My house + Western Washington sunset. Both keep it gorgeous.
“WHAT DO YOU have?” a friend asked as we stood in my kitchen. I’d made salad dressing that had turned out weird, and we were mulling possible improvements.
“I have all the things,” I said.
He stared at me.
“I have all the things that are in kitchens.”
It seemed like he couldn’t comprehend. He lives in a big house, with a big kitchen and a state-of-the-art fridge. I have lived in an RV for three years (!) this past November, long enough to know that it contains any necessity we had in the houses my parents leveraged when I was a kid—or overleveraged, and lost, when I graduated from college—and every place I rented for the next two decades, hustling in jobs I didn’t really want, bleeding income.
