I live in an unincorporated corner of the desert at the outskirts of the Phoenix metropolitan area. I share my dream home with a crotchety Dutchman and a dog with an affection complex. Our house was only a few years old and effectively naked when we moved in. We had almost no furniture, the house was top-to-bottom beige, and the back yard was a semi-sterile bit of landscaping with sod and rock, studded by a few heat-tolerant plants without any real soul.
Fast forward a few years. Life engaged, we sold the house, and downsized.
Like really downsized. Under half the size, bought a mobile home in a senior park
The flip side to this? We no longer have a mortgage.
This comes at a price. You trade off and get a cost of living that’s so cheap it’s ridiculous, but you lose in space. Which would be fine, if I weren’t married to a pack rat.
I love my husband. I do. We’ve been married for a number of years, and we mostly get along great, despite all the years in each other’s company. But he’s a pack rat, which drives me insane, and he hates that I’m messy. I get one corner of the room and make a mess. I think that’s a good compromise, isn’t it?
I took early retirement for a year, then went back to work. I will eventually retire for good, though it won’t be today. I have bills to pay and we’re planning on a new car. No, not quite the trappings of an insanely expensive life, just… life.