We have recommitted to our tiny apartment, painting, buying art for the walls, spending lots of money at IKEA, reimagining rooms and the balcony.
There will be extra stuff at the end, stuff that will not fit easily in the attic storage space, stuff that will never work with the colorful, newly organized feng shui Mecca that will be our apartment.
I suppose in real compact living, you have hard choices at this point. You throw away. You give away. You find that extra space. But right now, we have an easy out.
“This will be perfect in the summer house!”
Now we do not have a summer house. But we did put in a bid last week.
Because we want the lawn and the access to the beach and the fishing and the blueberry picking. We want out of the city, but we do not want to move to the suburbs. We do not want to buy a car (our potential summer house is on a train line). There are bad echoes still from our time in the New York exurbs, echoes of isolation and boredom.
Now when I hear summer house in America, I think condo in Tahoe or a time share on some fancy golf course or in San Diego. It is different in Sweden, much more common, and much more rustic. Our potential summer house has no water in the house (though it does in the outhouse turned bathroom) and no one really uses the heat either. It was built in 1880 and will be cold and drafty, without a phone, without TV.
But it also has a huge attic, and 62 square meters of space that needs to be furnished. The kids will need toys up there, and extra clothes and tables for the lawn and pots for the kitchen.
Not very compact is it?