Space of mind

Sometime in the middle of the night, David shifted his body, his part of the blanket and all four of his pillows.  One of the pillows smacked me in the face, and according to him I swatted it away, annoyed.  On a conscious level, I am happily adapting to our new lifestyle.  Deeper in the subconscious, however, I must have been feeling crowded and yearning for my own space.

Let me make this clear: the camper where we sleep is approximately 50 sq feet.  I won't pretend that sharing this space has been effortless, but it has been much easier than one might think.  Most of the day we spend outdoors under the canopy -- our outdoor living/dining/office.  We hike through the vegetated areas, or run along the camp roads, or bike to the lake.  If the weather is agreeable, we live among nature.  When it is not -- like the lightning storms of last Saturday -- we shoehorn ourselves inside this teeny space.  By the time the skies cleared nobody could wait to dash outside.

Last night I must have been feeling cramped inside my little bed-space, upset that the tiny corner against the canvas wall I had carved for myself was now being invaded by David or his things.  But this morning, after he told me about my response to his falling pillow, I laughed.  I thought about the ways we are rapidly adapting to this small space and actually enjoying having less square footage to live.  When I want to stay up later to write, I sit on Sage's bed and face her so the light from the laptop shines on me, not her.  Or, when we boil water for coffee on our propane-powered stove, we heat our home.  We must open the ceiling vent while the burner is on.  The past few nights have been cool, so as soon as we turn off the stove we also close the vent to keep the heat indoors.  One tiny burner could not generate enough heat for a large living space but it's perfectly sufficient for heating the camper.

Over these first two weeks we all are discovering that we still are transporting too many clothes, too many toys (that never seem to be played with), too many books (that never seem to be read...much), too many food storage containers, and on and on.  I have proposed that we each have one spoon, knife, and fork; one food storage container with lid; one cup, plate and bowl; one towel; and two changes of clothing per season.  Perhaps we will purge more items, and improve our organizational structure, as the journey continues.  My goal is to eliminate more of the "noise" (as I call it) so that we can make more room and time to live, work and travel together...comfortably.  Hand-washing a bin full of dishes -- a task that took nearly all day -- inspired this next heat of purging, I'm sure.