by Carmella

Some call it simplicity; they call it life. Former interior designer Carmella Rayone pens an assorted narrative on living with less in their 665 square foot home in the foothills of Wyoming’s mountains at assortmentblog.com.

flowering branch

Progress unseen

There are those feelings. The ones that make you sigh deep and press your eyelids tightly shut, to maybe shut out the knowing that you’ve come up zeros again.

And goodness gracious, how much you’ve tried. Tried to put legs on that vision that’s vague and veiled. Tried to put features on it, to add color to it, to put words to it, to create it.

You’ve tried to make hope become. That house. That job. That title. That bank account. That child. That.

But instead, nothing.

Instead, all you have is what you have, ragged and insufficient, it seems. Zeros, nearly.

How could this be right? It doesn’t seem that when there’s hope and vision and, yes, even need, that it should take so dang long.

You glance up hesitantly, and see your dusty road stretching endlessly ahead, barren of even a road sign.


That’s all now.

That’s all you can do.

Wait. There, on that barren road, with what you have, ragged and insufficient as it seems.

And all the beautiful people will go whizzing by on their fancy fast-moving rides, the wind billowing their hair, the sunset on their horizon.

And you must wait.

May I just say something, friend?

Be willing there, for the wait. Hold that pause. Hold it.

Lay the vision there. The hope and the dream? Lay them there. The ragged and insufficient, too.

For in your willingness to wait, you are relieved of being the master, becoming a simple steward instead–a merciful exchange if ever there was one.

And there, covered by the brooding pause, the vision ripens and matures, becoming intricate, whole, and complete.

And in that expectant moment, when grace meets your open hands, you’ll see the vision in full light, all this time having been nurtured by progress unseen.

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Seasons of simplicity

The flame flickered and waved at the top of the beeswax taper. The pewter candlestick held it steady there at the corner of my desk where I could see its golden glow as I burned the midnight oil. Not that I needed any candlelight. The lamp was on, that one that hangs above my desk (read more…)

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On keeping company

That first week the sun shone brightly, there was no wind, and in six days the snow was all gone. The prairie showed bare and brown, and the air seemed warm as milk. Mrs. Boast had cooked the New Year’s dinner. “You can all crowd into my little place for once,” she said. She let (read more…)

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Our home: the big idea of small

I wouldn’t call it tiny, really. But wonderfully small? Most assuredly yes. By the standards of the day, it’s most definitely pint-sized. But there’s room here. In this little wooden cabin, built just last year, there’s room for the five lives that fill it. There are places for gathering, and spaces for seclusion. There is (read more…)

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