Pink Smith Corona, in the Grass
I went yard saling this weekend. And I got this pink manual typewriter.
Do I need it? Nope. Did I walk by it, gazing longingly at it as I passed again and again while on the search for house hold items? You bet I did.
I have lots of things to shop for, because we are setting up a new house, after our gypsy ways the last couple of years. I still have things in storage in different states, but for now, we're setting up all over again.
Here's the house we rented.
Look at that front porch! Perfect for rainstorm watching and for morning lattes. The house itself is just okay. But it was the porch, the back deck, the yard and the garage... which I have already commandeered for my studio (larger works! yay!) that sold me. This is actually the side view, because I wanted to show that porch. I think those hedges need to be trimmed.
And shall I get some hanging flower pots? I'd really like some wicker furniture, too. A rocking chair, maybe.
Well, here. Look at that. Look at how distracting it is. I'm already decorating and I haven't even moved in yet. Plus there's all the upheaval of moving and getting adjusted. And still my new job to be settled into. And I'm working on my etsy shop, too... getting ready to put prints back up for sale.
Yes. I have picked Chelsea Michigan to sit and stay for a while. I wasn't planning it. I kept meaning to get back to New York, somehow. But this is where we landed, and Gabriel is heading into kindergarten, and it's time to actually be content living where I am actually living.
And maybe that's why I got the pink Barbie typewriter.
It's a sign that I am committing to the things that matter for my future. And a sign that my future is right here, right now in the present. A concrete (or steel and enamel) manifestation of my dreams. One that is solid and heavy, although it does come in a handy dandy travel case.
The truth is, it's time to get back to writing.
It's time to write.
And the idea is scary. In a good way, but scary.