It's scary to put your thoughts out there, in writing, open for the world to read, to judge. That's what I assume will happen anyway, because that is what I do. But I write to process. To make sense of things that happen in life. My facebook friends are privy to random two liners that I invent every so often to summarize a thought for the moment. It's mostly just my way of conceptualizing pep talks that I give myself on a daily basis. Anyway, here I am trying to make sense for myself, of some of the bigger life questions that I think rattle around in lots of our brains.
I recently moved to Washougal WA. I never thought I would live next to the paper mill that looms over Camas. Vivid memories from my childhood of driving on hwy 14, heading east, plugging my nose while my father drove our family past the "smelly mill," emerge. And that was really my only frame of reference for this community east of Vancouver. But I have discovered, upon moving here, that by being closer to the source of smell, I go about my daily business without so much as a second thought to the silent giant factory that puffs it's smoke signals above this riverside community. Maybe it's that idea of keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer. I don't know.
Our little living community backs up to the Washougal River. That is the real reason for moving here. Oh the river. A strong source of inspiration for many a writer I think. And to achieve this advantageous position, Ben and I decided to give trailer life a try. Thirty-Seven feet can hold a lot of life. It can hold a kitchen with plenty of pots and pans to make some damn good cookin. It can hold space for a 4 year hold to sleep safe and warm. It also provides just enough room for me to stomp off to the opposite end of the trailer when I need space. I can pull the sliding bathroom door closed, and enjoy the master suite all to myself. And it only takes me three steps from the front entrance to make all this happen. The snow storm in February only made this particular aspect of our palace much more pronounced and utilized. Beautiful.
Our trailer is 37 feet of pine needles tracked in from our personal forest just outside the front door; little girl princess dress-up clothes and dolls strewn about in only the most organized fashion that a young individual can provide; very scholarly bits and scraps of papers and academic books from "professional" educations that invade our life; piles of dirty dishes that spill over the sink and start to creep toward the bedroom. You know, that kinda stuff. But in the midst of it all, I love the space. Our little space. It is a living lesson, a visual reminder of simplicity and how it can grow happiness.