Yesterday I wrote about Bobby, poor, poor Bobby and how I didn't quite know what to do with him/her. I got to thinking about myself and what my fate might be.
I don't really know if Bobby is native to the Pacific Northwest, or if s/he is a transplant from, 'heaven knows where', and as Rhett said to Scarlett, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." I like the fact s/he likes to hang out with us during the winter months. S/he does not eat us out of house and home, does not hog the remote control, is not loud and obnoxious, and pretty much stays to him/herself. But, I digress, this is definitely not thinking about myself.
It has occurred to me I'm not a native of the Pacific Northwest either. And, since I'm not, should I be punished, sprayed with some kind of liquid formula that would do away with me in a quick, humane, painless manner? I certainly hope not. And what about my children who are not native Northwesters either? Should they be obliterated as well? I don't think so.
To start I was a Pennsylvanian...born and raised. Then I got that proverbial 'bee in my bonnet' and I moved all..........the..........way .........across.........America.......and transplanted my tootsies in the desert-y soil of the beautiful State of California quickly and easily becoming a Californian. I loved living there. Yeah, I was a transplant but so were thousands of others during the '60s, and nobody seemed to care because we all contributed the the economic boom of the times. We were a melting pot from around the country, we all had strange accents, quirky idiosyncrasies, and learned to eat ethnic foods. Till then I had no idea what a refried bean, burrito, fried rice and egg drop soup was. However, I did not forget my roots and viewed myself as a Pennacalian.
T'was all good, all good.
Then, all of a sudden I was transplanted again, this time northward. Crossing the border from California into Oregon should have presented some kind of climate shock, but it didn't because it felt as though I had returned to Pennsylvania, even though I was 3,000 miles away. Eventually dry, sunny California almost became a dream, did I ever live there?
I immediately realized I had to 'fit in', whereas California had accepted everybody, Oregon didn't take kindly to 'strangers'...its attitude at the time was "come visit...but don't intend to stay". In other words, leave you roots behind and try not to mention them again and for heaven's sake...fit in, fit in. It didn't take long to realize Oregonians were...were...hmmm, how can I put this. Oregonians were, 'er are...a rare breed of folk. And, that's all I have to say about that. Eventually I realized I had become one of 'them' eccentric to the marrow of my bones. We prefer organic grown everything, fruits, vegetable, meats, fish and fowl. We shun umbrellas, ride bicycles, use public transportation and truly enjoy the great outdoors, even in the most foul weather .
Still, in honesty, I could not fully forget from where I'd come. Living in Pennsylvania and California had made me a Pennacalian. And, since I have moved to the Pacific Northwest I have to confess I'm no longer a Pennacalian, but have become a Pennacaligonian. So, whatever makes Bobby Bobby, whether native or alien, he is still Bobby, a Shield/Stink Bug and family. And, we are very much alike s/he and I, our vagabond DNA binds us together. It's not a bad life life we have regardless where we're from and as long as we don't get sprayed with some kind of liquid formula designed to do away with us in a quick, humane and painless manner I think we're here to stay.
By the way, what would you be if you took the time to figure out where you've been, and where you are going?
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