I'm getting ready to plant fall lettuces. But... not where you'd suspect.
I've found a little house. I'm moving in next week.
After taking a long, realistic look at my budget... and after realizing that I still feel, well, like I'm getting about on paper wings, I decided to take the most drastic step I've ever taken: do the logical, safe thing. Two weeks ago, I sat down and thought: now Brin, if you were a normal girl and not a recklessly fearless, head-in-the-clouds one, what would your next move be? Of course! It would be to get a stable job in a nice-sized town, rent a little house with a fenced yard for Millie, and, I don't know, get out and meet people. So I am. The cottage will have to wait; I'm simply drained of finances, energy and unwearied hope for now. For now.
I found a small house in an old neighborhood in the city where I work. The old place has hardwoods and a strange layout and lots of quirks, but I know its owners very well and am quite assured this will be a happy arrangement. In the front yard is a weathered, mossed-over, gnarled root oak tree that I love. The backyard is fairly... blank. An empty canvas. The house is dated, severely dated, and requires a LOT of love, but that only means I'll be up to some of my old tricks again (paint, flooring, lighting, decorating, planting, planning....) So what do you say? Are you up for another house that needs us?
Pictures of the interior to come. You'll see what I mean. For now, I'm off to dream of lettuce seeds and kitchen tile. It's raining here, after all, and Millie's snoring softly at my feet and my eyelids aren't propping themselves open as they should. .... .... ....