Sunday, January 17, 2010
Saturday morning is a good morning to hit all the thrift shops downtown. The weekdays are too busy and we have this rule where we don't buy anything on Sundays. So Saturday I head off to the thrift shop a block from my home. I find some great deals on baskets and candle holders, an old jar. But then I see it. An old tin suitcase/trunk on a top shelf. You know, the kind that probably came over on the Titanic (actually it probably didn't, I'm sure those are a lot more rusty than this one). Oooh, I have wanted one of these forever. And then I see the price tag stuck to the front. $5. Even my inherited 3rd generation Great Depression Survivor trauma can't argue with that price. I call over the middle aged store clerk with the grey faux-hawk to help me pull it down. He is excited to show me the "immaculate condition" that the inside is in. Sold. I lug the giant suitcase down the street and open the door to my house. My husband takes one look at the suitcase. "What have you done?!" is his response. "Have you forgotten that we live in a small house?"
Ah, the small house. How could either of us ever forget? It is constantly on our minds. Every birthday or Christmas we look at each other over gifts and our eyes ask, "Where on Earth will we put this?!" 400 square feet is not a lot of room and it dictates a lot of our lives. But I love it and I wouldn't have it any other way right now. This blog will document our lives in this miniature house and our attempts at living more sustainably.