We knew this was going to happen when we pulled into town a month ago. So much has happened in 4 weeks, the home project was just a hazy reality. Until now. I explained to the owner and the contractor about my sensitivities (there was a low level of engagement) and we reached an understanding: we would pull out before any heavy dismantling took place. Pete fired up the old beast, Bernadette and fumes flying and exhaust bellowing, our Kolea Nani was prepped for moving. Short or long haul, moving the tiny home takes a great store of energy. We were up before sunrise and finally resettled on the side yard between our friends' home and their neighbor on the opposite side of the home-to-be-moved sometime after 1 in the afternoon.
Dunnage has been sawed and stacked under the four corners of our vardo, the little steps are re-anchored, the builder's foil has been peeled off the inside of the windows and our wee home is back to its sweet comfortable self, again. Pete carried JOTS out of the warm basement to reorient our sweetie pie kitty to the vardo's new location. It's times like this when we have moved and resettled that drive the reality of our unique life home to me our dear heart. Throughout the MCS whirl that we know, this variation on a safe life is some thing else. Though others live in RV's few live in a space as small as ours. Our friend Leslie (another Leslie) is the other tiny home dwellers like us and Daisy O is building her safe haven. We are newbies, new to what it takes to incorporate the information that becomes more and more available to those of us who live with environmental illness and chemical sensitivities. There is a plethora of information and it takes time, health and support to try the solutions, wearing them to see if they 'fit', and then trying again when the body-mind-spirit shifts to be different.
Tonight's thoughts come with that spark of inspiration to be positive about the future. Seated here at Ruby's keys, warm from the heat of the Radiant Electrical Heater I have moments (fleeting as they are) of being completely mid-center and at peace. "This is exactly what I would love to be. This is exactly what I would love to be doing." There might be an observation that moving from one spot to another is less than a perfect life activity. And yet, it's that ability to move when your neighbor is doing major disruption that gives a less than 80 square home a major reason to be positive about the future.
What we do to make our life what we would love it to be involves integrating information:
- life is changeable
- others choices aren't mine to control
- my choices are mine
- getting as much information as possible helps (gather, glean, communicate)
- managing a small space is our reality
- knowing what I can do is my business
- being positive about the future is my choice
- practice, practice, practice (action, gratitude, appreciation)
There is a way of being
Beside the whirl you see
‘Tis open to the looking
For those who pause to be.
Tho smaller than the other
Make no mistake
The world you take as true
Reflects another still.
-a Maker’s Rhyme
An Archer’s sun warmed the insides of the golden wagon. A good cleaning just one rise past made for a clear view of every tiny place where Mondra tucked her unfinished winter projects. Never one to waste the glory of a wintry sun, the tinkress was out for a meandering collect of treasures when I stopped for a wee visit. The two black-eyed fish hung on her front door. The message was obvious to all her friends and not so obvious to those folk who were yet to know Mondra the Wee. I had already spent a good bit of glory raking in the last of tree fall from the neighboring oaks, lucky to have gleaned a half-hand of acorns from the greedy squirrels. So, rather than sniff her trail I pulled out my bundle of knitting and sat to wait upon my friend and basked in the late rays of the Archer’s sun. The click-clicketty-click of my needles has always been my favorite company.
The roar of automobile wheels bore the cold air, the smoke from the mill drifted south in the direction of the valley. It would be a congested sky tonight with the mix of wood burnt by the settlers and the making of paper from the mill just below Mondra’s wagon. I noted the condition and pulled at the hank of the silky yarn, blinking slowly I drew deeply of the air sorting through the emissions. Click-clicketty-click the needles moved a constant rhythm. Periwinkle silk yarn fashioned the final row of the exquisite mittens. Intricate colors woven into a pattern of oak leaf and acorns were Solstice givings. Just shy of two weeks before the promise of more light,
“Orb’s near to setting. I suspect Mondra will have her arms filled with collections.”
Where's this tale going? I'd love to include your imagination in this tale ... leave a comment if you have a bit to add to Mondra's goings-on.