs. Collins wrote her descriptions of Katniss' actions and observations in the present tense. The only place I've ever heard the present tense in literature is in second person fiction. However it has an interesting sound in the first person limited, and I'll probably be given to dabble with it in the future.

Maybe I'll post the result of my dabblings. Hmmm....

Awarenning.

I don't know if I was just stupid before, or if I was simply unobservant. Although it really doesn't matter which, I suppose. But it is odd when one begins to take note of a thing which may've been always there or may be new and either way whatever it was begins to change your ideas and/or perceptions of just how it is that things work.

Having stated my thesis; I have been on self imposed isolation (which means I grounded myself from Facebook, email, twitter, and whatnot) for about a week and a half now (with a very few exceptions) and as usual; I began to notice things.

The image of our former house in Kang hasn't yet had time to dull, nor have my years yielded knowledge enough to answer all of the riddles in live, but this said; my memories of Kang were recently vivified my memories and caused me to realize two things.

Yesterday, my dad and I went running. The path was fairly straight forward (or as much so as a square can be), and my dad asked if I could make the distance, which was two miles. I thought I could and I told him so and with that, we were off. 

We ran. Passed the bergade, the high school and the several blocks of houses. But I didn't really look around though I was trying to keep up with dad. I went the entire first stretch and felt fine, it wasn't until about half way on the second leg that I began to feel tired. But at that point I was in the middle of nowhere.

I walked along for a while before I really bothered to note anything at all. Then I felt creative and soon had spoofed Jonathan Coultan's "still alive". 

By the time I had finished that, the village has begun to creep up with a similar fashion  to that of the new tendrils on a creeping ivy, but it was not the same kind of village I am used to. The houses weren't much more than four gum posts, dipped in tar, wrapped in shade net on all but one side- which was plywood; all topped with corrugated tin roofing. As for the fences that surrounded them; they weren't much more than thorn bushes strategically placed to keep the cows away. The yards were swept clean and the cook shelters were smoking and the scent of corn mush was on the air. I stopped and observed the family that lived there. The children were shod, poorly so but shod none the less; the clothes they wore were worn, and worn through in some places; the children had dirt in there hair I could not have told when the last time they bathed was, nor when the next would be. And even as I studied the deplorable conditions in which these children lived I was neither moved to pity nor to charity nor yet to indignation. 

They were happy.

The children were happy.

They were running and playing, laughing and smiling while speaking to each other in Naro.

Turning away, I walked a little farther until I saw a more traditional Rondaval. No one was here, the yard was over grown and the stench of death wafted from the premises. 

Turning away a second time, I continued to walk until I saw a brick building, that looked as though it had never even heard of a right angle. The yard was well kept but again there was no one home.

As I got closer to the part of the village that I live in, I saw a block of houses that was a hodgepodge of the three yard types afore mentioned, and I stopped to observe the woman who lived in the rondaval arguing with the man from the stone house in a most heated way. I began to wonder to my self just how trivial what ever they were talking about as I realized that my dad had pulled up beside me in the baakey, I got in and we drove home.

I don't know wether or not it's worth noting that the run physically exhausted me, but just in case it is: the run physically exhausted me. Now, I had gone to close the gate, but I took a step back. 

What I saw disturbed me. I saw a house that was built by the hands of a professional, whose beams were 2x4s instead of tar dipped gum poles, the walls of said house were made neither brick nor yet the earth itself, but of gypsum boards! Honest to Goodness gypsum boards! And even then from  where I stood, I could hear my brothers and littler sister arguing over who was first player on the Wii.

I can find no logic in my observations. Did you realize the same things that I did?

Frip

I've been examining my work on this blog. I haven't really done what I set out to do. I'm not doing well at telling about life here in Botswana, so I thought I should give some explanation.

Basically, nothing happens here and the things that do happen aren't worth writing about. Stuff like, me generating awkward moments, arguments, and of course that stupid dog of mine (wow; this must be my most honest post ever.)!

None the less, I do intend to continue writing, but more theoretical things than auto biographic, because my life is just that dull. I wont deny that I do have adventures, but other than those rare times, I have nothing but my thoughts (and there are many) to write about.

I might write again soon, if I can come up with something to write about.

Serching,

I have decided that I need to be more organized. Yeah right! I don't know how yet, but I'm gonna try to get some stories up for the Rabbit-hole stories. I have some ideas I've been batting around, for instance a tale about a people that time left behind, and a story about an invention of my own the BoKhutswane; their sort of like African Hobbits, only smaller and.... um... different (?) I guess (???).

But tonight the topic is:TOPICS!!!

Yeah, that was anti climactic.

If I am going to rave and rant and spit my opinion onto the internet (which I know a LOT of people wont be happy about), I am going to need a repertoire of topics to talk about. I'd kinda like to bear away from grabbing topics out of a hat, but if that's what it takes than fine.
     I'll probably have to talk with some people about what would make good posting material, especially since I'm fairly new at this whole nonfiction thing. I'd like to share with people, but there comes a point where the stuff someone types gets dull... and no one ever reads it. I believe that I have successfully made it to that point.

That's all I've got for now so, ta!

Narrow Wind. A short story.

Snow flakes fell on the breath of a late November wind, the sky over head was grey, and the ground folded in a cold white blanket. But that was not what gave the wind its chill. Nor was it the forest of stones that he stood amid, each slab standing in its' row. The wind brushed against the folds of his trench coat, which he pulled no tighter about him and from beneath the shadow of his fedora, the man's blue eyes stared fixedly. Though there were many erect stones in the yard, there was only one that bore any significance more than any other rock. And as the man stared, a tear ran from his eye which he did not even think to remove. He'd stood there for hours, and would stand there yet for hours, because he craved just one minute more.

Sun set.

It's sun set right now, and the dust is starting to settle after another long day in Ghanzi. The sky is fading into the pastel colors that happen right as the sun passes over the horizon. The street lights are turning on and I'm sitting on the front porch. Buster, is laying down in his burrow hoping I'll take him on a walk.

For the past week or so, I've not done anything much but try to learn some calligraphy, and read some of the stuff on Facebook. I don't know what's up, but I feel grey in my mind; Simply uncreative, and I don't know why. 

It's most likely that my parents told me that they could tell when I wasn't taking my meds. I don't want to go into specifics, but honestly; I never that I would have a daily medication before I was even 25. 

The sky is becoming more golden now, darkening into a deep orange at the horizon, and the trees cast they're shadowy silhouettes. 

My dad expressed a similar emotion about his thyroid medication. This will pass I guess, but I thought for sure that I might simply be... Well— normal. Clearly not. Not only am I not normal, but I am a unique case. So there goes my chandelier of fitting in at collage (that is; assuming I actually get there). 

If I sound discouraged, that's because I feel it. As graduation ebbs nearer and nearer, I just wonder how I'm going to do it. That is with out a nervous break down. My vacation has been a blast, but if it weren't for my brothers being home, I would have worked through it. I am just ready to be done.

I'm gonna go for a walk now. I'll try to write some more later. 

*CRASH* ... Sorry, I tripped.

Yesterday my family took a trip to Maun (said Mow-oon), which is the next city north of Ghanzi. The Okavango Delta touches... no more like entangles the city. Maun has one of the country's two international national airports and is my favorite vacation spot.

We went there because of a money transfer that was just easier to take care of in person. The sun had not yet risen when we left and consequently, was in my eyes for the first hour-and-a-half. I spent most of that time listening to music; Matt, Josh and Becca watched Phineas and Ferb; and I'm honestly not sure what Kathy was doing. When the sun had gone up far enough that I could see we were somewhere near Sahithwa.

The climate, that part that is visually apparent, was as different as Ghanzi is from Windhoek. The ground was absolutely bare, with the exception of the trees that grew, not quite thick enough to be called a forest, but not thin enough to be called The Bush. The sand was (if it was sand) was greyer than that which we have in Ghanzi, about the shade of grey the elephants find fashionable, and seemed to also be dustier than ours. The trees of the same sort in Ghanzi which are rather diminutive, there were quite formidable. Those trees in question being those of the acacia and similar varieties. despite the lack of grazing material, there were a lot of really really fat cattle, and that was as amazing to me as the grammatical structure of Black Speech.

As we approached Toteng, I prayed vehemently that the bridge hadn't washed out. "But Chris, it's dry season." Right, like the fact is gonna stop the river. As we came upon the bridge, I could see that the water was lower than it had been the last time we'd gone there, but even so, it lapped up against the tops of the hydro-channels. We got across with minimal difficulty, and proceeded on to Maun.

Upon our arrival, much to my surprise, we drove past the bank that we needed to go to. I was just about to ask why when Matt did. That's just one of those funny things about living in a large family, if you take too long in wondering about something, chances are someone else will notice too and ask first, if you're not quite quick enough. By the time he had finished his long winded, and serial interrupted interrogative tangent, we had already driven and nearly parked in front of the answer. We were in front of Eshinee's house.

We went in and and visited for a while. The house they (her and her husband) live in would've been comfortable for two, cozy for four; but for all seven of us... let's just say we were a (little) bit cramped. My mom and dad talked with her, a diversion that would allow for us to use the toilet (Bathroom to you Americans). She inquired as to  what were doing in Maun and when my dad had told her, she asked if she could come along.

So with that, we waited for josh to get out of the bathroom, and then we were off. The our destination was less then ten minutes from her house, it was the mall near the Maun air port. As per the plan that we formulated on the way there, Kat went with Eshinee, mom, Josh, Becca and I went to the gift shop.

I don't know the name of the shop, and in all likeliness I probably never will. But it is one of the coolest places in all of Botswana-- that is if you are in to trinkets and random souvenirs that have no practical use for every day life. Between their supply of copper jewelry and incense related items, from time to time, they do actually manage to have some thing interesting. I was particularly drawn to a certain walking stick which was extremely intricately carved (for the craft of a Tswana) when Josh dirrected me to a brightly colored glass object that he could not identify. I chuckled. I knew from the hose that was attached what it was, but I really didn't want to tell him. Then mom came she looked like she was ready to leave, but when Josh asked her, she asked me. So I told them that it was called a hookah, and explained it to them. Josh looked thoroughly intrigued, a fact that causes me to worry.

After we left, we decided to have lunch."... and what better place to have lunch," Eshinee said a little too enthusiastically, "than Hilary's!" We did end up going there, and it was probably the best food I've ever tasted (sorry mom).

After we'd finished eating, our conversation drifted from banks to mental disorders, from earthen wear to noses; until we settled on the ever-so pleasant topic of major dental surgery. Upon which I was thoroughly amused, and it was after much slap-happiness that we had to go most unfortunately. A quick end to a good day it was.

Revived.

I think I may have just needed a few days. I have decided that I will continue the game, though it will be my last. This is to be my last variation on the Mystic Theme so brilliantly composed by my old friend Stephen. And as I prepare to go out, I have every intention to go out with a bang! At some point I will type up a plot synopsis, but right now, I don't have time. But in the mean time, I fully intend to cease the days ahead, and make this my best game ever!

The last game. (maybe)

I think I'm done. I have done well. Me earlier games were better than my resent ones, but I don't think I can make games anymore.

By brothers played my games, my later ones, and claimed to enjoy them. But I remember when I could see the worlds that I made in front of me, I remember when the the worlds in my head were more real to me than the one in front of me was to me. I have time for them, but my will is waning. Whether it will ever return again, I know not.

My worlds have begun to bland, I half suspected it, maybe I felt it; but now I know it. They know it, and They have felt it too. Whether it will ever return again, I know not.

My brothers were playing again to night. They had just slain a cave elf in battle, and discovered the underground realm of the N'Diki, spider-people that walk on four legs, spit webs and have a bad temper; when it became evident to me that they were bored. I had tried to make it interesting for them, but I had failed again. I suppose I might let this game-mastering hobby go, it would save Matt and josh a few crushed knuckles. I don't know, I'll have to pray about it.

Week: 127

We got to Gaborone and back safely. I have decided that I am not going to detail any of the happening of the trip though, I think that family vacations can enjoyed just as vacations and don't need a bunch of memoirs typed up about them. I am sorry that I haven't posted in a while, but I make no promises of posting any again any time soon either. Unless something amazing happens, I might write about that. There has been a bush fire somewhere outside of Ghanzi. No one that we know has said anything, but the Sun has taken on that tell-tail, sickly yellow shade, so I'm sure prayers would be appreciated by those who are fighting the fires. I have been looking this week further into the option of video blogging, and it just seems to be very complex. I have been trying to see what all I could do with the resources available to me, but it just feels bland. But I'm going to keep working on it.