Before I made the move from beautiful Rockridge to trailer life in cemetery territory, I engaged in a rigorous process of elimination. I didn't really want to pay the costs of taking over a lease in the city, partly because of the inevitable roommate problems, but mainly due to how school and part-time work tended to keep me in a more modest tax bracket than many landlords believe ideal. With that option out of the way for the time, I embarked on an extensive investigation of the live-aboard option but came up with nothing workable, however I promise to thrill readers with those particulars later on.
At about this juncture, I was taking this great environmentalism class taught by a real life eco-Nazi, tree huggin’ and a kissin’, activist type dude who calls himself Andy Peri. In the course text they had a section on alternative living that featured a sidebar on “tiny homes”. I did a bit of research and fell hook-line-and-sinker in love with the concept, much the way I had become smitten with the notion of living on a boat, living in a converted bus, living in a clay fired dwelling of my own making, and any number of other inspirations that formerly fell to the wayside, but not the way wayside; they’re still floating around out there along the perimeter of my mindscape and on recurrent, if unscheduled, patrols they get tossed the sporadic morsel to keep them sustained as back-up in case the current plot de jour flies off the bandwagon as well.
I came up with a way to swing a purchase of one those little dream castles with enough space for a middleweight bachelor and an eleven-pound assemblage of fur, tooth, claw and attitude. But where to put the thing? I figured it would fit snugly into one of San Francisco’s many charming rear gardens and look no more intrusive than some stately tool shed. It would require no more than a basic utility hookup and some fortunate party could have a fussless tenant, on-site security, and a wee cash cow chomping quietly in the backyard. I posted my offer on Craigslist with photos and links concerning the coming tiny house revolution but it was just another sorrowful instance of a dude a tad too ahead of his time.
There were no takers, but the offer still stands. Yo.
With all this manly marina/construction talk it seems as good a time as any to hear something in the lower ranges. Ramon Vargas sings "Una Furtiva Lagrima" (A Secret Tear) from Donizetti's L'elisir d'amore (The Elixir of love).
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4 comments:
I envy you. You are supporting yourself and have a place that you can call your own. To reach that level it takes a certain determination and a self pride that will get you out and into the real world. It's the knowledge that no matter what, you posses the guts to survive and move forward.
Thats a great backstory. I am glad you decided to include this information in your blog. I was starting to wonder how you came about to own your own slice of heaven.
Homesteading and Permaculture seem to have a small, but steady following (esp. in the UK).
Your residential (and lack thereof) trials and tribulations are very interesting. Speaking of singing... John Mark Ainsley sounds like liquid gold. He sounds like Gabriel descending from heaven when he does Lieder.
Okay, you have made a believer out of me. The first time I read your blog I had a really hard time understanding the concept, and yet here I am weeks later and I find myself always checking on what's going on in this little corner of the universe. I am a convert. You sound like you have a much better plan than many of us, and most importantly you are resourceful. Looking forward to the next post.
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