A Room with a View

I’m ticked. Angry. Mad enough to beat the bahoojaas out of someone. It’s draining, being this mad. So let’s go somewhere else.

In the military, we talk about our ‘forever home’. It’s a place we’ll settle in, when we get done traveling.

My hubby dreams of a castle-like cabin with a few side cabins for family.
He used to think Northern Minnesota. Brrrrr! Me, I can’t make up my mind. The city, where you are anonymous or the country, where you can be alone.

I would settle for a small villa in Arizona. I like the heat. It warms my bones. I love the storms that come out of no where. The desert, where colour and life flow at different pace.

My work room would have a patio door leading out to a porch. It would have a swing bench and fire pit. Inside, I’d have long cabinets, my machines on top, and storage below. I’d hang my skeins in a net, from the ceiling, or line them up on one long shelf, out of the sunlight. The floor would be tile, with rugs knitted to fluff, placed any where you’d sit. I hate cold feet! Long cool hallways lead to the other rooms. Bare walls, covered with lace shawls of many different colours and textures. The work room would be kept cool and dry, while the patio would be set for warmth- to soak up the sun. Across the way, would be an indoor/outdoor kitchen. Everything would be built off the floor. Maybe a white canopy bed in the bedroom. This is a slow house. Smooth, dry and dusty. Away from all the noises of people.

I’d have my truck to go to town. A nice bit of a drive, before having to deal with nosey people. Visitors would call ahead, and then stay for a few days if they wandered out. The silence, complete.

*******

If I lived in the city, I’d want a loft apartment. Something simple. One room with big windows for lots of light. Hard wood floors. Book shelves from floor to ceiling. Stands for my knitting machines, and most importantly, comfortable chairs. Maybe an easel for design drawings. Racks for my cone yarn and nice shelves for the skeins. Simple, clean lines. Lots of space. It would have an open kitchen, with a large island for prep and snacking. Maybe a small booth table to encourage a cozy dinner. It would be a place for friends to hang, for sunsets, for people watching. A place where I could work or teach. Ideally it would have a rooftop garden, no doubt planned by my ecologist, sister-in-law, to be self sustaining. I kill anything that is green and grows. I would not, however, have chickens (her latest hobby).

In the city, you don’t need a car. You can walk or take public transportation. Corner markets, delis, take out food of all sorts. Coffee bars and pubs. The silence is the hum of the city. Open air markets, small nook stores, that haven’t lost out to big business. Alone in the crowd. You can watch life literally pass you by.

Dream time over. I was calm. I was prepared to work on more clean up. The waves never quit hitting the shore. Hours later, I’m worse than I was before. Too much drama, and it’s not mine.

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