Too often my house becomes merely a place to lay my head after a long day. It doesn't get the celebration and appreciation it deserves. I love you home. You have 4 awesome walls and a killer roof. You cradle 7 humans, one dog and three cats in your cozy wooden embrace. You have the best Mobile Command Post in the world. You have a bad ass tree house...complete with a saxaphone playing enlightened inhabitant that tonally delivers equal parts psychological warfare and classy jazz lounge vibes on the daily. My life would be boring without hearing "The Flintstones" theme song, "If I Were a Rich Man" from Fiddler on the Roof, Sade's "Sweetest Taboo", followed by cochlea searing "experimental note finding" hour...in that order.
On most weekends, I feel like I reclaim everything about this space that evades my work trodden weekday brain. It comes alive. It begs to be played with, if I'm willing. I remember that I have a bike, and surfboards, and cameras, and masks & fins, and bathing suits, and outdoor showers, and beach, and shells, and hiking trails, and friends, and time, and beauty all around me. and I remember that I am blessed. and that everything is good.
love shack
Ke Nui Rd., Paumalū, Ko`olauloa, Oahu, Hawaii
holgaroid experiment
view from on high
