The little Rover that Could - Chapter 3
#1
06-08-2016, 12:12 PM
The little Rover that Could - Chapter 3
I took the path less traveled… I was stuck in a rut, at a fork in the road, and made a decision on my offroading adventure to veer to the left and see where it took me.
It took me Home.
It has been one year and five months since I moved into the home I live in right now. I think of it as my forever home, a place that brings me comfort and nurtures me, makes me feel loved and protects me from external elements. A place where I can flourish, love and learn, give to others and pass it forward.
I love my forever home. It has a wraparound porch that hugs me when I’m blue, tall, clear windows with a beautiful view, lilac trees and the start of what could be a secret garden, if I could get up off my chair and remember how to play. The earth needs tilling, roses need pruning and the little birds that flit about keep telling me that it can be renewed.
My Rover sits in a small outbuilding, adapted from an old chicken coop, with more than enough room for tinkering under the hood and perhaps setting up an amp repair shop, if one should ever be so inclined. My tool box is full, but my heart a little empty, as I look around at everything I had planned for this place but never saw transpire. Swollen lug nuts prevent me from rotating my tires, and there’s an intermittent, cyclical revolution, singing a hymn, while the altar boy coughs, every time I ramble down the road. Bits of paint are peeling off my rear cargo door, flaking and exposing the layer below. I know I shouldn’t pick at them but I do it anyway.. pick, pick, pick.. unfortunately making the situation worse and creating a little pile of paint to be added to the bin.
The trash truck comes on Tuesdays, and yesterday I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders as I lugged those bins down to the end of the drive. The post man dropped the mail off and chided that I must be Sara Cynthia Sylvia Stout’s cousin finally waking up from a long winter’s nap. No candied yams here but by the amount of tracking numbers he threw my way, I felt the heavy load as I wandered back up the drive. Where do all of these boxes come from anyway?
Dropping them off at my make-shift recycling center, I looked over at the projects that have been started but never finished.. a half hammered ring, a door cut into two pieces - dutch door project, don't ask.., one cracked marble lamp, half repaired, and let us not forget, 41 screen printed pillows that still need forms.
The garage sale is next weekend. Everything’s for sale except the Rover, the birds and my forever home. OH, and the half hammered ring.
It took me Home.
It has been one year and five months since I moved into the home I live in right now. I think of it as my forever home, a place that brings me comfort and nurtures me, makes me feel loved and protects me from external elements. A place where I can flourish, love and learn, give to others and pass it forward.
I love my forever home. It has a wraparound porch that hugs me when I’m blue, tall, clear windows with a beautiful view, lilac trees and the start of what could be a secret garden, if I could get up off my chair and remember how to play. The earth needs tilling, roses need pruning and the little birds that flit about keep telling me that it can be renewed.
My Rover sits in a small outbuilding, adapted from an old chicken coop, with more than enough room for tinkering under the hood and perhaps setting up an amp repair shop, if one should ever be so inclined. My tool box is full, but my heart a little empty, as I look around at everything I had planned for this place but never saw transpire. Swollen lug nuts prevent me from rotating my tires, and there’s an intermittent, cyclical revolution, singing a hymn, while the altar boy coughs, every time I ramble down the road. Bits of paint are peeling off my rear cargo door, flaking and exposing the layer below. I know I shouldn’t pick at them but I do it anyway.. pick, pick, pick.. unfortunately making the situation worse and creating a little pile of paint to be added to the bin.
The trash truck comes on Tuesdays, and yesterday I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders as I lugged those bins down to the end of the drive. The post man dropped the mail off and chided that I must be Sara Cynthia Sylvia Stout’s cousin finally waking up from a long winter’s nap. No candied yams here but by the amount of tracking numbers he threw my way, I felt the heavy load as I wandered back up the drive. Where do all of these boxes come from anyway?
Dropping them off at my make-shift recycling center, I looked over at the projects that have been started but never finished.. a half hammered ring, a door cut into two pieces - dutch door project, don't ask.., one cracked marble lamp, half repaired, and let us not forget, 41 screen printed pillows that still need forms.
The garage sale is next weekend. Everything’s for sale except the Rover, the birds and my forever home. OH, and the half hammered ring.
Last edited by landlover_1; 06-08-2016 at 02:18 PM.
#2
06-12-2016, 11:02 AM
Baja
I took the path less traveled… I was stuck in a rut, at a fork in the road, and made a decision on my offroading adventure to veer to the left and see where it took me.
It took me Home.
It has been one year and five months since I moved into the home I live in right now. I think of it as my forever home, a place that brings me comfort and nurtures me, makes me feel loved and protects me from external elements. A place where I can flourish, love and learn, give to others and pass it forward.
I love my forever home. It has a wraparound porch that hugs me when I’m blue, tall, clear windows with a beautiful view, lilac trees and the start of what could be a secret garden, if I could get up off my chair and remember how to play. The earth needs tilling, roses need pruning and the little birds that flit about keep telling me that it can be renewed.
My Rover sits in a small outbuilding, adapted from an old chicken coop, with more than enough room for tinkering under the hood and perhaps setting up an amp repair shop, if one should ever be so inclined. My tool box is full, but my heart a little empty, as I look around at everything I had planned for this place but never saw transpire. Swollen lug nuts prevent me from rotating my tires, and there’s an intermittent, cyclical revolution, singing a hymn, while the altar boy coughs, every time I ramble down the road. Bits of paint are peeling off my rear cargo door, flaking and exposing the layer below. I know I shouldn’t pick at them but I do it anyway.. pick, pick, pick.. unfortunately making the situation worse and creating a little pile of paint to be added to the bin.
The trash truck comes on Tuesdays, and yesterday I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders as I lugged those bins down to the end of the drive. The post man dropped the mail off and chided that I must be Sara Cynthia Sylvia Stout’s cousin finally waking up from a long winter’s nap. No candied yams here but by the amount of tracking numbers he threw my way, I felt the heavy load as I wandered back up the drive. Where do all of these boxes come from anyway?
Dropping them off at my make-shift recycling center, I looked over at the projects that have been started but never finished.. a half hammered ring, a door cut into two pieces - dutch door project, don't ask.., one cracked marble lamp, half repaired, and let us not forget, 41 screen printed pillows that still need forms.
The garage sale is next weekend. Everything’s for sale except the Rover, the birds and my forever home. OH, and the half hammered ring.
It took me Home.
It has been one year and five months since I moved into the home I live in right now. I think of it as my forever home, a place that brings me comfort and nurtures me, makes me feel loved and protects me from external elements. A place where I can flourish, love and learn, give to others and pass it forward.
I love my forever home. It has a wraparound porch that hugs me when I’m blue, tall, clear windows with a beautiful view, lilac trees and the start of what could be a secret garden, if I could get up off my chair and remember how to play. The earth needs tilling, roses need pruning and the little birds that flit about keep telling me that it can be renewed.
My Rover sits in a small outbuilding, adapted from an old chicken coop, with more than enough room for tinkering under the hood and perhaps setting up an amp repair shop, if one should ever be so inclined. My tool box is full, but my heart a little empty, as I look around at everything I had planned for this place but never saw transpire. Swollen lug nuts prevent me from rotating my tires, and there’s an intermittent, cyclical revolution, singing a hymn, while the altar boy coughs, every time I ramble down the road. Bits of paint are peeling off my rear cargo door, flaking and exposing the layer below. I know I shouldn’t pick at them but I do it anyway.. pick, pick, pick.. unfortunately making the situation worse and creating a little pile of paint to be added to the bin.
The trash truck comes on Tuesdays, and yesterday I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders as I lugged those bins down to the end of the drive. The post man dropped the mail off and chided that I must be Sara Cynthia Sylvia Stout’s cousin finally waking up from a long winter’s nap. No candied yams here but by the amount of tracking numbers he threw my way, I felt the heavy load as I wandered back up the drive. Where do all of these boxes come from anyway?
Dropping them off at my make-shift recycling center, I looked over at the projects that have been started but never finished.. a half hammered ring, a door cut into two pieces - dutch door project, don't ask.., one cracked marble lamp, half repaired, and let us not forget, 41 screen printed pillows that still need forms.
The garage sale is next weekend. Everything’s for sale except the Rover, the birds and my forever home. OH, and the half hammered ring.
Keep on trucking eh
#3
06-13-2016, 09:15 PM
Oh you know me Offroad, nothing a bottle of Jack and a straight razor can't fix 
On a lighter note I think I have the lug nut issue under control.. so what if I have a run in my panty hose
https://landroverforums.com/forum/at...1&d=1465870450
On a lighter note I think I have the lug nut issue under control.. so what if I have a run in my panty hose
https://landroverforums.com/forum/at...1&d=1465870450
#4
06-17-2016, 03:29 PM
Baja
Oh you know me Offroad, nothing a bottle of Jack and a straight razor can't fix
On a lighter note I think I have the lug nut issue under control.. so what if I have a run in my panty hose
https://landroverforums.com/forum/at...1&d=1465870450
On a lighter note I think I have the lug nut issue under control.. so what if I have a run in my panty hose
https://landroverforums.com/forum/at...1&d=1465870450
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