Doing nothing

I moved.  4 months after deciding I needed a new house, 3 months after I first looked at a tiny cabin with bay views.

I am out... I loved my townhome & the deck, but not the lack of windows, the basement I never used.  That I could remember him in all those spaces and he'd never be there again, that we weren't supposed to be living there anymore.  So I moved.

I got a tiny house in the country and yet only 17 miles west of downtown.  I got a yard I have to mow sometime, a roof I need to clear of branches and replace, the worlds cutest front door and peeling siding & paint on the back.  I have a 200-year-old willow tree, that's already been half cut off.

And I have a mess.  Not the mess of initial moving - there's 2 boxes left in the kitchen and all the books are on shelves.  It's livable, but not perfect.

And it can wait.  Because perfection is overrated and every day off for 2 months now I've been cleaning out a house, packing and unpacking.  And this is my 6-month vacation, when I couldn't go anywhere and I said I need vacation anyways.  So today, I do nothing.

I had coffee on my patio, and read the news in my library.... in a sunny armchair.  I'm listening to birds, the wind in the trees, and water.  I'm debating which of the DVDs I discovered I own I'm going to watch.  

And I'm counting my blessings.  For my tiny house that's still intact, a job that allows me days off, and the beauty of the world.  It's a good life.

Doing nothing.