Varied Skies

As we work hard to take care of all the things necessary to get on the road, let me take a minute to explain the origin of our blog name.

I first thought of starting a blog to document our various travels several years ago. I even went so far as to register one through blogspot. Alas, I never managed to post anything. And in retrospect, the name stunk. Or, I guess it still stinks since it continues to lurk in a corner of the interweb waiting to shock an unsuspecting surfer with the shear magnitude of its stinkiness. Thinking it could not possibly be that bad? Well, the name was partially in Latin. I hate Latin. Latin is used by those that want to make something mundane they are writing about sound important. It is also useful for when you want to say something without actually communicating anything to the average Joe. It is like a Little Orphan Annie decoder pin for lawyers and doctors. So, using that blog was not an option.

After rejecting countless other potential names, I stumbled across a poem a longtime friend stated was referenced by “the great philosopher Jimmy Buffett.” Known by some as the Vagabond Poet, Don Blanding describes the struggle between a “Restless Me” and a “Quiet Me” in his poem The Double Life, noting “How very simple life would be If only there were two of me.” That poem captures many of the feelings we encountered while deciding to hit the road. In it, Blanding refers to “A Searching One to find his fill…Of varied skies and newfound thrill.” Perfect, thanks Don!

“The Double Life” — By Don Blanding (1894-1957)

How very simple life would be
If only there were two of me
A Restless Me to drift and roam
A Quiet Me to stay at home.
A Searching One to find his fill
Of varied skies and newfound thrill
While sane and homely things are done
By the domestic Other One.

And that’s just where the trouble lies;
There is a Restless Me that cries
For chancy risks and changing scene,
For arctic blue and tropic green,
For deserts with their mystic spell,
For lusty fun and raising Hell,

But shackled to that Restless Me
My Other Self rebelliously
Resists the frantic urge to move.
It seeks the old familiar groove
That habits make. It finds content
With hearth and home — dear prisonment,
With candlelight and well-loved books
And treasured loot in dusty nooks,

With puttering and garden things
And dreaming while a cricket sings
And all the while the Restless One
Insists on more exciting fun,
It wants to go with every tide,
No matter where…just for the ride.
Like yowling cats the two selves brawl
Until I have no peace at all.

One eye turns to the forward track,
The other eye looks sadly back.
I’m getting wall-eyed from the strain,
(It’s tough to have an idle brain)
But One says “Stay” and One says “Go”
And One says “Yes,” and One says “No,”
And One Self wants a home and wife
And One Self craves the drifter’s life.

The Restless Fellow always wins
I wish my folks had made me twins.