Wednesday, October 20, 2010

My Mom's a Hobo

Twice yesterday I was called a "hobo" by two of my daughters.  They did this separately, independently, each without knowledge of the other. 

I need your help here -- let me plead my case!

Sara-Grace called me a hobo for picking up acorns.  Observe:  Exhibit A. 

Aren't they beautiful?  And FREE!

Later, Tessa called me a hobo because I had a hole in my sock and my toe was sticking out.  Observe:  Exhibit B.

I didn't KNOW I had a hole in my sock when I put it on.  I discovered the hole later in the day.  I can sew it closed and it will be just like new (almost). Actually, I was pretty proud that I had socks and that they matched both each other AND my outfit!  That's a pretty high class acccomplishment, isn't it?

So I ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury:  I dumpster dive, I curb shop, I have SO MUCH FUN with my freesourcefull project -- do I really qualify as a hobo?  And, if so, is hobo status really all that bad?  Perhaps I should just be proud to be a card-carrying hobo!

Hmmm... I'd better be careful -- this could inspire a collection!  Bandana/stick packs perhaps?  Or maybe tacky hobo and clown paintings?  I've got it:  TRAMP ART!  No, actually, tramp art (usually picture frames and trinket boxes made from intricately cut and pieced wooden cigar boxes) is massively expensive.  Maybe I'll just stick with acorns!


  1. Hobos are wonderful and brilliant, one of America's true great contributions to world culture. They are the perfect combination of Zen and Tao, to be imitated rather than ridiculed or feared. I only wish I had the courage to be a hobo.

    Just sing a happy chorus of "Big Rock Candy Mountain" and say "thank you, dear":

  2. Wow! "The perfect combination of Zen and Tao"! I aspire to be that!

  3. It is a good concept. The down side, though, is you have to either be ten, and easily confused with the number, or zao, which is kind of weird.