I agreed to be part of a documentary film-maker’s exploration of tiny homes.  In preparation for her visit today, I spent several hours straightening and cleaning my house.  This proved fortuitous.  Two sets of tiny home tourists  happened by Angel’s Haven yesterday. I could proudly invite them into my space and accommodate their comfort and interest.

When I awakened this morning, I had a message from the prospective film-maker to our group cancelling her appearance today.  Putting aside mild annoyance, I acknowledged her note and rose to make coffee.  I looked around my home.  The potential of its appearing in a movie had inspired me to make small adjustments and to accentuate features of Angel’s Haven which please me.  I had been happy to allow strangers into the space without worrying that I had not adequately cleaned or that something looked amiss.

With Angel’s Haven looking so spiff, I decided to make my own video, an updated tour for my YouTube channel of how the place looks after seven months of living.  In truth, I do keep it fairly clean and organized.  Tidying a 200-square-foot space takes much less time.  Perhaps  I’m not a true minimalist, but I no longer make purchases which add to the clutter.   I don’t need more tools or trinkets, though each visit to Kansas City has given me a chance to rummage through the shrinking pile in the storage unit.  I make happy discoveries, return with three or four additions, and spend gleeful moments working the cherished finds into my decor.

I sat in my rocking chair this morning, looking at how I’ve arranged the space in which I write.  I can gaze out the window from my desk.  I see beloved faces and artwork from every vantage point.  A friend could come and sit reading while I work.   Everything lies close at hand, bathed in sunlight.  This alcove reflects the essence of my existence — a place for creativity, a spot for relaxing, and mementos of my life and of those whom I have loved.

These days, when people ask me what I do,  I tell them that I write.

“Oh, what do you write,” they ask.

“I’m working on a book,” I reply.  “And I have a couple of blogs.”

They usually turn away.  They avoid my eyes.  Most folks expect to hear that one writes for an online journal, a television show, movies, or a newspaper.  The world has always looked askance at those of us with works in progress, like the half-finished painting on an easel or the page in the platen.  I accept their skepticism.  Sometimes one must take a different view of any situation.  From where I sat this morning, casting my eyes over the writing loft, I understood the direction of my life.  I convinced myself.  That suffices to keep me moving forward.

It’s the twenty-ninth day of the fifty-fifth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.


A panoramic view of my writing loft seen from my rocking chair this morning.  Light streams into the loft.  Cool air dances through the space.  Tres bien!

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