Basement Living

Most mornings are accompanied by the sweet sounds of the temper tantrum--sometimes more than one tantrum at a time--complete with murder victim screams and small bodies hitting the walls. No, we aren't stowing any children away in our closets, but we do live in a humble basement below four rambunctious little ones, and I'm sure at least two of them are going through mid-childhood crises. While some days I am tempted to pack everything up and find another basement to hide out in, I quite enjoy coming home to two little boys manning the side gate with plastic firearms in preparation for the zombie apocalypse. They make me feel safe.

Especially lately, people have been asking me why I'm living in a basement when I can afford to live in a house. Yes, it would be nice to have a few hundred extra square feet to walk around in. I wouldn't whine about having a few more closets and bathroom drawers. Because of the space issue we are experiencing, a set of golf clubs, a tarp, sleeping bags and tents are housed in our cars' trunks. And how fun would it be to invite more than two people over at a time? We could host backyard barbecues and my friends' baby showers. I want to read on a couch that is engulfed in the light from an above-ground window. I want to take a shower and leave the door open without the steam setting off the fire alarm. I want to drop by bags by the front door without blocking the entry way. I don't want to rely on a faulty antennae from Best Buy to pick up ABC so we can watch football. I especially don't want to play the "where should we put the antennae so it works today" game. And I don't want Dalton to throw any more fits because the reception is going in and out during important '49ers games.

But, let me be real about something. Buying a house or town home right now would be absurd.

We have had these conversations, but they end quickly. We have no idea where the world is going to send us when Dalton graduates next spring. So, this chapter in our book of life is going to have to be called "Waiting." We've also talked about renting a bigger place, spending another $200 a month just for a little more breathing room. But why? We don't need anything more than we have right now to satisfy our essential needs.

I guess Hobbit living isn't all that bad--until your little brother tells you that your living space is "precious" and that his mission apartment on the Mexico border is bigger and nicer. I don't take care of a lawn, it's not my problem if anything breaks (not that anything does break) and I only have to write one check every month that covers all of my living expenses. We save more than half of what we make every month. We can pay for plane tickets, medical bills and expensive car repairs without breaking a sweat. It's almost impossible to lose things in our apartment, because there aren't many places to look. Oh, and we never get solicitors. Ever. Luckily, the Girl Scouts still find us.

However, these few perks are the only thoughts keeping me sane when I'm kicking my shoes back into our itty-bitty closet. I've lived like a college rat for long enough. I think I've earned a garage of some sort. Maybe a laundry room that isn't in a closet?

Sigh. Well, when it does make sense for us to buy a house, we'll be ready. More than ready.

Now that I've said this, I know the next place we move will be some 500-square-foot studio apartment in downtown somewhere. How about we just fast forward to the part where I live in a 2-bed, 2-bath. That's all I'm asking.

Tonight, This is Our Mountain

There is nothing more calming than a quiet, summer night snuggled up in a 2-man tent with my honey. The insects have stopped their humming and the wind has settled, giving the tree branches and their leaves a time to rest. I fall asleep listening to the crackle of dying coals. I am nestled in a heap of down on top of a one-inch pad that saves me from the sticks and rocks beneath. I am thoroughly enjoying my new fragrance--diethyl-meta-toluamide, ash and sweat. My body is overly warm while my face is perfectly cool. The sound of silence mixed with heavy breathing puts me to sleep. The woods feel like home to me, and it's not because I'm one of those barefooted forest hippies, it's because everything around me was made specifically for me. Every meadow and valley I've fallen asleep in was molded so that I could know God's love for me. It's for you too, you know. Nature is so intricate and inspired. It's a gift. I want to open it over and over again.

On top of a mountain, I take nothing for granted. I cannot walk into an air-conditioned room or order a Crunchwrap Supreme, so obviously, I take what I can get. And I'm grateful for everything I do get. There is nothing more relieving than a blast of cool wind out of the canyon onto my sweating forehead while hiking up the side of a mountain covered in wildflowers and sagebrush lizards. There is nothing more forgiving than flat land after you've hiked a mile at a steep incline with an extra 15 pounds on your back. Nothing feels better than taking my hot, pulsing feet out of my shoes after reaching our nesting place and letting them soak up the cool forest air. Every bite of rehydrated fettucine alfredo is the best spoonful of mush I have ever rolled around in my mouth. Every source of water found is nature's IV that restores me back to vitality. And you appreciate those cold sips so much more after you've spent a fair amount of time filtering it yourself while your tongue feels like hot paper.

As many of you know, I've been forcing myself to run lately. I started running on a treadmill in February and then I discovered how incredibly lame it is watching the evening news while running when you could be watching the evolving scenery as you run through a canyon. I can never go back to machine running. I drove to Sundance this week as the sun dimmed enough to make the sky gray. I was doing some downhill training and hadn't run this hill before, and really had only been to Sundance once or twice before. I didn't remember the drive. As I started running down the hill I was so taken by the rich green color all around me, the sound of trickling water, and the wings of these beautiful birds flying low, just skimming the tops of the pine trees. I disregard so many things when I'm driving; my windshield filters the true essence of my surroundings. When I'm breathing in so much life, I feel more alive.

"Beautiful things don't ask for attention." 

The most beautiful places I've ever found didn't wave me to them. In most cases, I had to sweat and ache to find most of them, whether I was running or hiking. Usually, when I push myself to go just one more mile when I'm completely exhausted, I find a waterfall, a lake, beautiful cliffs and a view so stunning I lose my breath. If you live in Utah and haven't wandered, shame on you. Acknowledge the beauty that was made for you.