Goals

• I have lately been considering my life and my goals.
  
  I am not a formal school teacher at the core of my being. I am a daddy, a loving husband, a teacher, a student, a wandering spirit.
  
  I absolutely must get back into the forest, onto the plains, out on the water, up in the sky again before I go out of my rabbit-assed mind.
  
  Some of the goals I have written down - and lost track of with the press of events - include
  1. Own and pilot a DC-3. Fly the airplane to Europe and back.
  2. See Macchu Picchu.
  3. Own and wear a hair-out leather coat made from the hide of a cow from my own ranch/farm.
  4. Learn to play the cello.
  5. Play in a recorder consort again.
  6. Get back into the sky - in a square parachute now. Those look like easier landings than the ones I made in my round rigs.
  7. Buy and drive another TR-3, a sweel little small-mouth -3. They only come convertible-topped.
  8. Write and publish a book on the educational values of camp and travel the world promoting the book - and the camp.
  9. Get a blue frapped rope with a square knot tied in it tattooed around my left ankle.
  
  Come play with me in my camp in the Ozark foothills.
  We'll have archery, riflery, raku pottery, rockets, model airplanes, quilts, haka, ukuleles, lumberjacking, butterfly collecting, mountainbiking, canoeing, arrowsmithing, flint knapping, homemade ice cream, homemade root beer, tree houses, trebuchet contests, stargazing, sundialling, birdhousing gardening. Just kind of fun stuff.
  
  I'll stop with those right now; my wings are pushing too tightly against my shirt to let me type . . . I'm going to go fly.
  
  Pax, y'all. And love.