DP Photo Challenge: Afloat
Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking about my title? My blog is not meant to teach or help people get through their lives, so I offer little advice. However, here is one thing I have learned: you cannot always depend on people. But here is one thing you can depend on from me: if I say I’ll never do something, like go bungy jumping off a bridge in New Zealand or write a title like that, I probably will.
Have you ever heard of the “ tiny house movement.“ Apparently, people are building tiny houses and living in them. But when we talk about tiny houses here, we’re talking tiny. Tiny as in teensy-weensy, 200 (sic: hundred) square feet, size of your bathroom. In California, they have a couple of communities of tiny houses, all wood with steel roofs, gingerbread trim, lofts. They build a house on top of a flat-bed trailer, so you can easily move them. Kind of an upscale version of travel trailers. A travel trailer with panache. You can pull the thing with your Porsche. Today, you’re parked at Lake Havasu; tomorrow, you’re parked above a cliff overlooking Swami’s near San Diego, and watching the surfers rip up the waves.
My tiny house is a motorhome. When I’m not out of the country, I live in it full-time. When I’m out of the country, the thing sits in storage in Tombstone, AZ, a couple blocks down the street from the OK Corral. Sad part: I’m getting used to living in larger houses. I love the concept of a tiny house, the effective efficiency. But man, I’m now spoiled. My motorhome is 30 feet long. I was thinking of upgrading to a 45-footer, with three slide-out extensions, and a diesel engine.
Remember Y2K? The Artist Formerly Known as Prince was partying like it was 1999. Many people probably were. Everyone else was a little worried about what would happen when the clock struck 12, and ushered in the 21st century. No, sorry. It would only usher in the year 2000. The dawn of the 21st century began in 2001. Everyone thought everything was going to explode at midnight. Who knew what could happen? I drove my RV into the wilderness, sat beside a secluded lake (where I could fish if it came to that…even though I was vegetarian) as far away from people as I could get, with a cache of bean soup and–of course–peanut butter. Why? Humans do dumb things when they believe they must, herd instinct takes over.
Don’t tell anyone: I had a gun in my RV. I hate guns, they scare the sh*t out of me. But I have seen disaster movies. I have watched the news, and I know what horrors the human species is capable of during times of peace, let alone disaster up the wazoo. This is my tiny house below on December 31, 1999. Imagine a man, later that night, sitting inside and eyeing his revolver lying on the dash, as he peers through the curtains at 11:59 pm, 1999.
Then one day in Amsterdam, I see somebody’s brand new houseboat being towed by two tugboats down the Amstel River (I think it was the Amstel). And I think to myself, yeah, now that is one fine houseboat there. And now I’m thinking I’ll just buy a houseboat like this one. And float in the Amstel. It’s still a tiny house–relatively. Just not tiny-tiny. It’s a more livable-tiny house is what I’m thinking.
You can view other challengers here: Afloat
Photo REHAB: http://new.inlinkz.com/luwpview.php?id=473972