So Where Do You Live?

So, I left my homey little campsite in Folkston and drove up highway 15 to big brother's house.  Unfortunately he has no place for me to set up so Seeker sat in front of the house for a week.  It was great to spend some time with Mike and Linda.  I always enjoy my time there.  Mike even took me geocaching one day at 2 state parks not far from the house.  Each one was a short hike in the woods.  The next day he complained I had made his calves hurt.  I just laughed and reminded him that he was getting old.  In fact, we had his 65th birthday party while I was there.  I met several of his friends and found out that many of them read this blog.  One lady asked me where I was going next.

"Tennessee," I replied, "then on to Kentucky and Indiana, back through Tennessee and a short pass through north Alabama on my way back to Georgia."

"But where do you live?," she asked again.

"Where I'm parked," I answered with a smile.

"But don't you have a house?"

"Yes, but I don't live in it.  I live in my motorhome.  It's a home with a motor and wheels under it."  I thought this would explain it, but she still looked puzzled.  Some folks have only one definition of a home, and it includes bricks and mortor.  I have happily traded in my bricks and mortor for wheels and a motor. 

So where do I live?  This week in Tennessee.  Next week?  Kentucky.  The next week?  Indiana?  And after that?  Georgia.  And after that?  I don't know for sure yet.  Perhaps my brothers were telling the truth when they said I was a baby left on the doorstep by gypsies!