This question has always fascinated me -- and it, inevitably, comes up after I read about an earthquake, a fire, a flood, a tornado: If your house was burning, what would you take with you? I just discovered a great website that asks people to answer that very question with a list, and a photo. Check out The Burning House. And then really think about it: What would you take?
Trying not to feel blue because it's raining. Trying to keep in mind Christie's wise words about being present. And trying not to run out and buy blue paint. (Love this ocean blue panel -- and the hooks, and the table and chairs, and the lamp, by the way.)
All I can tell you is that I, personally, as an individual, was deeply unsatisfied with the way things were. I spent far too much of my time dusting my crap, arranging my crap, painting my crap, finding more crap I needed to go with my other crap, and suffering under the illusion that I would feel fulfilled and satisfied and happy just as soon as my life looked like something out of a Pottery Barn catalog and I were wearing the right pair of ballet flats and the most whimsical brooch.
Loving Michelle de la Vega's use of wine crates as drawers. (More info in this article in the New York Times -- and she was also featured in the article in More magazine.) If I got some with lids to use instead of open baskets, they'd keep the dust and yellow lab hair out. But it might just make me crazy to always have to take the lids off to access things.
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
Recently I've been reading a lot about simplicity and minimalism -- I wouldn't have thought I could learn anything new, but I have, and it's great to read things written by people with a similar philosophy. If you're so inclined, venture forth and read:
The owner of the Mad Max, a Cruise-a-Home on Seattle's Lake Union, also rents out the Cream Cheese, another Cruise-a-Home. She says, " I decided to make the Cream Cheese available to give people the opportunity to try living on the water to decide if it is a lifestyle they enjoy." Click here for more pics and info.
August 17, 2008: I leave early in the morning and drive to Bethel Island, where I see a Holiday Mansion Barracuda for a bit less than the Gibson. J is showing his wife's boat; she lived on it in Half Moon Bay for six months before meeting him. The photos on Craigslist made it look great, and I like the white walls, but it's also filthy, the linoleum needs to be replaced, and the lights and hinges are rusty. All fixable, I know, but I'm creeped out by the fact that the bedroom and the loo are downstairs -- besides being not easy for Lily to maneuver, the bedroom's dark and low-ceilinged, and I wonder how you'd get out quickly in case of an emergency. I feel like I need to take a shower after I leave.
I drive around looking for a Delta Clipper on sale for almost nothing. When I see it, just from the outside, I realize that if it's that cheap, it must need an incredible amount of work -- even more than the Cruise-a-Home. I hate to be a flake but I don't call the owner back.
To enter the giveaway for this unframed 8x10 print of a digital collage, just leave a comment below (one per person, please), by 12:00 noon Pacific Time on Friday, 20 May. A winner will be chosen at random. And oh yeah, entrants must be 18 years old and reside in the U.S. Good luck!
I love seeing what other people have done to their Cruise-a-Homes -- just check out the ceiling on the Mad Max. And hey, if you live in Seattle and want to try out houseboat life, it's for rent. Click here for more pics and info.
When I first moved aboard, I was shown a couple of empty slips. I chose one just a few steps away from a ramp up to the parking lot because it was quick and easy to get Lily out and about to do her stuff, and to get her to the car. Today, however, they started sanding and re-painting the ramp. This means that, for a few days, Lil will have to make a much longer trek to the other end of our dock. Should be interesting, to say the least.
My resin adirondack chairs are great. They were cheap, are light and portable (important so I can move them to get into the engine compartment underneath the deck), and are comfortable -- but this spring's winds have meant that they're living atop one another so they don't blow all over the deck. Aargh.