At this moment, every fiber of my being aches. My hair hurts. The pores in my face ooze pain.
But I don’t care.
Today I helped host an open house at my community. People interested in learning more about tiny houses came to tour and talk. Young couples about to launch builds; a 96-year-old with two fancy walking sticks; people from Sacramento to San Diego all gathered at Park Delta Bay to talk about going tiny. The park staff rocked presentation and preparation. A local county supervisor shared his thoughts about changes in law and policy to promote tiny houses. Everywhere I turned, somebody shared their story, their journey, their hopes and dreams.
I opened my home to strangers who moved within the nest which I have created for myself here. Some of them saw my vision. My house doesn’t have fancy features. The plain counters and inexpensive lighting doesn’t dazzle. But many of today’s visitors saw the warmth and love. They admired the art that my friends created. They touched the fabric of my mother’s quilt and the gleaming wood of the cherry table which Sheldon made me. They saw the place as I see it: Like home.
I’m tired; but I don’t mind. I’ll sleep well tonight, on my funny little daybed, under the writing loft, in Angel’s Haven.
It’s the sixth day of the fifty-eighth month of My Year Without Complaining. #MyTinyLife continues.