Inaccessible Island Dreams
So while I'm waiting for somebody to come along and love the house enough to hurl their bodies at it in a wild frenzy of hot passion and cold currency, I'm dreaming and planning what to do next. Everything is still tentative of course, and my plans will remain floating in the air like a helium balloon until I see what I can get for the house and how much my debts will ultimately add up to. But before I decide what to do and where to live for the long run (or until future scans indicate a shorter run), I'd like to travel a bit and have me some big fat fun adventures.
Here's a sneak preview of some likely stops on my L'chaim! 2007 tour itinerary.
First, I'm planning to spend some time this spring living in this charming little beach cottage in Florida, which is owned by a longtime blog reader who generously offered to let me stay there:
The cottage is located on an undeveloped barrier island with a state park and miles of beautiful unspoiled beaches. The island is car-free and only accessible by boat:
I grew up on a beach in Florida, and something in my soul is longing to go back home, without actually going back home, if you know what I mean. The beach where I grew up is unrecognizable now, blotted out by thousands of bustling new hotels, condos, tourist traps, and housing developments. But whenever I need to heal, mentally and physically, what I long for most is to spend many unstructured hours of solitude by the ocean, walking and running on the beach at dawn and at dusk, hunting for shark's teeth and shells, watching birds and crabs and lightning storms, building sand castles with turrets and moats. A return to the good simple undemanding life of my childhood. So, that's what I'm going to do. Soon. (Thanks, L.!)
After the Florida island, I'm hoping to spend the summer on another island. This time I'll be living in this treehouse:
The treehouse is located on an exquisitely beautiful island in the Pacific Northwest, which is accessible by ferry:
The treehouse, which is two stories plus a sleeping loft and has many majestic windows offering a fine view straight up Mother Nature's skirt, is part of a compound belonging to some old, old, very old friends of mine. Why, these friends are so very very old, they have long white beards and are listed in the Guiness Book of the World's Most Ancient Doddering People!
Haha, no, just kidding. They're only "old" friends in the sense that I knew them way back before they or I had any sense, back when even our children were young starry-eyed idealists.
Very very old friend cleverly disguised as a ripe strawberry, 1990.
Anyway, they built themselves a fabulous house on this island a while back, and finished raising their kids there. I haven't seen them in maybe 15 years and for all I know the years have turned my ancient friends into slobbering lunatic right wing axe murderers. But hey! That's part of the adventure, isn't it, taking a few wild kicky risks? For all they know, I'm the damn Unabomber, yet they've invited me to stay for as long as I like.
All I know is, back in the day these crazy fools used to regularly make me laugh so hard, often at the most gallingly inappropriate moments, that I popped arteries and peed my pants and made loud snargling nose noises that frightened horses and small children. And surely that right there is the big red arrow pointing to The Quickest Road Back To Excellent Health. And I plan to follow it.
So stay tuned as the hair sprouts, the Saturn hums, and the plot thickens. Stick with the blog, dear readers, and these harrowing hair-raising island adventures can be yours as well!
Punk flamingos, a long-ago gift from the ancient snargling nose noise island people.