Zebras have long been a theme in our life together. Years ago, we dreamed up a comic strip which featured a zebra named “Spot.” We were going to call it “Savannaland” and it would be a combination of Disneyland, Dilbertj and the Far Side.

Spot, the main character was based upon a photograph in National Geographic of a zebra with a spot between two of its stripes. The premise was that Savannaland was engineered to create the illusion of reality.

The animals clocked in every day in an underground tunnel. Their job was to provide a Safari-like experience for human tourists who were carted around in land rovers just out of sight of the inner workings of the theme park. Spot was one of the operations guys who worked alongside make up artists, cafeteria workers and actors to create a lifelike Savanna.

And then there’s the zebra picture. For as long as we’ve been together, we’ve hung a painting of two galloping zebras on the wall inside our back door. In the picture, the zebras are running away as fast as they can. They hang by the door to remind us not to hesitate when it’s time to leave.

It’s hard to say where we’ll hang our zebra picture after we move this time. We think this may be our last move. For one thing, we’ve grown very attached to the people in our new neighborhood. We work together, eat together and play together. For another, we’re in our fifties now and this will be our fourteenth move since we got together seventeen years ago. In fact, I’m able to remember more than forty homes going back to when I was two.

We plan on naming our new yard art “Spot” and putting him out to graze the front yard beside the pampas grass. He isn’t pretending or running like those other zebras in our life. He stands head up, with all four feet firmly rooted on the ground. This zebra stops here, proof that we’ve finally found our perfect spot.

This piece of cheap art has always graced our front doorway. It is a reminder that when we get the impulse to run, we should act on it.

I’m sure you can tell by the direction this blog has taken that we have been getting itchy feet. When you are out of step with nearly everyone around you, it is time to move on.

For the past 5 years, Bob and I have been trying to live in a culture that is so oil-dependant that the current regime saw fit to go to war over it. Our food is grown with it, most of the products we encounter on a daily basis are made from it, the streets are paved in it, and the landfills are choked with it. Walking is a thing of the past. So we are packing up and leaving the country.

With another nasty presidential election looming on our horizon, we made the decision to bail out. Within 10 days we solicited and received an offer for employment outside the United States. In about 6 weeks we will assume the roles of managers at Casa Iguana on 740-acre Little Corn Island off the mosquito coast of Nicaragua.

On Little Corn Island, there are no automobiles, Wal-Marts, jet skis and if we are lucky, no weed whackers or leaf blowers. Things arrive via small boat and make their way around the island via wheelbarrow.

What we have seen of the industrialized, oil-driven culture is that it is a killer. It is responsible for the widening gap between the haves and the have-nots, the hole in our atmosphere, disease, a feeling of dog-eat-dog isolation and the corresponding rise in mental illness, drug abuse, corporate crime, despair and destruction.

“The Iraqis possess the ultimate weapon of mass destruction and that is oil.” – Camille Armantrout