A Room of One’s Own

I’m obsessed by small, contained spaces, almost to the point of weirdness.

We moved when I was in middle school, and my new room had a walk-in closet. Most adolescent girls would be thrilled at the extra space for their growing wardrobes.

Not me. I dragged a chair, a bath mat and a lamp with a long cord in there and called it my private reading room. Sadly, I spent much of my grade seven year in a closet.

Flash forward to the present and taking over a closet isn’t an option. We don’t have nearly enough storage space. The price for a private reading corner would be increased clutter in the rest of the house.

So no private spot for me to dream and read…or so I thought.

Lately, I’ve been spending time on the boat. It’s so much better than a closet! It has windows and a table, even a cushioned bench for naps. It’s almost like a tiny house!

So far I’m only using it as a reading space, but my sailor promises to run a cord out from the basement so I can access shore power. (Okay–I’ll just be tapping into the house’s hydro supply, but accessing shore power sounds more exciting–like something Gilligan and the gang would have done if their three-hour tour hadn’t gone pear-shaped.)

Once I’ve got power, there are no limits on what I can do in my little garden hideaway!

Writing for sure, as long as I don’t drop my computer climbing a board. (That swim ladder is pretty narrow.)

In theory I can brew grassy herbal teas, but in reality I’m more likely to stash a small box of wine in the fridge. I might even bring the dog aboard for visits. Of course, she doesn’t run on power–just Milk Bones and tummy rubs.

I’m beginning to appreciate the nautical lifestyle!

Perhaps my sailor is finally rubbing off on me.

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