Small rooms or dwellings discipline the mind; large ones weaken it. Leonardo da Vinci
"I want one of these" I tell my husband as I swoon over images of tiny houses. He gives me the same look as when I announce I want to sell our car and buy a Vespa or rescue a Shetland pony from an animal shelter... followed by a sigh that only those living in prolonged suffering can truly appreciate.
I adopt my most informative voice "Do you know that Australians have the biggest houses in the world? The average Australian house is 243 square metres...and... on average, only 2.6 people reside in each dwelling?"
This time a raised eyebrow.
Recognising I have lost my audience I go outside to sit under the pergola... 8 metres by 5 metres... to dwell on the issue of dwellings. It's true that I have become besotted with tiny houses, but I am genuinely alarmed at the costs associated with maintaining a large, or average, Australian home. I'm worried about the impact big houses have on the environment and that a big house has become the norm. Above all else I shudder at the prospect of how much stuff we fit into these houses.
My eyes wander to the shed... the very big shed... the 'big enough to house a small African nation' shed... and I imagine a cute, teeny, weeny little house sitting in its place...
Our house is too big for us, it seemed fine for a while but with grown children moving on it has now taken on penthouse proportions! The rooms seem endless and clearly under used.
The dog and the cat now have their own bedrooms, thoughtfully decorated with bone-embossed wallpaper and mouse-hair matting (for the discerning cat). All that's missing is a kitty-litter en suite and an outdoor kennel/ shed so the dog can sneak out the back for a quick fag.
Our house is too big for us. Without other people, i.e rowdy under twenty-fives, who check in and out intermittently, making various encouraging remarks regarding the laundry system and the current menu... well, the space seems cavernous!
Big houses have different time zones... I know this for a fact... a half hour in the shed, as in "I'll turn the music down in half an hour" or "I'll just pop out and have a quick beer in the shed with Duncan, I'll be half an hour" does not equate to... say... a half hour in the kitchen.
Big houses pose different levels of risk and access requirements. For example, the upstairs area, where my son reigns, requires visa entry (and possibly some sort of vaccination)... the sofa is the domain of all males, including the tom cat... the laundry is a high risk area, known to render a man weak on entry and unable to grasp simple concepts such as dirty socks, undies and used towels belong in the dirty linen hamper.
Coincidentally, the external door to the laundry is only used by myself and the dog... who is a bitch.
Now, a small house would not entice clutter, would not require negotiation as to what areas are in and out of bounds, would not be subject to different time zones. A small house would be functional and accommodate only those things that were beautiful and appreciated. It would be a centre for calm and be pleasing aesthetically... not a shed in sight.
I close my eyes and 'Om' deeply... I'm almost there... 'tis just me and he, sitting on a tiny porch, taking in the beautiful vista before us... no interruptions... just the sound of our laughter and the clink of glasses as we drink the wine, which we poured in our tiny kitchen... we make our way inside to sit beside the tiny fireplace... ah the serenity...
The moment passes and I'm back to reality... it's dark now as I head out the back door, crunch across the gravel with a Big Jim flashlight in hand and holler above the barking dogs....
"TEA'S READY!"
photos: Porter Cottage
