OK, so a year and a half later, and our dreams are still in our suitcases, or piled away in boxes in our dead-cricket-filled storage unit. Yeah. Not quite what I pictured. The houses were cheap for a reason (total armpits next to other armpits--and I'm not even going to mention what part of the anatomy the rentals looked like). So, living closer to family meant literally living closer to family--as in the bedroom next door. Yup. Been living with Brian's grandparents for a year and a half now. I try not to complain because it is very sweet of them to let us stay (heck, they only thought we'd be staying for a week or two, too), but let's face it--I complain. A lot. OK, all the time. All of those wide open spaces I was dreaming about have been replaced by a 10'x10' box completely void of any reminders of home or of the person I used to be. Brian is my one familiar. Brian is my home. Brian is never here because he has to work nights at "suck-mart". So where does this leave me? Homesick. Terribly, physically homesick. Homesick for my family, homesick for my home, homesick for my friends, homesick for...me. I never knew how hard it would be to be myself when there are no reminders of me in sight. No inside jokes. No remember-whens. No photographs. No furniture. No me. It's like I've disappeared. Poof.
But wait....there's still painting. Painting is familiar. Painting is me. So what's a lonely, depressed, homesick girl to do? Paint. Paint, paint, paint-paint, paint. I have turned into some sort of mad creative recluse, toiling away day after day, creating to the point of exhaustion. So I think maybe that's why we're here. And I guess from that standpoint, our move out here has been a success. I am officially an artist. And a serious one at that.
But wait....there's still painting. Painting is familiar. Painting is me. So what's a lonely, depressed, homesick girl to do? Paint. Paint, paint, paint-paint, paint. I have turned into some sort of mad creative recluse, toiling away day after day, creating to the point of exhaustion. So I think maybe that's why we're here. And I guess from that standpoint, our move out here has been a success. I am officially an artist. And a serious one at that.
But there is hope--a beautiful, sparkling, peaceful and awe-inspiring hope. And that hope is our house. Brian and I are building a cob cottage. For those of you who don't know, a cob cottage is a house made out of clay, sand, and straw. You mix the ingredients together with your feet on a tarp, and then sculpt a house out of it. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. This house is going to save us. This house will surpass any happy wish we'd ever had for ourselves in moving to Oklahoma. This house is going to be the neatest thing we've ever done... I hope.
