Downsizing Tumbleweed style

I often complain about my small house. And really, it's not even that small at just over 1500 sq.ft. But I keep telling myself we need another bedroom, a bigger bathroom, an island in the kitchen, a playroom for all the toys, a walk-in closet...and the list goes on and on.

Then I remind myself that if we weren't so obsessed with things - So many things. Crowding our unorganized space. Clothes and books and toys, toys, toys. Way more than we need. Enough for our family and probably a half dozen more families - then we'd be much better off.

I came across this website the other day called Tumbleweed Tiny houses. I remember seeing this guy, Jay Shafer, on Oprah once, talking about his teeny-tiny 89sq.ft home. Yep, you read that right: Eighty-nine square feet! Less than one hundred. His entire house has less square footage than Charlotte's small bedroom.

Crazy, not possible.

But it is possible. And it works for him. And it works for families too, according to the website. The homeowners are forced to re-evaluate what is most important, as things must be kept to a bare minimum in such a tiny space. Ever little nook and cranny has a purpose. There is no wasted space. Couples and families have no option but to spend time together, there is no place to run and hide. The savings on utilities are phenomenal. The environmental footprint of such a tiny home is baby-sized. Mr. Shafer says living in a tiny house has allowed him a much more "simple, slower lifestyle". That sounds amazing!

The idea intrigues me so much. I think it's awesome! I think I need to shut up about my "small" house and start thinking about what really matters. And then go get rid of some (more) of the clutter!

Do you think you could live in a tiny home?

And Another One...

Life is busy. Crazy even. Thus the lack of posts. But here's another creation from our Chocolate Moose Bakery.

Check it out at http://chocolatemoosebakerycafe.blogspot.com/2011/11/happy-birthday-justine.html

Thanks for looking,
Myrna

Happy Birthday to my wonderful brother, Darren!
Enjoy the last year of your 20`s!
xoxo Myrna

Beach Birthday

Go over to The Chocolate Moose Bakery Blog to check out my latest creation!

Makes me want to flee this cold country and head down south for a few days on the beach...got room in your suitcase to DR, Vicki?

Enjoy!
Myrna

Remember

Our store's original owner, Roy Young (thus the name, "Roy Young Ltd.") is a war veteran. He served his country. He fought and lived. He lives still, in his 90's, in his own home. I remember him, as a child, as being one of the most grumpy men I'd ever met. I didn't know his history until I was older, didn't understand. I never will understand. But I do know that I might not smile readily either, had I witnessed the same horror. He fought on the front lines. He saw his friends die. I understand he's never spoken to anyone about the war, not even his children. It is too painful for him. He was willing to sacrifice his life for me. It brings me to tears to think of it. And though the words are never enough, I say, "Thank you" just the same.

Always the most hauntingly beautiful poem...

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Bonfire Night

When I was a kid and into my teens, bonfire night was a huge event. The boys would spend weeks preparing. They would cut trees, gather up old boats, tear down sheds and wharves (sometimes even the ones they weren't supposed to). They would build an enormous pile of junk to burn. It was exciting stuff.

The last bonfire night I remember from my teens was held by the lighthouse in Woody Point. That's where it always was. But, that night, there was a big commotion. The excitement and the testosterone had fueled some pretty hefty competition. And we all know what fuel does to a fire. It never ends well. I have no idea how it started. Quite honestly, I was hanging out in perfect teenage oblivion in my boyfriends truck (haha...can you imagine that?!). But, next thing we knew, one of the guys had fallen - tripped or pushed in the midst of a brawl? - into the fire and got burned pretty badly.

And that ended that. No more lighthouse bonfires.

Then I moved to Ontario. No bonfires there. At least none that I attended.

But now I'm back home and the traditions start all over again with my kids. Last year, we had a bonfire and fireworks at the Rec Center. This year, there was an old house the fire department was burning down. I don't think the teenage guys are much into the pillaging of burnable materials anymore.

And here we are...Granny, Sarah, Charlotte, and I...

And there's what's left of Mr. George Payne's old house in the background.

Looks like Guy Fawkes night was keeping people busy in at least one other part of the world...read here.

Do you celebrate Guy Fawkes/Bonfire night in your neck of the woods?

The Best Compliment

I love compliments. I mean, don't we all want to hear a "You're beautiful.", "I love your hair!", "Those jeans look great on you.", once in a while?

On Sunday morning I was running around like a mad woman. That's how I am on Sunday mornings. A mad woman. I almost always wake up late. Since it's the only morning the hubster and I get to sleep in, we don't set the alarm, and the girls are usually late sleepers too. But when I realize the time, I rush into a frenzy of getting breakfast for everyone, getting the girls out of bed, fed, and dressed for church in their cute little dresses. Sometimes I even manage to complain enough with Jamie to get his butt in gear to go with us ;)

I had just finished the final touches with the girls - bows in hair, faces clean - and sent them down the hallway to sit and wait with their Dad in the living room. I scurried off to the bedroom to get myself ready, trying to figure out what church attire to wedge myself into, when I heard an exclamation,

"Oh my! What a pretty baby girl!"
which I assume was directed to Charlotte

"And your sister is such a pretty girl too!"
to Sarah

"And Mommy is such a pretty girl too, isn't she?"
and I could visualize the girls nodding their heads up and down...awwww!

And there I was sitting on the edge of an unmade bed, halfway into my industrial undergarments, hair disheveled, and heart-racing because we were already late! Certainly not the perfect picture of "pretty".

But, to hear a compliment for me that wasn't intended for my ears. To know the girls are being taught by their Dad to be appreciated by their future husbands. To know that someone thinks I'm "pretty" even when I'm an absolute mess.

It was the best compliment of all.

Thanks honey!