We all need a place to escape, somewhere away from the stress of daily living and in a spot where we can enjoy our favorite passions without someone coming through the door and upsetting our apple cart at any given moment.  A place of our very own.

Somewhere where bad memories cannot hide in the shadows. 

If I had the chance I would, without hesitation, build one of these tiny houses.  I’d have a tiny garden and I would sit near a tiny window while deciding whether to read my favorite books, work on my writing or delve into my oil paints and paint a tiny masterpiece….while a tiny dog sat at my feet.

Oh yes, I could live in one of these.  Would you come for a tiny visit?

 Dream for yourself, like I’m doing…….

 http://www.tumbleweedhouses.com/houses/

The great Missing Book Caper is over…..but the mystery surrounding it lingers on.
                                                                 

                              
How something can be under your nose one minute and totally disappear from sight the next is, well, beyond strange.  Someone, or something, crept into my world for no other reason than to test both my patience and sanity.

Previously, I related about how the tote bag containing all the files for my book was nowhere to be found; the most maddening part of the deal was that I had my hands, and eyes, on it shortly before it went missing.  Friends and family advised checking the room my late mother occupied when she lived with us; of course that was one of the first things I did.

Welllll…..not completely.

The door to that room, our guest room, is always closed; actually, it’s one of my favorite rooms in the house.  Decorated in a beach house motif, the plaque on the door reads “Lighthouse Inn”,  a sheer canopy hangs gracefully from the ceiling over the bed and the walls are adorned with nautical artwork.  Two antique bureaus stand like soldiers on either side of a vintage desk and chair that is situated in front of a window, looking out onto the front lawn….my favorite place for a desk.  It’s a lovely room, showing no scars from my mother’s nightly dementia-battles.  On one wall a huge double closet holds my summer clothes as well as my Dept. 56 North Pole Village collection,  Christmas items too fragile to store up in our attic.

I never really, really looked in there.

With temperatures dropping steadily below freezing now, it was time to move my warm-weather wardrobe.  As I shuffled clothes onto hangers, stuck next to the Dept. 56 box containing “Toots Model Train Mfg.” was my tote bag and missing book, upside down, to boot.  It was almost as if it was hastily, even angrily, shoved into one corner of the closet.  Trust me on this, there would have been absolutely no reason for me to ever move my writings out of my office and brutally cram it all into that closet, no how, no way! 

I’m innocent, I tell ya, innocent!!  And, before you say, or think, “well at least you found it” understand that I still find it…spooky.  Why?  Try this on for size….my Mom’s nickname was….”Toots”. 
In order to thwart further spirit-thievery episodes, the door to our guest room will remain locked until my Florida family arrives in three weeks for Thanksgiving and I’ve also hidden my tote bag and book.

Not telling you, not telling anyone…..where.