Minimalism is a luxury

I was a middle-class guy with a college education and a decent income. I had a house, a car, a truck, two motorcycles, foreign vacations, original art on the walls and a newly renovated kitchen. I ate well. I slept well. I was sufficiently healthy. I had good credit. I paid all my bills. I had security, safety and very few significant worries.

And I gave it up.

Because it was one of the perks of being a middle-class guy. I had options. I could choose.

Meanwhile, there are millions of people who have none of that. They aren’t poor by choice. They aren’t minimalists. They aren’t rebelling against a consumerist culture. They want to be part of it. They dream of having disposable income. They think I’m insane.

So I’m going to stop talking about minimalism as if it’s a superior way to live. In fact, I think I’ll stop talking about it all together. It’s insulting to those struggling to survive.

Super-ish moon

Yay for telephoto lenses

Speaking of material things to worry about

I have a Dometic CF-25 refrigerator/freezer. I know, if I were more of a minimalist I would make do without it, eating and drinking things that didn’t require refrigeration. But cold beverages and not needing to replace ice are things that really matter to me.

The fridge is my biggest consumer of electricity. Since there’s less sunlight in winter to charge my house batteries, and therefore less power to run anything other than the fridge, I tried an experiment.

Other van dwellers with setups similar to mine turn the fridge off at night. True, it’s cooler at night so a well insulated fridge should be able to hold temperature fairly well. But well enough? Let’s find out.

The temperature raised degree overnight. No problem.

When I turned the fridge back on at about 10:00AM the error light started blinking. Uh-oh. What did that mean? I turned the fridge off and on again. Still the blinking light. I disconnected and reconnected the power. Still blinking.

The manual is in a box under the bed but I didn’t feel like digging it out, so I found the manual online. It told me:

Um, okay, but what is it symptomatic of? Do I need to do something or will it get ready on its own? Is it the manufacturer’s translated-from-Swedish way of saying, “You Americans are always in a hurry. Relax, have some gravlax. These things will sort themselves out.” Or does it mean it’s time to give the fridge a Viking funeral?

I searched online for deals on replacements, just in case. Yikes, prices have gone up.

I checked the fridge again, in case it had decided it was ready. The light was still blinking.

I distracted myself with some puttering around and straightening up.

Then the error light was off and all was once again right with my world. My Dometic CF-25 just isn’t a morning person. I can live with that.

The other minimalism

I’m not a hardcore minimalist. I’ve simply come to the realization I need less stuff than I thought I did in order to be happy and contented. And I’ve learned less stuff equals fewer things to care for, to make room for, to carry from place to place. And that makes me a little more free.

But my flavor of minimalism goes beyond material goods. It’s also about mental and emotional decluttering. It’s about deciding what really matters to me.

The world is filled with people eager to tell us what matters. Yes, some of it is very important. Some of it is worth fighting and dying for. But way too much of it is trivial.

If we aren’t mindful we can get mired in things that don’t really matter to us. When we do, we give power to those trivialities. We spend more of our limited lives anxious, upset, offended, hateful… over what, really?

I’m not proposing you stop caring about things that really do matter to you. I’m suggesting you do an inventory and ranking. Are there things in the It Matters pile that don’t really serve a purpose in your life? Anything that’s counterproductive? Anything you realize you get way too worked up about?

Sure, it gets complicated when the things that matter to us conflict with the things that matter to people who matter to us. (Follow that?) Does it matter that you disagree? Does it matter that you pretend, for the sake of the relationship, that something that matters to you doesn’t matter, or that something that doesn’t matter does matter? Does the relationship matter more? (This is why I’m not good at relationships.)

Do I care whether you become more selective about what matters to you? Mmmmm, not enough that it matters.

Pet sharing

Buster takes the driver's seat

Downer

Gray days like this bum me out. As if having less daylight to begin with weren't enough. It's supposed to clear up in a couple of days, but then the winds come. Maybe I can read my way to a less gloomy place.

Hidden treasure

I found some money today. Not in the league with a pirate chest of doubloons or D. B. Cooper's hijack loot. But money all the same.

An insect had gnawed on me enough it warranted some Neosporin and a bandage. When I opened the Band Aid box (cardboard, not the great old tin containers) I was surprised to find a small portrait of Ulysses S Grant. A $50 bill.

Oh, yeah. I vaguely remembered stashing it and some other cash in various places in the Rolling Steel Tent before one of my visits to Mexico. I wonder what happy monetary surprises are yet to come.

There was a brief debate between myself and myself whether the money should go into my wallet or back into hiding. In the end, I folded the bill back up and hid it in another place I'll forget about for a year or more.

Banking on it

My Social Security check gets deposited the second Wednesday of each month. That means sometimes a "month" is four weeks long and sometimes it's five. This is one of those long months. November 8 to December 13. The fact November hath thirty days doesn't help much. So, I gotta watch the money a little closer. No splurging on Christmas.

I'm a big fan of changing to thirteen 28-day months with New Year's Day being its own thing. And an extra check each year.

Best $6.00 carne asada burrito ever

From La Paloma Cafe, Blythe, California

Wrapping up another day in the desert

Well, that wasn't good for mileage

I pulled into the border parking lot at Los Algodones, strolled through the port of entry and made my way past the hawkers, vendors and beggars to my favorite taco cart. I waited while they fried up the shrimp just for me then assembled the tacos. I ate them slowly, savoring every bite. Then I retraced my steps to a pharmacy where I stocked up on my medications at ridiculously low prices. I moseyed back through the hawkers, vendors and beggars to the border. I was fifth in line. I was stuck behind slow walkers on my way back to the parking lot, but I was in no hurry. I rolled my eyes and shook my head as I approach the Rolling Steel Tent. I had left the engine running. But at least I had locked the doors.

The van engine is rather quiet, and my hearing isn't that great, so if my mind is on other things (like making sure I have my passport) and my automatic pattern of stop, put it in park, turn it off and remove the key it gets sidetracked.

It's not the first time this has happened and it probably won't be the last. That's why I have a spare key hidden under the van.

For those who worry about the wisdom of leaving your vehicle parked at the border, no bad guys came along, discovered my running van, smashed a window and drove away in it.

Sky

I stepped out into the desert night a little before midnight. The sky was not simply cloudless, it was flawless, as if the atmosphere had ceased to exist. The blackness was like a freshly waxed and buffed grand piano. The stars were extra sharp, digitally enhanced. Only the brightest ones were visible, though. The glow from Yuma overpowered the background of trillions of fainter stars—even the Milky Way—leaving Gemini, Orion and Taurus standing out like a simplified diagram of the constellations. Betelgeuse winked a red-eyed, "Good evening."

I turned and looked east, north, west, straight up. The sky. Was. Massive. Well, of course it is, but the universe looks even bigger, emptier, more distant, when only a fraction of the stars can be seen. A night sky without any interfering ground light looks......busy. Closer. More intimate. Amazing in a different way.

I'm going to go out and look some more.

Pushing my (bad) luck

I ran over my first step stool like this at Slab City. I drove away from Morro Strand State Park without the replacement I'd bought. Then I made a nice wooden version, which I ran over near Sedona. I made a quick and dirty replacement that I backed over in Colorado. Only one leg was messed up, so I repaired it, but it was an ugly thing.

Since I was passing through Quartzsite again, where I bought the other two fancy aluminum steps (K&B Tools in one of the tents on Kuehn Street), I figured I'd give it another try. It has been a little over three hours and I haven't harmed it yet.

People are sick

So, it’s flu season. Get your vaccinations, blah blah blah, read this for all the details you could ever want.

As for me? I’ll be fine. Probably.

Back when I worked in an office I used to get the flu once or twice a year.

When I worked at home flu would get me every couple of years.

Now that I’m a nomad, I’ve caught the flu once in four years.

There's a pattern there.

Being in close proximity with people who are around other people who are around still more people increases one’s chances of catching whatever is going around. Being an introverted nomad out in the boonies radically decreases one’s chances of exposure to viruses.

So if you’ve been around someone who has been around someone who was sick, stay away from me.

This is bugging me

The weather is still warm enough here in southern Arizona that I can have doors and windows open for a couple of hours after dark. The trouble, of course, is that lights in the van attract moths and other nocturnal flying insects.

It would be one thing if they just flew around the lights, but they also land on me and crawl around. It’s annoying. It tickles. And there’s a type of moth that likes to flutter along the inside of my upper arm. Always the right arm. Sometimes one will land on the inside of my eyeglasses. And tonight a tiny mantis landed on the keyboard.

Stop! It! Or I’ll get out the Raid and you’ll all be sorry.