A friend of mine and one-time love, Scott, got on my case recently about the fact I’ve stopped writing. In response to me making wistful noises about wanting to write, Scott wrote back: “Steph, a lot of people want to write. Heck, I want to write. You, however, are a writer. So start writing again already.”

Now, I am certainly guilty at snarling at Scott on occasion, but, even on a bad day, I will admit that he’s pretty good at calling things like he sees them. Most of the time I appreciate that trait about him.

Here’s the thing–I may be a writer, but I’ve always struggled with putting words on paper when I feel like my life is falling down about my ears.

To me, there are two types of writers when it comes to how they handle crisis… those who can turn inward and draw comfort from their writing during those difficult times and those who dry up until they are able to resolve the crisis at hand. I have always firmly fallen into the second camp.  I’m not sure I can even articulate why. But when things that are deeply important to me start going wrong: relationships, work, health of loved ones, etc., the words stop flowing.

This certainly hasn’t been the smoothest of years on a lot of fronts. Ending my relationship with Charlie was really freaking rough. Struggling with a difficult job and then losing it was also rough. But then, most of the people I’m close to seem to have had a pretty tough time in 2009.

Anyway, obviously things have turned around enough that I’m feeling the urge to write again. So let’s start with the good news… As of the beginning of December, I became once again gainfully employed.

The day I lost my job I started reaching out to work contacts of mine. A friend of mine at a former employer in the brokerage industry was kind enough to send me two job reqs and also to put in an enthusiastic good word for me (along with her boss who was also familiar with my work). The interview process took about a month and involved a last-minute flight to San Francisco, but I ended up being offered a Senior Manager position working with client data which is where I tend to be happiest.

So, two months to the day of when I lost my job, I received my first paycheck from my new employer. In that regard, I know I’m a lot more fortunate than a lot of people out there right now.

In my new position I’m making close to what I was previously and, so far, I’m working a lot less hours. My vacation and health benefits are better, as well. Some really weird things clicked together for me on the job front which I’ll talk about in later posts. However, suffice it to say, the “Hand of God” phenomena seems to be continuing.  To what end, I really wish I knew.  But no one seems interested in filling me in on the plan.

So what’s the downside? The downside is that the position is based out of Phoenix. I had planned to spend the winter in AZ since my place in Portland is not complete weatherized yet. But that doesn’t work out so well in terms of what I had planned come spring.

I am a virtual member of a team that is based out of San Francisco. So a case could possibly be made that I’m already working remotely. But there are some advantages to me being based in the call center the brokerage has in Phoenix. So, yeah, there’s some longer-term issues that remain to be resolved.

A big thing I need to determine is whether my hunkering down in Phoenix is a temporary thing where I simply need the comfort and support of my friends for a time. Or, rather, if it’s my way of conceding defeat about all the renovations that still need to be done to my place in Portland and the loneliness of starting over in a new place away from all friends and family.  I’m just not sure I’m that tough anymore in terms of going it alone.

Here’s what the readers of Coming Unmoored probably won’t like… I have gone so far as to list my little house in Portland with a realtor for the winter. But, considering the current real estate market and the amount of work that remains to be done, I’ll be surprised if anyone expresses interest in it. And, quite frankly, I’m kind of hoping no one does. I really don’t think I want my hand to be forced until I know what I would like to have happen.

I’ve clearly torn on the subject because I’ve spent the last week delaying writing this post. I just didn’t want to have to type the words admitting that I’ve put my place up for sale. It haunts me. I know also, though, that I’m feeling lonely and beaten up from this year and am not ready to take on the place construction-wise again until at least spring. Both my emotions and my bank account are calling it quits for the present time being.

The good news, though, is I seem to have found a safe place to hunker down and consider my options. I have a job and a place to stay this winter close to friends. That feels like quite a lot, right now.

MetroShip isn’t just a pretty face that photographs well.  This cutting-edge house boat concept is hand-made in the United States and inspired by the open floor plans of New York City loft spaces.  Stating that a great deal of thought and care went into the MetroShip would be an understatement.  From concept and design to a finished product, the MetroShip took seven years.  What emerged from those seven years of development was a well-thought out and well-executed vision of how flexible and stylish a houseship could be.

Materials play a vital role in the concept of the MetroShip.  The hull is made out of either of aluminum, fiberglass or steel hull, with translucent aluminum grid panels.  There is a one piece fiberglass roof system as well.

Much of the MetroShip concept revolves around the fact that the designer wanted to the MetroShip to feel like a “updated Frank Lloyd Wright home but with an open New York Loft condo style.”  The materials selected for the concept thus went hand in hand with this design goal.

Interior design was of paramount importance with a major goal being to avoid the “RV at sea” look that is often found in floating homes.  With this goal in mind, tremendous attention was paid to the design of the kitchen and bathroom.  The look, feel and functionality of the kitchen was key as was the idea that the bathroom needed to be full-sized and not scaled down as found on most boats for example.  Another critical aspect of the interior design was light.  The interior space needed to be flooded in light.  Often houseboats are lacking in windows and thus lacking in light.  The MetroShip concept was one were light needed to flow freely.

The tagline for MetroShip is “The Original Modern Houseship.”  And this tagline certainly fits.  The MetroShip has a look and feel that is often missing from most houseships or floating homes.  Complete with engines, the MetroShip is capable of moving under its own power.  At 48 feet in length and 12 feet wide, the MetroShip has plenty of room to not only stretch out but do so from almost anywhere.

I want to thank a couple of you who took the time to forward the following story to me and also to those of you who’ve sent quick notes just to confirm I’m still alive.  For those of you who don’t follow me on Twitter, I have been working a series of 80 work-weeks the past few weeks.  I apologize for new posts being scarce.  I’m just having difficulty finding time to sleep let alone do anything like write for something other than work.  If things don’t get better by the middle of July when the projects I’m in charge of shepherding through 2010 budgeting season should be wrapped up, I swear I’m going to run off and become a barrista.  Just you wait and see.

Anyway, the most recent issue of ReadyMade features a story by Adam Fisher.  Adam purchased a run-down houseboat in Sausalito’s floating home community.  Like me, it sounds like Adam has had his fair share of adventures in the process of making his house truly habitable after a stint with less-than-responsible renters:

“I ripped up the pee-soaked carpets and hired a cut-rate plumber to replace the septic tank festering in the boat’s engine room. It was a disaster. The man was a crook, and worse, he turned on the bilge pump after demolishing the waste lines, flooding the back of my boat with raw sewage. The first half of the worst day in my life was spent in a blind rage, screaming bloody murder and chasing him off the dock. The second half was spent putting an ax through the floorboards, in order to get to the filth—human filth—which pooled at the bottom of the hull below.

I moved on to undertake a top-to-bottom renovation. The houseboat was made largely from used materials: scrap and salvage. The wiring, my electrician commented, showed evidence of having been stolen from the Navy. My carpenter took the paneling off the one structural wall in the house and gasped: There was not a 2×4 in sight. Even the hull—which holds the house together—was once just trash. The sash windows likely came from a Victorian house in a neighborhood pulled down in the 1960s as part of a slum clearance program. The boat itself was a lifeboat, made obsolete by newer technologies and likely sold as scrap steel.”

For those of you who’ve followed my own restoration saga, some of Adam’s tale should sound eerily familiar.  I have to admit that while reading his article, I had to stop more than once having been over come with fits of giggles.  Not only was I delighted to discover another soul who could understand some of the pain I’ve been through, but I have to admit to taking some small amount of delight in Adam’s suffering.  Apparently misery really does sometimes like company.

Thankfully, though, it appears from the photos that Adam has steadfastly endured the trials of his descent into renovation hell and that he now has a lovely home to show fo it.

If you haven’t already seen it, definitely go check out the story on ReadyMade.

Photos by Philip Harvey

The view out my front window is never the same.  Yesterday morning was particularly interesting, however.  I looked up my front window to see a house sitting in the river that hadn’t been there before.

Apparently one of the local architects had just finished building a new home that was intended for a slip in the marina.  Randy from Ducks Marine was in the process of tucking it into its new slip space.

Turning one of the corners in the marina and tucking it between two other houses proved to be a real challenge.  Unfortunately I wasn’t able to get it on film because I needed to jump on a conference call for work.  However, the finally thing I heard as I was walking away was Randy saying, “I’ll be right back.  I need to go get my chainsaw.”

When I went back out a few hours later to pick up Tammy (from RowdyKittens) at the airport the new home was sitting peacefully in its slip space like it had always been there.

Lest you think I’m making up the story of the frequently-appearing Pomeranian in a life vest, I’ve attached footage of one of the row-bys below. She quite frequently floats by in a kayak, as well.

One of her owners corrected me about the fact that she’s actually a Long-Haired Chihuahua rather than a Pomeranian. She’s apparently quite sensitive about the distinction. So please consider this my editorial correction.

The upside of having traumatized my cat with the plane flight to Portland was that introducing him to my floating home was relatively non-eventful by comparison.  Well, at least to start, anyway.

By the time we made it past two airplane flights, one metal detector, one determinedly-helpful Texan, two beers, a 20 minute car ride, and a series of marina ramps in the Oregon rain, Rumi was more-than-happy to be out of his carrier inside something at least vaguely house-like in appearance.

This charitable attitude lasted about twenty minutes into him casing the joint.  Then he started to ask increasingly pointed questions  Non-cat-owners may be skeptical about my ability to translate a Balinese, but for the believers amongst you, the chatter went along the following lines:

“Oh thank Bastet!  We’re back inside. Hey, check this out!  There’s even a litter box.  Was wondering when I might see one of those.  Pardon me for a second, here…  Ah.  Much better.

Now how’s a chap supposed to get something to eat around here?  Oh, I see.  Kibble over here.  And water.  Mrpmh!  Chomp. Slurp.  Uh, you don’t happen to have a beer lying around anywhere, perchance?  Oh well.  No worries. This will have to do for now.

So where in the world are we exactly?  Oh never mind.  You’re no help.  You don’t even know where they keep the beer here.  And if I ask you, you’re likely to stuff me back in that dreadful carrier.  (Sniff.)  I’ll just have to check things out for myself.

Interesting.  Interesting.  Hmm.  Smells like birds.  (Dinner, perhaps?)  Oh, hey!  A koosh!  Don’t know where it’s been, though.  Better drop it in the water bowl.  You can never be too safe about that sort of thing…

Hmm.  Nice views out the window.  Warm spot of sun.  No small children or dogs in sight. Not too bad, all things considered…  just… where exactly is the REST of the house?  And where did they put the furniture?  How’s a cat supposed to nap around here?”

At which point I received an inquisitive yowl of inquiry and piercing blue-eyed stare.  And no matter how many ways I tried to explain that the two rooms and bathroom were all there was, he simply didn’t seem to get it.

Rumi spent most of the first night walking a puzzled circle through the doors of the house trying to figure out where the other rooms had got off to. About every fifth lap through the house he’d stop by the sleeping loft, stuff his paw up my nose long enough to wake me up and inquire again about what exactly was the deal with the place.

Sometime around 4 AM I decided it probably was a really good thing I hadn’t bought a Tumbleweed or Rumi would have found himself stuffed down the compost toilet in my desperation to get a few hours sleep.

Oddly enough, the fact that our new home was situated on the water didn’t register at all with the cat at all until Day 2.

Just before lunch, Rumi was lazing on a sunny window ledge in the front room when a fishing trawler roared by at top speed.

Rumi’s ears flattened and his eyes bugged out of his angular little head.  “That’s a BOAT.  What the freak is a BOAT doing tearing through our front yard?!”

And before I could field that question, the wake from the boat hit the house, rocking it violently from side to side.

Rumi hastily scuttled from the window sill to the floor where he did his best impression of a two-dimensional object until the worst of the rocking had stopped.  Then he looked up at me in abject horror.  “Oh you have GOT to be kidding me!  You’re telling me we’re on water?  WATER?!!” he finished with a squeak.

I tried to scoop Rumi up into my lap to comfort him but he was having none of it.  Instead, he scurried to his carrier and tucked himself inside. If he could have figured out the zipper I’m pretty sure he would zipped himself in, too.

Managing to reassemble some small modicum of dignity, he blinked once sagely and then informed me: “You can take me back to the airport, now.”

Needless to say, Rumi spent most of Day 2 having the feline version of a nervous breakdown.  I guess that’s understandable considering he’d just discovered his new home was built upon the most hated (to him) substance on the planet.  And I, the one who was usually at his every beck and call, was the one who’d taken him into this very personal version of Cat Hell.

I think what probably saved our relationship was the ducks.

Sometime in the late afternoon of Day 2, our local momma duck and seven ducklings swam lazily by.  Rumi was able to catch a glimpse of them from within the confines of the carrier.  He might have been able to resist Momma Duck by herself even though she was, by far, the biggest bird he’d ever seen.  But the ducklings were just too much.

Rumi was back up in the windowsill chattering in monosyllabic feline lust before he knew what hit him.  And even after they drifted away he had no interest in going back into the carrier.  He was just so blown away by what he’d seen.

That ended up being the only duckling sighting on Day 2, but a heron swam by about fifteen minutes later.  And then a Pomeranian in a kyak a little after that.  That pretty much clinched the deal.  Grudgingly, he told me it might be okay if we hung around and checked things out for a few days.  I just wasn’t to go getting any crazy ideas about baths being okay for cats while I was on this whole water kick..

Since then, Rumi’s favorite place to hang out is in the window by my desk.  Periodically he’ll ask me “Will you get a look at this?”

I suspect we may have just found his personal version of cable TV.

(For the die-hard Rumi fans, I’ve attached some rough footage of both Rumi and the ducklings below.  Be forewarned that I’m still trying to figure out how to manage the camera without making viewers seasick.  Especially when juggling a leash at the same time.)

I’ve written previously and Twittered on the Schweimmhausboot design, an elegant, modern houseboat design.  They just finished construction on their first one.  I wanted to share a few photos of their lovely design.

More information on the Schwimmhausboot can be found on their website.

I’ve written a couple of times before about the fact that one of the advantages of owning a floating home is that they’re mobile.  Floating homes can and do get moved around on the water.  Usually it’s to move them to a slip space with a better view or protection from the elements when a space frees up within a marina.  Although, it can be for other reasons, too, as this current example shows.

I just came across this Flickr photostream of marina residents helping to flip a house around in its slipspace.  The owners want to change the rotation of their house so that they got more sun on their porch.

Try doing that on land.

For those of you who are curious about the current state of my little floating home, I’ve included two videos in my latest article for the Small Living Journal.  The first video is a tour around my marina and the second video shows you the innards of my house.

I’ll warn you now that this is my first ever attempt at operating a camcorder so the production quality may be less than optimal.  (I promise in the future that I won’t rotate the camera for large objects.  I did it once in each of the videos not realizing how disorienting that might be for the viewer.)

Anyway, I encourage you to go take a peek at my little place along with the rest of the issue!

One of Coming Unmoored’s regular readers, James, asked me over the weekend what all the long, red poles were in the pictures of my marina.  I had no idea so I asked the marina manager, Brian.

Turns out they’re pilings.  They are what hold everything in place.  Without them, the entire ramp system and houses would simply drift downriver.

How they work is the pilings are buried deeply into the bed of the river and then collars are fitted around the pilings to hold everything into place.  (See the second photo.)

So thank you, James.  I learned something new about my home this morning.