Cozy

I've always had a kind of fantasy about living in a tiny, portable house. I love to browse the floor plans at Tumbleweed Houses; unfortunately, many of the houses there have a sleeping loft, accessible via a ladder. Yeah, that's not going to happen at this point in my life.  And yes, I know some of the bigger models do have stairs, but they aren't portable.

I also think this house is amazing. The sleeping issue is resolved, but it is very much a one person dwelling. Since I'm really planning on retiring with Jeff, this isn't an option.

Then I saw this one, and wow!  Talk about gorgeous!  All that wood, and those windows!  That's really a dream house.

Obviously, any of these small floor plans aren't even remotely feasible while the girls are living with us. It's more of a retirement dream. Actually, the perfect dream would be to have a small house in Michigan for spring, summer, and fall, and tiny house someplace warm for the winter. Dream, remember?

I heard on the news that the average size of the American home has doubled since the 50's, from about 1200 to 2500 square feet. There's a professor in Houston that is living in a (santized) dumpster for the next year for the ultimate living with less experiment.  When I heard that, my first thought was, "He obviously doesn't have kids."

The funny thing is, we actually are talking about moving. When we look on Zillow, all the nicer houses in the areas we like are not only expensive, they're generally at least 500 square feet bigger than what we have now.  Older, smaller houses with smaller windows and smaller kitchens aren't as appealing.

I've also realized that the reality of a tiny house would be very hard. No room for big sewing projects. No room for my stand mixer or half my pots & pans. Not a lot of room for books or even photo albums (I have MANY of both!).  The thought of paring down to the barest of essentials has it's appeal, but I'm not sure how well I would do.

More Books

I finished Cloud Atlas, and in the end, I did enjoy the matroyska analogy and how all the stories fit together, but it's still not enough to make it a permanent addition. Also, being hit over the head with how badly vulnerable people are treated was a downer.  

Next up was Eat, Pray, Love. I didn't know anything about it other than that it was an Oprah book club pick, and I was a little leery of all the accolades. I admit that I had it in my mind that it would be self-indulgent and pretentious.  I was right about the self-indulgent (but really, that could be said for any memoir), but it's definitely not pretentious.  And some of it was interesting, especially the parts set in India. But I couldn't get past my dislike for the narrator personally.  She just seemed to enjoy being a flake. I get self-deprecation, but this is another one that isn't going to get onto the bookshelf.

Right now, I'm reading Eighty Days, which is the story of Nellie Bly's race around the world. I discovered Nellie Bly when I was about 12, and she fascinated me. The idea of this crusader going undercover to expose wrongdoing was very appealing to me (her first New York assignment was to get herself committed to an insane asylum). What I didn't know (or maybe forgot) was that another young female reporter left New York at the same time, going West instead of East, also trying to beat the world record.  I haven't finished it yet, but I'm enjoying it. It's not a novel, and a bit slow at times, but it is interesting.