The weather on Sunday was beautiful. Nice enough to go out on 4-wheelers, on a road that went very suddenly from flattish sagebrush plains to DEEP RED CLIFFS OF DOOM, but that’s a story for another day. Today the weather is, in a word, crappy. The apple trees are in bloom, the poplars are leafed out, and those are snowflakes I spy. Gross.

Seeing as there’s nothing else happening today, why not share last night’s dream? Right? Right. Last night, in my dreams, I made an offer on a second empire style house. (They look like this.)


The house was back in Wisconsin. On a swamp. Like…on a swamp. The floors were okay, but the deck out back was so rotten it was practically part of the swamp. But every room had fancy woodwork! And wainscoting! I did remember that I no longer wanted to live in a swamp in Wisconsin, but hey, the house was cool. I offered $75k and woke up before the owner made up his mind whether or not to accept it.

My favorite part of the dream was my husband’s face. I made the offer without consulting him and when he walked into the Swamp House he made a face like this:

I have houses on the brain because I’ve been glued to for what feels like 4,872 years. We used to live in an area that was, how to put it…economically f*#^$d. Houses there are not expensive unless they sit on a lake. Out here houses are not insane (unless they’re on an acreage, or are McMansions. Sweet Jesus.) but they are usually between double and triple the price of similar homes back in Wisconsin.


This is not an insurmountable hurdle. I’ve got my eye on a few places and more will come up as the weather gets nicer. But I would be lying if I said the prices out here did not open up options I never thought I’d consider.

Like that church that comes up for sale in a neighboring town. I’ve considered buying it and calling it the Church of the Whispering Moon. Or converting it to a bakery and calling it the Church of the Holy Donut.

Or that parcel of land that doesn’t have a house, but a basement with a roof on it.

Or a parcel of land 40 miles to the north where winds regularly clock at over 100 miles per hour.

Or that place up in the mountains that has no well. Water has to be hauled.

Or maybe I’ll just do what everyone else does and mortgage my soul to the devil.

You know, options.

We will figure it all out. But if you’re a freak that’s ever wondered what Beth does to while away the hours, now you know. I’m online looking at houses.

See you later!