Sunday, August 15, 2010
Connected . . . Weird
It is effing hot in Palm Springs in the summer. You think you understand, but unless it is blazing into the 110’s and above . . . uh, you don’t. And don’t tell me it’s a dry heat either. Cuz Baby, that is a load of crap when it is 123 degrees in the shade!
I now understand why the summer population drops to like 204 people. (But hey, you don’t need reservations to dine out!)
So we envision our “Vacation Getaway”: You know, where we unload the car, breathe in the mountain air, and take the kids and the dogs for a walk? Yeah, that’s the ticket.
Hey, the stock market had taken a dive, so I thought that we’d be able to sweep in and pick up a lovely mountain cabin for mere chump change. Baby, we are gonna be in like Flynn – I just KNOW it!
Turns out, I was the chump.
Oh yeah, you can pick a little something up. Of course it was a recently abandoned meth lab which needs “tender loving care” (i.e. calling the Haz Mat Team).
And did I mention the “Lake” thing? Turns out if you don’t buy a property with “Lake Rights” you can’t do shit in this place, except maybe stand somewhere and watch Other People boat, fish and swim. #longingly
So we gave up.
Until my husband read an ad in the local paper about a Mobile Home for sale.
“Uh, I’m not getting a Trailer DUDE!” (Cuz you know, I’m snotty like that.)
Then he read me the price. Which INCLUDES Lake Rights. And a dock.
What? Holy Cow! Mecca Baby – Kids, get your coats, we’re going for a drive!
Then we got there. The trailers were kinda close together, so I was worried about people hearing my constant yelling at my kids, you know, so they wouldn’t bother the neighbors.
Or, yelling at the flipping dogs to shut up. So we’d be the people with the loud kids and the barking dogs and the harridan that was always YELLING at everyone.
Shit, all I needed was a cigarette hanging out of one side of my mouth while I yelled. (I want you to know, I quit smoking cigarettes out of one side of my mouth DECADES ago!)
Then we find this one little trailer, all by itself, on a hill. And I had heart palpitations.
Cuz I could yell and my kids and my dogs and no one would call Social Services OR the SPCA.
But what really sold me? It had a little outside shower . . . I have some bizarre, unnatural love of bathing outdoors. Claustrophobia mixed with a healthy dose of exhibitionism and there you go. I was sold.
So we bought this little Trailer in the woods, bought a tempurpedic bed and lots of bright colored paint and carved out a little piece of nirvana.
And this weird thing has happened to us in this 700 square foot place. If you leave your shoes out, it creates a Level 5 Hoarding situation.
But oddly enough, we feel more connected as a family in this tiny little place.
We can hear each other breathe, uh . . ., all the time. We can hear the kids playing down in the creek. We take walks together.
There is no Wii, but we did get Satellite. (I didn’t say I was a Saint, did I?)
And there is fishing (May I just say: Thank God for the Kindle, cuz that fishing shit is BORING.)
There is something precious about being snowed in, and something magical about being out on the deck in the summer.
And when we go back to our big ricocheting lives in Palm Springs, we yearn for our time together in the mountains.