One of the things that I like least about living in a trailer is how so much of it is built on a smaller scale. The heights, the widths, the depths of everything is smaller—low ceiling heights, narrower shelves and cabinets, and far more shallow kitchen drawers. At least, that has been true of the three trailers I’ve lived in. Of course, they have all been kind of old and a little shabby. I understand that the newer ones are much more luxurious, with many accoutrements from the world of the rich and ostentatious.
Not only are our shelves narrower, they are also more flimsy. They are constructed of vinyl-coated wire and supported by rather thin metal brackets. Our closet is a “walk-in” closet, but you can only sort of shuffle in sideways like a crab, and forget trying to turn around. So I guess you’d call it more of a shuffle-in closet. It would be a fine closet for Munchkins, but we are full-sized (O.K., make that fuller-sized) adults. So our closet is stuffed to capacity.
Anyway, the other day, the kids and I were sitting on the front porch when we heard a BOOM! that seemed to come from the inside of our house. We raced inside, thinking perhaps that a deer had crashed through our back sliding glass doors or that our ailing heat pump had finally blown up. We looked around. Nothing. It was only when I went to my closet to look for shoes that I discovered the source of the sound.
It was the sound made when the metal brackets your vinyl-coated shelves rest upon all bend together at once bringing down with them not only all the clothes on the shelves, but the clothes hung underneath (which were attached to the shoddy shelves) thereby crushing the clothes in the big Rubbermaid boxes beneath that. Yep, it resulted in what was pretty much a solid, unmovable wall of clothes. I couldn’t even open the closet door.
And this capped a week when our old combo TV/VCR refused to turn on after a videotape got stuck in there, our heat pump air conditioner stopped cooling right, our heat pump thermostat went out of whack, and my Camry started making faint grinding noises. And the poison-ivy rash that has tormented me all summer (making my lower right leg look like I have some hideous, disfiguring, communicable skin disease) is back.
So, what are we going to do? Well, first…some cortisone cream for my leg from that economy-sized tube I got at Walmart. And, as for the closet, Blue Ridge Blue Collar Man is on the case. He’s constructing a closet that (as he says) is built like a brick out-house. (I love being married to a carpenter). We’ll never have to worry again about colossal closet collapse calamities (at least in our bedroom). And eventually, we’ll deal with the other stuff.
But for now, I’m all for a day of denial—a day spent out on our porch, reading a favorite book, eating an orange creamsicle, and talking to my favorite companions, my really cool kids and husband. A day spent thinking only of the present moment—the breeze caressing my face, the sweet clang of the bell on our neighbor’s cow, and the many shades of blue in the distant layers of mountains stretching out before me and in the brooding stormy sky. Yep, that’s the ticket—a nice, long day of sloth and denial.
So, until then, I could use a little cheering up. Tell me something that will make me laugh. Or, at least, smile a little. Please?