(no subject)

I wonder what Edward Cat thought when he looked out the door this morning and saw rain (and did not leave the house). He's certainly older than the drought, but he's used to his ritual of leaving in the morning. I think he's sulking at the foot of the bed.

I delighted in hearing the rain in the wee hours. I'll go out in a bit and collect the rain water from a couple buckets. I imagine a new home frequently, and often design a rain collection strategy (no matter where i imagine the home).

I've been imagining living in a tiny house (not that we live in a large space now). There's the stuff question, which gets easier as i carve away things i might do and digital delivery of media makes it imaginable to reduce a library. I still can't imagine living without one floor to ceiling bookshelf (we currently have six, and that doesn't count the partial shelving, desk tops, counter tops, and floor space occupied with books). I would keep art books and poetry, i think, if i were to prune ruthlessly. The home i imagine though (putting the stuff question aside) would have a large outdoor living room. I imagine a space that could be shielded with outdoor awnings or clear plastic roofing as the season required. I think i could enjoy having people over in an outside space: i find i want every inch of interior space tuned to private life.

This outdoor living room has been easy to imagine in a drought here in a very temperate area of California. Even then, i am aware that we've sat on the deck in the evening light and retreated indoors, too cool for comfort.

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I've talked with Christine about a strategy for dealing with aspects of our elephant issues (ours in so much as the elephants affect me) and that seems to have helped me feel less distress.