Day 6 of my challenge to myself to write something on my blog every day for a month and make writing my GOOD HABIT.
For your listening pleasure: the phenomenal Barbara Dickson singing ‘Caravans,’ written by Mike Batt (yes, he wrote all the Wombles songs as well!)
I think it’s becoming quite a joke around this house. I get this excited look on my face and Lainey knows immediately that it’s something to do with tiny houses.
Among the weird things that go through my mind occasionally, (like; “I wonder if I could build a tiny straw-bale house on wheels?” and “Wouldn’t it be fabulous to build a whole tiny house community like Bekonscot that looks like a miniature town?” etc., ) I’ve been wondering lately why on earth this craving to build a tiny house – stationary, on wheels, or both – has taken such a fierce hold on me.
I sure I haven’t plumbed the depths yet of why this should be so; some of it may be way more complex than my first thoughts on the subject. And, believe me – if there’s a way to make something more complex in my imagination – I’m your girl!
Ancient history: I grew up in a caravan (‘trailer’ for my US friends). It was seven and a half feet wide and about thirty feet in length; around 225 square feet.
For a family of five!
We lived in it until I was twelve and we emigrated to South Africa, (I promise you more on that in a different post – I know none of you have all day to read this!).
We had so little ‘stuff’ that I believe I still find it odd to be swimming in ‘stuff.’ We only took a few tea chests full of ‘stuff’ with us. I think I learned what really had value in my life when the box that contained my few precious books never turned up.
We eventually moved back to England, I got married and had two wonderful girls, and then we moved to California. Bringing a whole bunch of stuff with us – I’m pretty certain my ex-husband still has unopened boxes in his house – and rapidly acquiring more.
We moved to Colorado, got divorced, and – thanks to a series of unfortunate events which I brought upon myself – I lost my home and just about everything I owned. Still got my car, but it’s getting old. Like me. 😀
Every important piece of ‘stuff’ I now possess fits in my car.
I’m telling you all this because I feel as though my life has gone almost full circle. When I grew up, I had my books, I had paper and pencils, I drew little people and cut them out and made up stories with them, and I wrote. I read and wrote and drew every day.
I remember going on walks with my dad to pick mushrooms, sitting outside with him in the starlight that only a place totally devoid of streetlamps could show off to its full advantage, and learning about the constellations. I remember getting to pick a brand new dress for my birthday; I remember the feel of the fabric.
And I felt RICH.
Now I have gone back in time. I have started my second childhood and the smell of wet grass as I sat in my fort made of sheets in the garden comes back to me as if I’m there. Where the universe is still vast and exciting and I can see it all. If I make the right choices.
That’s WHY. Simple, really, wasn’t it? 😀
P.S. I just succeeded in re-buying the last of the books I loved in my childhood. God bless Amazon!