My friend Brett had a t-shirt made for me a few weeks ago, which I picked up at General Delivery, Borrego Springs CA. It has a stick-figure drawing of a person at a computer and the slogan, “Time to make the blog”. That’s me every night. I’m like the Dunkin’ Donuts guy who has to get up at 4 a.m. to make the doughnuts, every day.

(I like “making the blog” but it is a chore many times and there are a lot of times I wish I could just go to bed and forget about it. But you, the dedicated reader, make it all worthwhile.)

However, the t-shirt joins an alarmingly fast-growing pile of t-shirts which I have been given in the course of this trip. I now have an entire tub full of nothing but t-shirts beneath the bed. Every single one is a great memory — the initiation ceremony with the Dixie Campers, the weekend at Ft Wilderness with Trailerworks, visiting the Airstream factory, etc. But my limited wardrobe space means that the heap must be culled down periodically.

Perhaps this is the true reason we need to buy a house. I could decorate the den with framed shirts commemorating stops on our trip. Forget the “home base” discussion, and school for Emma — we just need a hangar for all the souvenirs we’ve accumulated!

Of course, the shirts are only one example. We’ve also managed to collect a rather substantial pile of rocks, and amazingly, fish sculptures. We never set out to collect sculptures of fish, and yet we have three so far: two of glass and one of pink gypsum. All have been spontaneously given to Emma, and all of them are substantially heavy. Needless to say I never expected fish sculptures to be one of the major outcomes of traveling full-time for 18 months, but here they are.

As I’ve mentioned, we periodically off-load excess items to our storage unit in Vermont. The problem is that some day we’ll come back to that storage unit and have to deal, somehow, with all the souvenirs. When I think about getting a house, I think about that storage unit and the many mysteries contained within it, and I have an involuntary shudder. There are boxes in there that we still do not fully comprehend, secrets of our former life that we have long since forgotten. It’s like an ancient Egyptian tomb filled with artifacts for the afterlife, except we have to deal with them while we’re still alive.

I can see what might happen. We’ll find a house here in the southwest, and call for all the stuff in storage to be put on a moving truck. Thousands of miles and thousands of dollars later, the truck will drop off a hundred cardboard boxes, and we’ll sort through them, only to find 572 assorted t-shirts, 200 pounds of rocks, and three fish sculptures. It will make for an interesting decorating theme.