Dreams. American Dreams.
A little tiny house of your own. This is mine. I bought it the year I graduated from law school, when I was practicing law in Missoula, Montana.
It was a dump when I bought it. Dirty pink with a 3″ one basin sink, an ejector pit that didn’t work, and an oven that gobbled up not one, not two, but three cans of Easy Off before it came clean. But with hard work and the help of friends, parents, siblings, and other assorted relatives with strong backs and open minds, my little house became quite livable by the time I met Honeydew and latched onto a new dream.
We packed it up the first weekend of June this year. Next to buying your own little house and fixin’ it up, what could be more American than a do-it-yourself move?
Here’s the one ton, with two couches creating what Honeydew and Brother Dear called “the toilet,” in which we could throw all of the loose stuff.
Here’s the 2 ton, ready to safely transport my beautiful dining room table chairs, which were once my great uncle Charlie’s. A few years before I acquired the chairs, and many years before I met Honeydew, my sweet aunt Cathy refinished the chairs in a tobacco bee pattern. Honeydew and I were meant to bee in more ways than one.
And ready to roll! Onto the next big dream … a finished Warehouse No. 2 and a home that’s ours, and not mine.
Happy Fourth of July weekend!
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