I’m writing from bed in a house. It’s a very nice, comfy Red House; spa-like even. But like most houses; it’s too damn big.
Want a vitamin? Walk 45 steps to the bathroom in the basement, turning on the lights all the way there, (because I’m night blind and there aren’t any windows). Open the cabinet, get the vitey, turn around and go back to the computer. Thirteen of those steps are stairs, each way.
In Baby Blue, I lean forward from bed, open the cupboard and take a vitamin.
Easy peasy.
Of course, I don’t get those extra 90 steps on my pedometer, while I’m making sure I get my recommended 20,000 steps in a day. Or whatever my goal used to be.
I don’t count steps I take on the beach, walking through the woods looking for mushrooms and wildlife, or the bicycle rides I actually take when I’m traveling. Pretty sure I donated the pedometer.
I’m also not paying for a gym membership where I can ride elliptical & exercise bikes while I watch TV. Where I get to go nowhere, for money, on a treadmill.
But hey, I still lost the extra pounds. Even if I didn’t lose the extra dollars.
I did buy a small TV screen for nighttime entertainment. Now, I think maybe I should go into writing screenplays, because there sure aren’t enough good movies I haven’t yet seen on Netflix.
Random creative thoughts ~ Happen. All. The. Time. Now.
It no longer matters if I’m in a big house or a tiny trailer. They find me.
While we are here in northern Michigan, there are some large benefits to staying in the Red House.
There’s lots of places to spread all my stuff out. All the dishes, paints & cleansers, office paper, pots & pans, knick-knacks, artworks, hardware, appliances, tools, and small furniture. Everything I held onto, just in case I didn’t want to keep journeying after a winter.
It’s like free shopping.
But there’s very little I want, much less need. I’m left with the task of carrying 99.9% out to the garage for the upcoming sale.
Again.
I’m ignoring the bins waiting to be carried to the garage, for now. Even though they do look like a laughing pile of stupidity.
Today, I’m shopping through the 1000 plus pounds of stones I also left behind.
Yeah, because rocks are cool. Half a ton cool.
But heavy.
Shasta Compact and heavy don’t play nice together.
Once again, it all comes down to rocks.
I used to keep them in my sinks, baskets, dishes, buckets, and scattered about my yard. Where do they belong now?
Only a crazy person would rent a storage unit for rocks. Unless it had a really good security system. Because leaving them in a pile would surely attract rockhounds. I should know.
SolAndStone didn’t happen overnight. I’m a serious rockhound. There, I said it.
I know I can’t take them all with me when I leave Michigan. But I NEED them.
(Clerks in southern rock shops can confirm my addiction.)
Though, I’m sure you will be surprised to hear, I only picked up ONE rock in the wild during my journey.
(Purchased stones and seashells don’t count. Especially if it’s less than 10 pounds. Not even a smidgen.)
Smart tiny collecting.
No back strain.
Dat’s good.
My aching bones do like it when I soak, and have my morning coffee in the outdoor hot tub here. (When I’m on the road, the thing I still miss most, is relaxing in a hot bath.)
Nestled in the hot bubbles, while snowflakes dab refreshment on my face, I watch the birds sneak in for seed at the feeders. They chatter about the cats sitting inside the picture window, watching them, and me.
My cat likes it when I wave to her from the tub. Even though she looks at me confused, because she can’t hear what I’m saying. Eventually, she goes off to be a cat, playing hide & seek with her new cat friends.
My travel cat; my summer cat; and her two roomies, Pickles & Noodles.
Coming to the big red house is kind of like a spa vacation. For all of us.
A time for clearing, pampering our bodies, and creating for our future.
A future which certainly includes real hot springs; a big check mark waiting to happen on my bucket list.
I’ll get there.
After I find a place to hide my rocks.
OOOOooooo…the hot tub.
