Can you reminisce fondly about a place even before you leave it? This past couple of weeks I've been cataloguing sights and sounds with near-obsessive detail, building a cache of snippets to call upon down the line once this little old house and I part company. It's a creaky sort of place; stoic, patient beams and uneven floors, pockets of bare brick wall and huge sash windows with many a gap in the frames for a determined gust to whistle through. It will be a bittersweet goodbye. A sad farewell to the view of rooftops and trees from my little desk, the sloping ceilings, and visits from the glossy black hobo cat who frequents our courtyard. I won't miss the bad-green bathroom suite or the chipboard kitchen units though, even with my prematurely rose-tinted spectacles sat firmly on the bridge of my nose. The scores of things I love about this small town on the edge of the Peaks, and this house, have all added up to make it feel like home - I have been so happy here.
My in-between moments have been either a flurry of list making - moving is a brilliant excuse to indulge my list habit - or quiet, reflective little things full of simple pleasures. Finding a stunning edition of Keats' Realms of Gold for fifty pence (really!) made it a very good Friday, even if the daffodils I picked up for a pound resolutely refuse to bloom - save one. You cannot beat a bag of snowies for a Saturday treat but during the week I spoilt myself with an epic letter-writing session, then sat back to paw through my collection of old postcards and appreciate their penmanship all over again. The last photo speaks to what triggered our move. T closed the door on being unhappy and unfulfilled in his work, back he goes to freelancing and (hopefully) more room to make dreams a reality - that is something I am more than happy to up sticks for.
My in-between moments have been either a flurry of list making - moving is a brilliant excuse to indulge my list habit - or quiet, reflective little things full of simple pleasures. Finding a stunning edition of Keats' Realms of Gold for fifty pence (really!) made it a very good Friday, even if the daffodils I picked up for a pound resolutely refuse to bloom - save one. You cannot beat a bag of snowies for a Saturday treat but during the week I spoilt myself with an epic letter-writing session, then sat back to paw through my collection of old postcards and appreciate their penmanship all over again. The last photo speaks to what triggered our move. T closed the door on being unhappy and unfulfilled in his work, back he goes to freelancing and (hopefully) more room to make dreams a reality - that is something I am more than happy to up sticks for.
