Tiny House Tragedy

The only thing preventing me from drinking my weight in Angel's Envy tonight is a 4 1/2 hour drive tomorrow, followed by some shiny happy people infusion on Saturday and Sunday in the form of the tiny house conference.

You know, that thing that has propelled Sicily and I forward on the tiny house for the last eight months? The thing that has literally made me get out of bed every morning when all I want to do is just sink in? That conference.

The hauler damaged La Petite Maison. Neither Sicily nor I trusted him when we met him yesterday, but we didn't say anything. The capper was when he said the house was pretty good, "for girls."

So we are still going. Magical things will still happen. We will still meet the beer-drinking buddy who directed me to the job that allowed me to finally call myself a writer. We will see a beautiful new baby and a big grey dog. We will break bread with an old friend who has been an unflagging supporter of Sicily's dream, the same guy who sent his dad to teach us about electricity and changing brake pads.

But no house.

When I tell you it is beautiful, I am not just whistling Dixie. Last minute help from Steven at Classic Bars, Dane's old job that he loved so much, helped us really pull the room together (it's not only a rug that can do that; in this case it was an African mahogany countertop ). And three or four 12-hour days helped us finish the rest.

But the conference will have to make do with pictures. And La Petite Maison, stuck at home, has had some dings, is missing a wheel, and is not in her appointed place. The guy who damaged her was more concerned with whether or not he would be able to get his truck out of the yard (I could have got it out of the yard in half the space he took) than if she was stable and safe back where she was. He dropped her on an incline and only moved her when I said something.

People won't believe it unless they can walk around in it. Sicily is pretending that it's okay, but I know it's not. I will know it later when I stumble into the bathroom for a drink in the middle of the night, and her light is still on, and she is restless and insomniac.

Devastated. Drinking more bourbon tonight than I should.