| 9:42 a.m. on a Sunday morning. It’s cool before the sun dials it up, bound for the 90s. Last night I sat out with my guitar, playing to the gnomes, the blackberry wine-scented brambles and a pair of dragonflies who appeared to fancy my rendition of Bobby McGee: twilight of my last Smidgeon Saturday. It has been a good run. Approaching Stacey’s return (August 18th, to be exact), I spent the better part of July hunched over craigslist housing ads, pondering my ideal scenario, short of landing another tiny lease. House or apartment? Roommates or solo? Location/neighborhood? Price range? In the midst of it, I managed to break away to the July tiny house mixer hosted by Portland Alternative Dwellings at Salvage Works in North PDX, where the reclaimed and reincorporated blur rubbish/treasure boundaries with surprising style--case in point: baby doll head planters. And if re-purposed baby dolls aren’t your thing, they also have nearly impossible to find reclaimed building materials, farm implements, crates, license plates, parts and pieces of history ready to lend your building/decorating project character and depth. They’ve done a fantastic job of designing the space for ample inspiration—a definite must see! Now, on to the big event! |
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| The same week I found my housemates, I stumbled across a brand new, nearly finished tiny parked in a driveway along my pedi-commute to the office. Like the tiny connections around nearly every Portland corner, I was giddy at the discovery. I wasn't, however, expecting the watery-eyed pang of homesickness for my own wee house, still for sale on Whidbey... It makes sense, I suppose, teetering on the cusp of a big-house up-sizing... Of the seven years with my house, I spent more time building (five, at least) than I did in actual residence. Building, too, was a kind of inhabiting—getting into the guts, holding every piece of her in my hands, hardly noticing that what was being built was bigger than both of us. I am thrilled to be in Portland, at the Tiny epi-center. There is a palpable sense here that the frayed legal bonds on the movement are about to snap. It was the little house that brought me to this place. Ironically (or perfectly), it has become the thing I most need to let go. I’m ready. I have only one final wish: a buyer/new owner who will love her. That is all. May it be so. |
Meanwhile, I'm exploring new PDX possibilities in and around my temp tiny digs. Finally made it out to Tango Berretίn--a fabulous venue full of potential new 'family.' I've become fond of the friendly crew at my mid-commute ritual, Rain or Shine Coffee. Back in Stacey’s excellently appointed kitchen, I improvise a batch of cucumber blackberry basil relish (check my Vittles page for the recipe) with cukes gifted by my new housemate and berries from just off Smidgeon's stoop. I scoop a generous dollop with my favorite Raincoast Crisps cracker and attempt to squint into the future. It glitters amorphously in the distance... Tomorrow’s my weekly check-in with realtor/friend, Daniel Goldsmith. His last report: the little house continues to garner attention… a call about every other day. Daniel remains optimistic. I tally the miracles of the last two months and the artful comforts of my temporary tiny sanctum. Yeah, I think to myself, me too. | |