Sand In My Toes

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I look at this image and my mind jumps to possibilities of what’s beyond that fog. My daydreams take hold….

The Stairs

I think of a beautiful beach with blue gray water, and a storm off in the distance complete with lightning and dark ominous clouds. Closer to me are seagulls picking at the waves as they fly along the surface of the water. It’s serene, peaceful and wholesome. My mind can be quiet in this place and I can observe what is before me without distraction of thought.

When I allow my mind to finally wander, I think of times past in this place, times I want to spend in the future in this place, and that maybe – just maybe…this is where I belong. I imagine waking up with my tiny shack windows open, letting in the scent of the salt water and the beach, it’s invigorating. The bit of sound of the city that can be heard over the ocean is muffled, and sounds far away.

In my mind I walk down these steps and into that fog and onto the beach, barefoot, I feel the sand beneath my toes and remember a time when that felt strange, and I worried about tracking dirt around my little shack. I chuckle at myself as I meander down the beach closer to the water, so that I can walk in the waves..there’s nothing quite like warm ocean water on your toes first thing in the morning. Makes coffee seem like a sad way to awaken the mind. Walking until my legs no longer feel sleepy and my mind is moving quickly, I turn back to go back to my little cabin to get some work done.

Tracking dirt into my little shack I sit at my desk and power up my computer for work. My daily work attire is now a tank top and shorts, I rarely wear shoes, only for driving any more and those are flip flops. Losing myself for several hours in the stimulating world that pays me to live this dream, I create and check off several to do lists for several projects. Just over five hours later I’m finished for the day and can return to the serenity that is this place. I have found my home…and this beach, this sand in my toes, this is the purest I have ever felt.

“And so I’ll burn my foolish books and break my futile pen,
And seek a tranced and tranquil isle, that dreams eternally.
I’ll turn my back on all the world, I’ll bid my friends adieu;
Unto the blink I’ll leave behind what gold I have to give;
And in a jewelled solitude I’ll mould my life anew,
And nestling close to Nature’s heart, I’ll learn at last . . . to live.”

from Beachcomber by Robert William Service


Asleep at the Wheel

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I get up in the morning sometimes, scowling at my clock, stretch a typical stretch that I seem to have made part of my wake up process, it’s just automatic. My routine is simple and boring, and usually hurried because me and the snooze button have a close relationship. I sit up for about ten minutes getting used to the idea of being awake and how much I look forward to filling my days with something else, something fun. The mind of a cranky 36 year old teenager, probably. Then I get out of bed, slide on my slippers and go in the kitchen and think about making coffee… looking at the clock to gauge how much time I’ll have to drink it. Then it’s shower time, after which I stand in my closet for ten minutes trying to make a decision.

Looking at the clock intermittently to determine my level of panic and frustration at myself for not being able to make a damn decision and do the damn thing. I’ll decide on something and finally get dressed, then add the accoutrement so many know me for…check out my Instagram you’ll see. By this time, I’ve ten minutes to get to work. Then it’s work for eight hours, squeeze in a lunch to break up the day, then out at five.

Five days a week I do this, and about 48 weeks a year. Occasionally I’ll have a morning of contemplation and have a moody day to follow because I’m disgusted I haven’t done more to alleviate the annoyance of working every day for a living. I feel that I spend much time going through the motions, doing the same thing every day, no one day more remarkable than another. It’s in these days I understand the genius behind vacations. It’s something to look forward to, or remember fondly in those moments where we gaze out the window, eyes glazed over. I long to forego alarm clocks and time clocks and paychecks that I am anxious to receive. It’s maddening as well as insulting, I should be better than this!

Here again I see my tiny home dream, the plan that I’ve been formulating for over a year, the desires to downsize and take control of my life and my future and make it more about adventure and travel and fun, and so many smiles that I get serious laugh lines. Yes, I actually WANT those lines on my face. It’s a friendly wrinkle and the feature it leaves on the face is one of happiness and I want that. In due time, I will have it.

In my near future, I will be asleep at the wheel of my RV, somewhere beautiful with history I’ll soak up and adore. Not a care in the world except to explore where I am, knowing that a decade prior, asleep at the wheel meant something entirely different to me.



A Postage Stamp of a Tiny Picture

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“Do I hear chirping?” I thought, with my eyes still closed. Thinking of all the murderous ways I could cease the incessant noise, I am not a murderer of alive things so I throw off my covers and step out of bed, shrugging off the impolite alarm clocks outside in the trees. A stretch-yawn-grown-growl thing happened, as it does every morning and I started looking for my robe and shuffled it sleepily onto my shoulders, now slippers. When I step out of my bed, I look down into my tiny box, my perfect home and I smile.

Tiny Home view from loft

Being in this place, that is all mine – I don’t owe anyone anything for it, except a lot of beer to good friends – I can’t believe that my dream is real and here in my face. I carry my tired self down the steps and start my tiny pot of coffee, doing squats and push ups while I wait for the satisfaction in that first cup. I am surrounded by the beautiful things I have chosen, every item carefully thought about and placed, each minute detail thought, rethought, decided against, and then re-allowed before finally meeting it’s final home. In the tradition of naming recreational homes, I have dubbed this tiny retreat The Lone Star Stamp, as it isn’t even a map dot – but I love it.

This is a short description of how I hope to be waking up when I am 40 – upon this writing, I have big dreams of little things and hope for only one other thing to compliment my tiny dwelling, a big BIG love. (Loft view courtesy of Meg & Joe’s home)


Spilling the beans

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All summer I told you I’d write to you, and I was busy doing this, or that, or just whatever it was I was doing. I felt bad, so now I’m writing this long promised post, catching you up with me. You all I’m sure know by now that J and I aren’t together anymore, in fact it’s been over a year now that I’ve been single. It’s been an interesting ride, I’ll tell you that. I met a nice guy almost right away that I liked a lot, but as with all “rebounds” that ended, nearly as quickly as it started. On the heels of that dating experiment, I met another nice guy, this one too, I liked a lot. He was funny, sarcastic, a great smart ass and had the best short jokes I’ve ever heard. We’re still friends, but distant. Now I’ve been on my own a while, no boyfriend, a few dates here and there..

The job I was doing in Management lasted until June, when the company went corporate and did as corporations do, restructured and replaced me with a new grad, for less money and with automated systems that did the job. Oh well, my boss expected far more than she paid for and even still it was never enough. Maybe it was a culture barrier, but I gave a lot of myself to that company. Knowing now, how much of me I was giving, she did me a favor by turning me loose. Of course initially, I thought my world would crash down around me and had no clue what I would do. About this time, my partner in crime transferred to Colorado Springs, my cousin Rebecca. She had been in Colorado all of a week when this happened and I of course called her, panic stricken but with a strange sense of relief.

She talked me off the ledge and extended an offer for me to stay with her. It took a few weeks for me to decide for sure, but once I decided, I was packing and gone within about ten days. At this point in my life I had decided that Texas held no promise for me, and at the very least I owed it to myself to explore a new area. Colorado is beautiful! So the kid, the cat and I pile into the car, hitch a trailer to the back and take off, leaving Texas, family and all my other friends behind.

More tomorrow!! Share your comments!