Hazel has already found her favorite spot. I haven’t yet. Except with Hazel.
Today I got homesick. I’m only just a few feet away in our rental cottage, but I was sitting in my old office after the construction guys left. It was so peaceful and quiet and my comfy office chair fit my elbows nicely, even though I’m using my laptop and the whole set up is so ergonomically incorrect that I will probably cause your neck and wrists to go out of whack if I showed you a picture of my situation. But sitting in my attic garrett (is that redundant), I wanted to have my sanctuary back. I wanted to be able to go back the too-steep stairs that Eber built, that I have to carry Hazel down or she’d do a flip flop like a slinky, walk into my grimy old kitchen and get a glass of water from my old talavera water jug that I’ve had since before Mexico was invaded by the evil Conquistadores. But alas, the back of the house is boarded up, the doors removed, rat-infested holes under the house exposed, and I really shouldn’t be up here. See, I’m here now writing this. Shhh. Don’t tell. But I miss my house and I want to be home.
OMG, this looks so ugly. It didn’t look like that last week, I swear. Back of the house is gone. 1930 original siding is exposed. There used to be a laundry room attached. I kinda like that open air laundry room. Fresh air for the clothes to dry. But I didn’t like the various wildlife we had to chase off on a regular basis since we live on a canyon. Old kitchen is just inside the tacky security door. Old dining room is just inside that old fashioned screen door. They will be demolished next week.
The rental cottage is adorable. Sort of. Adorable is the word used for a place that’s cute and small. It can be used also for children who are precocious and annoying. Some days I have fun being inside the Barbie-sized house, and other days I feel like I live in a trailer. Nothing wrong with trailers in general, I just have some bad memories of a few I spent time in as a kid in Texas. A certain odor, and the sound of screaming pissy aunts arise in my memory. They can be “adorable” but not much on extra space. Like you can’t have an attic in a trailer. I suppose you could. Eber would probably build me one if we lived in a trailer.
Cottage with the nectarine tree blooming out front. The squirrels have so far eaten every nectarine ever produced on that tree.
Hazel says she’s settling in just fine, and she doesn’t see why I’m bothered when there’s a terrific picture window where she can keep tabs on all the construction guys.
I know, poor, poor, pitiful me. I’m super lucky—new kitchen in the works, rental cottage to move into, cutest dog on earth, but I found it odd that I got homesick. Not something I thought would happen. I’ve finished and published three books in this attic, so there’s a lot of something magical up here, or maybe it’s just the AC. I’ll probably sneak up here with my laptop more often than I thought. Like a secret hideaway. So don’t tell anyone. Shhh.