Space Ship Living @ MindSay

I'm right smack on the bank of the river, about thirty feet or so away from the edge and about six or seven feet above the water level, so I won't get washed away when the river rises.  The trailer park is just barely a park and caters to the halt, lame, and fugitives from justice.  And me.  The park announces itself via a weathered, hand painted sign nailed to the trunk of a cottonwood with the legend:  "RV Park  330-5769."  There is no central facility at all, no pool, no Laundromat, no nothing except a friendly park dog, good (and free) utilities, low monthly rent, and the river.  The park is spread out and probably has fifteen spaces, of which about half are vacant right now, mainly because 1) tourist season is over, and 2) the horse racing season is over, and 3) the manager is no marketing genius.  The population is overwhelmingly male.  My previous neighbor worked at the race track (maybe half a mile away) during the racing season, as did the vet across the way.  They left with the ponies.  This is NOT a social park.  For all I know, we could be sheltering a Nobel Prize winner, Mother Theresa, and four axe murderers.  There is another Airstreamer couple over in the other part of the park.  They have something that looks about the same size as mine, only vintage.  I think they are planning on staying the winter because they have a pair of 100# propane tanks hooked up on auxiliary hoses.  On the other hand, they have not skirted their unit. And, they are a little suspect because they have a permanent opaque covering on their windows.  They can't see out, and no one can see in.  Ya gotta wonder.   

I love the interior design of my trailer.  It is all aluminum and white laminate and cool design.  It is so incredibly functional and beautiful that I sometimes turn the lights on and go outside at night just for the joy of seeing into the trailer and fantasizing about what a wonderful, intelligent, kind, together individual must live there.  (OK, night life here in the park doesn't exactly rock...)  It doesn't seem cold inside, doesn't feel cold, at least yet. It was 44 degrees outside this morning. One little auxiliary electric heater is all I've needed so far to maintain at least 72 degrees inside.  That will change, I'm sure.  It often gets to zero here, occasionally well below that. 

The interior surfaces are very cleanable, which is important to us male types.   The very best thing, I think, is that the interior is light.  The sun coming up (on weekends when I get to sleep in) bounces off the interior aluminum and makes beautiful patterns of gold and orange.  I raided the old house before the divorce and made off with several Navajo rugs which I put in the trailer, and they look great. I put a Navajo woven runner on the dinette.  All of that warms things up psychologically quite a bit.  The windows are big and the interior surfaces are all designed to transmit the light throughout the coach.  Even at night, the surfaces bounce the inside light around to all areas of the interior.  The guy that designed it knew what he was doing.  I'll keep you posted as the winter approach. 

It doesn't have the homey, warm, wood feel of a regular home, or even of other trailers.  Everything is slick and tech and designed down to the gnat's ass.  It doesn't appeal to everyone, but as I strip my life down to the absolute essence, it feels right. Spartan.  Pure.   Like living in a space ship.

 I like that I choose to live in a trailer, and haven't been forced there.  It just makes sense right now.  It may make sense the rest of my life, but that remains to be determined.  It would be nice to find a rich woman to support me in the lifestyle to which I would like to become accustomed, but that might be a long shot.  Maybe I can catch Julia Roberts in a weak moment.