I know that I should slap my own face!
With a large homeless population in my own country, how can I say that I am homeless? I know that I should feel ashamed that genuine and profound feelings of homelessness and displacement have plagued me my whole life. Yet for the past several years, I have found myself on the move, almost constantly, while owning three houses in the area of Big Bend in Far West Texas. The irony: I have always tended to feel homeless or as an outsider; I own three homes; I have decided that it’s OK, being slightly homeless.
Being single, over sixty, and with few family responsibilities, I am free to roam to Mexico, to Central Texas, to various retreats and resorts. I can go when and wherever my mood, the weather, and my finances permit. Of course, I have to take care of my houses and their residents (occasionally while griping and groaning about it); but it is how I survive, financially.
Case in point, I just returned from a great Buddhist retreat in Colorado; and my own Marfa, Texas house (the one in which I sleep most of the time) was rented out to visitors in my absence. I returned home expecting to spend the first night at a friend’s place then return to my own kitchen, washing machine, pear tree, and so forth. Unfortunately, my lovely guests had had serious car problems: their big Mercedes had, in a fit of pique, decided that it couldn’t go over 25mph under any circumstances. The guests live in Oklahoma City which meant they wouldn’t be driving it unless they wanted to spend four days driving home.
What was I to do? Of course, I told them they could stay a couple more days to await the car part and the repair. I could almost suggest that one shouldn’t visit Marfa in a Mercedes or a Volvo or any other seldom-owned car. Marfa mechanics and part stores are regular guys. Think Ford F250.
The status of my guests’ meant that I had to do some serious couch surfing! I had already been away for ten days; I had no clean socks; I had used up my multi-vitamins and hair-conditioner; my truck looked, rightfully, lived-in; and I was dying to get home, and watch my favorite TV series (“Reggie Perrin” and “30Rock’) on my own couch on Netflix. So I was homeless, and I had to rely on friends to put me up. Fortunately, two of my good friends were in Italy. They offered me their casita in Alpine for a couple of days. After that I knew that I could bum a bed from my friend and yoga teacher in Fort Davis. Then HOME?
This “sleeping around” thing is common for me recently. When I travel (a lot), I leave the isolation of my home and neighborhood for the social richness of places and homes where people either know and love me or are willing to know and love me. I may be deluding myself into thinking that my friends and family actually like to have me crash in the spare room, but it is usually such an enjoyable experience for me that I have to assume that my hosts also like having me visit.
My own home is an official vacation rental: VRBO #384654. I rent it to strangers online. They pay me; I make sure that the place is very clean and tidy; when they leave, I clean up or have someone else clean up. It’s simple. It means that I only make money when I leave so I leave a lot. People love my house! Just love it! So do I.
Since I couldn’t go home anyway when my guests sent their Mercedes off to Midland, I decided to do some work on my Alpine rent house. I was staying there anyway, and it would be ideal to re-do the incredibly funky screened-porch which had been ravaged by rambunctious two-legged and four-legged creatures for years. “Shouldn’t take that long;” I told myself, “I am already in Alpine. I won’t have to drive back and forth at almost $4 a gallon.”
Historically, my forays into rentals and home-repair have become a major part of my financial security. With the aforementioned screened-porch project, I tried to get some help to do the deed; but the lowest hourly rate I got was $30 per hour. My instant, internal, knee-jerk reaction (which is actually felt above the ears and behind the eyes) was “Good grief, replacing screens can’t be that difficult. Maybe I can do it.” I have had this type of reaction countless times over the past decades of landladyship. Sometimes it is justified; sometimes I cry. I only weigh 107 pounds, wet; and I never hung out with my dad as a child, learning how to drive a nail. I am strictly self-taught in the handywoman school of life.
Oh! And I do feel incredibly sorry for myself at times. I remember that “girls” aren’t supposed to do this kind of work…screens, simple plumbing, etc. I wish to have a man in my life who will say, “Hey, sweety, let me do that for you.” That would be cool, but it’s not happening, and the helpful male fantasy is much richer than the reality of most of my past relationships. I’ll just pretend that all my past husbands and boy-friends have gone off to an imaginary war (paint ball), and I am Rosie the Riveter.
As of today I have done most of the porch project! I exhausted the local supply of screen lattice trim before I could finish, but the local supplier promises to have more “soon.” I have also exhausted me which is why I sit here and type. My right hand, which did most of the screen stapling, keeps wanting me to lean into my laptop to get better torque, but I am restraining it so far. I consider cutting and hanging the screen a marginally heroic feat. Not exactly building the pyramids but tough work. Here! Here!
Now, I return to the vacation rental question: “Why is it acceptable to me to allow people to rent my own residence in Marfa, short-term?” Number one, I am well-paid; number two, the guests are on holiday and are vibrant with enthusiasm for Marfa and my house; number three, most of the visitors I meet are friendly and kind and grateful to me for renting the house; number four, I am lonely.
It is almost like a relationship to the extent that I AM the house. Seriously. For obvious reasons, I have had to store away my prized possessions, but I am still ALL OVER THE PLACE! Furthermore, the house itself has great character with tall windows and wood floors. It’s simple and lively. Like me. I think most people could say this about their own home. Your house reflects you.
I’m going to go off the deep end here and quote the Buddhist teacher Thich Nach Hanh who said, “You ARE your own home. “ He means that we carry our true value and truth within us without any need for possessions and projections. I am, of course, twisting his words, but perhaps our homes are more like metaphors for ourselves. If you are a clutter-bug, some part of you reflects the surroundings. If you are cautious, you will have clean window sills. This theory may seem dubious, but I like it.
In my case, ironically, because I travel a lot and leave my home for the use of others from time to time, it’s almost like I have surrogate companions. I can let others sit at my kitchen counter and enjoy them in my absence as they enjoy “me.”
Occasionally I get real cool comments like “We absolutely love your charming home-full of the most wonderful art, literature, and pottery, very comfortable beds, WiFi, and even two bikes. We weren’t here long, but we’ll be back!” I confess that this helps my self-esteem, and I like that people are having a great Marfa experience. It gives me a sense of community which I often lack.
My most recent, out-of-commission Mercedes, guests actually rearranged my paintings (with my permission, of course). She is quite schooled in art display as she owns a gallery. She suggested that a certain painting on Wall A might look better on Wall B and offset the heavy bookcase on Wall C. I said she should change it and handed her a hammer and picture hangers. When I returned days later, she had done that and moved a couple other ones for a wonderful effect. She was my art fairy.
The down side…there are major sacrifices such as couch crashing for an additional four days, not remembering where I am when I wake up, having to give away my sweet cat due to extended absences, not having access to my favorite jacket or coffee mug, or simply thinking that I am out of my mind. But it’s a lifestyle…the lifestyle of the homeful and homeless.
Ya’ll come back!
If you were notified of the new post on line you may have seen an odd version. The blog service wasn’t working property. I tried to work around it, but, obviously, it’s weird. I think that it is only the subscribers who got the odd version, not sure.
Anyway, I think you’ll like it once you get over the duplicate photos. M