W G Warren
Book and Profile
Humour and Biography
Nobody's Nomad
We all have a story. This is our story. A delightful, humorous, yet occasionally dispirited comparative of then and now that explores life after a devastating loss of income – and our home. Witness ‘Providence in Action’ as my wife, Cynthia, and I traverse the roads to acceptance and peace . . . and unravel the significance contained in the nine profound words to weather a foreclosure.
Profile
A spiritual medium informed me that all I had to do was to survive my first fifty years. Then my life would begin. I never understood the significance of those prophetic words until I lost it all.
The first fifty years were those of acquiring: wealth, material things, status, hubris and perhaps a wee bit of arrogance. Missing from that equation was compassion, spiritual knowledge and most importantly, wisdom.
Shortly after graduating from high school and the streets of Newburgh, New York, the greatest education in the world, I enlisted in the USAF – four long years. Soldier-boy was not my calling. Greener pastures beckoned. California, here I come.
I found utopia in God’s greatest gifts of creation and in man’s talented gift with his hands. Tin would be my new credo. I became a car-guy. While working at a Ferrari dealership in Los Gatos, California, I amassed a modest car collection over the years, mostly of ‘50’s vintage.
Angered and depressed by my pretentious behavior, I sold my home and the collection, retiring at the ripe old age of forty-eight and investing the funds in real estate. Eventually I moved to Charleston, South Carolina and married my mail lady, a green-eyed blonde California girl in every sense of the word.
We lived happily ever since, or so we thought. I purchased a thirty-foot 1950 Spartanette travel trailer as our toy of choice, had it professionally restored and trekked the countryside. Life was good.
Following a number of years in Charleston, one of the planet’s most beautiful cities, Cynthia and I bought our dream home, an eight acre horse farm in western North Carolina at the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
We lost it. We literally “lost the farm”, home, retirement income and all. Mercifully, we had our travel trailer. Otherwise a cardboard box might have been our future home. Greed. Other peoples’ greed brought us down along with millions of other innocent and unsuspecting “victims”. Fortunately we located a space at the Foothills Family Campgrounds in Forest City, North Carolina, and settled into our Spartanette only ten miles from our lost farm.
It is there that I discovered humanity, morality and human kindness. It is there that I discovered writing . . . all in 200 square feet encapsulated in aluminum. Providence is working its magic in my life.