7:00 a.m. Friday in the tiny house: a frosty morning contemplating the solidity of water. Last night’s footprints etched in crystal fuzz to the front step. Every leaf, frond, fencepost, wall and wire whitened under the moon. A spider web spanning the window bears vestigial flocking, and even the sun’s fingers cool in the grass.
In anticipation of the freeze, I had drained the water lines after dinner. Even so, I procrastinate my open air shower this morning, though the water will be hot and I’ll feel warmer afterward than I do peering out the window. Breakfast first, I decide, and pour myself a hot cup of tea, add a dollop of cream, watch it swirl, before nestling the hot cup into the nook under my ribs. Heat emanates. Sun’s up. The world begins to glisten and drip.
In anticipation of the freeze, I had drained the water lines after dinner. Even so, I procrastinate my open air shower this morning, though the water will be hot and I’ll feel warmer afterward than I do peering out the window. Breakfast first, I decide, and pour myself a hot cup of tea, add a dollop of cream, watch it swirl, before nestling the hot cup into the nook under my ribs. Heat emanates. Sun’s up. The world begins to glisten and drip.
| I know nothing of the ancient art of reading tea leaves. If I did, perhaps they would have imparted in a steamy whisper all of the secret places of water: where it hides, pools, solidifies in the lines, quick-disconnect fittings or camp shower units. Then again, this divinatory deficiency allowed me to leisurely sip my tea while admiring the frostscape before slipping into my bathrobe, shuffling out to the bath house, and the rude epiphany of the still frozen shower head… In the chaos that ensued, I managed to yank my clothes back on, snatch up some toiletries and dash to a friend’s shower before the ferry line to my off-Island doctor’s appointment (made by the skin of my teeth). By the time I returned home in commuter traffic, my lines would re-freeze and aqua-logistics would tumble from the ice dispenser into Saturday, where we’ve arrived. And, yes, I did resolve the problem. I think. The quick-disconnects I installed hoping to easily drain the lines in the event of a freeze, actually block the flow of water from the lines when disengaged--gmph! I will revisit the original plan of unscrewing the whole fitting each night. The forecast for the evening promises another test. Fyi: potential tiny house purchasers, please note that my ice-capades could be averted with installation of a heated hose, not presently in my electrical allotment or financial budget. And now, back to our regularly scheduled program... | |
Editing tiny art shop pics The remainder of Saturday was spent in culmination of a creative endeavor. In the last weeks, I have blogged about excavating my trove of stowed tools and materials and resuming a lost art. Curiously, the more I exhumed--the sketched and stuffed, the fabricated and forgotten, the designed and consigned to oblivion—and allowed myself to finish or ruin, resolve technical blocks, redesign, create I was surprised to find that I had plenty of materials and skills with which to work and play after what I had remembered as long periods of artistic famine. I even had inventory—remnants of past creative flurries stymied in overwhelm, faltering confidence and distraction (oh... look at that shiny object over there...) in spite of intermittent sales. Perhaps it was inevitable that the scattered and comparatively tiny bursts would explode into the comparatively elephantine manifestation of a tiny house-on-wheels. What’s more, the elephant’s memory held fast, led me back to little things, not so much forgotten as awaiting further instruction. I returned years later with fortified skill and a greater sense of possibility. So, it is with great pleasure to announce, just in time for the holidays...
Now Open for Business!
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Pictures and a link to my new Etsy shop can be found on my Tiny Art Shop page. Currently featuring 'thumbtacky' art for your posting pleasure as well as one-of-a-kind, jewelry, mostly made in the tiny house. I specialize in handcrafted,' funktional' and wearable works. Feel free to peruse, ponder, share, tweet, purchase, dream.
Thanks for shopping by (window- or otherwise)!
Thanks for shopping by (window- or otherwise)!
Now, it’s 8:35 a.m. Sunday in the tiny house. I drain my last sip of rooibos from my favorite bee mug, swirl the encryption of leaves at the bottom. Where do I go from here? For starters, to fill my first Aartvark order that rolled in last night shortly after the roll-out. The rest is a mystery, a grand adventure for which I'm thankful.
Happy Thanksgiving! See you soon!
Happy Thanksgiving! See you soon!
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