Orange is my son Orazi’s favorite color. He has two orange shirts on the trip. He loves eating carrots and oranges. He loves picking oranges. Today, unfortunately, he is in orange misery.
Our fearless hunter/gatherer crossed the field to the left of our cabana with machete in his right hand, plastic bag in his left. He’s gone to bring home oranges from the two trees that sway in the morning breeze and shower in the afternoon rains. He returns, poisoned. From a worm/caterpillar sort of orange-tree-protector who was not as enthused as I was about my only male offspring picking the fruit of the nectar.
Turns out, our young crawling friend shoots out dozens of quills when threatened, and he felt quite threatened by my orange-loving son. We can’t vouch for how he gives off his poison but this is what the locals said. They also said some people respond with a form of paralysis to his poisons; and some people require immediate medical care when attacked. We didn’t know and just gave him lots of love, and waited. Isn’t it lovely how wise we all become after the fact?
So, he’s got three or four clusters of these irritated bumps all up his arm. It burns, it stings, and its puffing up. “My head hurts,” “I don’t feel good,” and his head and arm turn red and hot. We give him some fennestil. We apply some topical skin relief cream (which it did not) and let him spend most of the day in my arms in bed. His sisters prepared his the ultimate sacrifice in these parts, and the absolute declaration of undying love and commitment: they gave him from their candy. (I know, I know! We were also impressed).
So, the Universe brought us today a handful of misery, five really sweet oranges, siblings caring for each other, and a mom who spent her day holding her son. I wonder if those oranges’ sweetness was directly proportionally magnified by the amount of pain that it took to get them. I know that our nomadic family’s sweetness was directly proportionally magnified by the amount of pain we witnessed in our midst.
We’ve got tons of great stories about our adventures, as a nomadic family, around the world, who we’ve met, what we’ve done, and how we’ve gotten poisoned by different worms and by our own thoughts and fears. We’ve got high highs and low lows and everything, I guess, in between as we discover the world, and ourselves on the road.
The poisonous wormy thing
Miserable Orazi in his orange shirt
All we need is a little bit of Mommy
Candy for Breakfast- blasphemy!
Ahh. We worked hard, but here it comes, the first smile
Being a wounded hero has its definite advantages
Gabi’s practicing being miserable; Orazi’s practicing being joyful.
A longing gift made by Solai including sandwhich, candies, &…. oranges!
She pretty much wouldn’t leave his side.
Orazi shoots a picture of his gift, and Solai’s skirt.