Yes, friends . . . I live in a camper. Forty feet of sheer joy. Every day. With two cats. And I love it.

I sold a house in town that was too big and costly, and down-sized to a sweet Puma Palimino. It gives me more freedom and less headache than the large (circa 1903) remodeled nine-room home situated within the city limits. And with neighbors that were less than good, bless their hearts. When my son and grandchildren were younger, and my immediate family was larger, the house was the perfect place for Thanksgivings, Christmases, and birthday celebrations for the young and the not so young.

After I had cancer, I thought long and hard about the rest of my life and I am quite  happy and content with the choice I made. I packed up what I love and “set up camp” (been wanting to use this for over two years) in my new abode.

Now the camper life isn’t for everyone. If you’re married and happen to have a  disagreement (large or small), there’s not really a private room to stalk off to and seethe quietly alone. And if you live with two cats and they detest the sight of one another after living together for 11 years, you might encounter hissing and spitting exchanges in close quarters. Sometimes fur does fly.

The pluses include NOT spending all day on Saturday cleaning—instead I can complete all domestic chores in two hours. Or less. Usually less.

Everyone who visits says it is very organized and comfy and cozy. I replaced camper  furniture with normal house furniture and I do enjoy that. I learned to organize relatively quickly and that made all the difference.

I have learned many things about myself and about life since living in my tiny, comfortable home:

I have only the cookware I use often. And that also includes plates, cups, cutlery, and kitchen tools

I learned I could live without: 515 books, 25 pairs of mismatched socks, 12 pairs of shoes for each season, six sets of placemats, 5 frying pans, and a partridge in a pear tree.

I learned to creatively fold and tuck my clothes in the closets and dresser.

I have no tub—shower only—so soaking in Mr. Bubble is out.

I sadly can no longer use this type of excuse to beg off a tiresome gathering: “Emma Sue, I would so love to make a low-sodium, vegan, ‘meatless loaf’ to celebrate Timmy’s early release but I              must mop and wax these wood floors and vacuum up all the cat hair I’ve been ignoring, bless my heart.”

I’ve also learned to be content with what I have. There is no idle shopping, large furniture purchases, or tons of clothes for each season. My house became the final resting place for furniture and books no one wanted, dishes my mother hoarded but was tired of taking up space in her own cabinets. I couldn’t throw anything away.

I told myself the house was big enough to save things I would sure to need at a later date. Perhaps someone I knew would need some of these things in the future. Or I would have a yard sale. Probably.

Now I feel light and happy and free. I don’t worry about saving everything for later. For me or anyone else. I love living the camper life for now . . .in this particular chapter of my life.