last two images via
Eek, where does it all come from? H would probably call it the detritus, or crumbs of life. Or something similar. Really though, how have we managed to pack so many things into one little house. You bring one tiny box down from the loft, open it up and it's like those cans with pointy nozzles that builders use to fill cavities in walls. All this stuff squeezes out that is ten times bigger than the container that it came in. The temptation is to pack it all back into the same box and put it to one side until we move.
We are gradually peeling our personality from the house that was our home for the last twenty two years. We leave at the end of the month. It's only the 2nd of July and that may sound like plenty of time to an experienced mover. But if like me, when you open up a drawer and find the pattern for the miniature babushka doll overalls that you made for a cheeky little golden haired girl with dimpled cheeks and elbows; or the photograph of the exotic young man with dark, dark hair and big brown eyes who climbed out of a wooden boat nestled in a blue-green sea and headed for the beach with an unrecognisably skinny girl in a white bikini balanced on his shoulders, both wearing shiny new gold bands on the third finger of their left hand; it's hard to move quickly because you just want to slow down and remember those moments that were a life time ago yet only seem like yesterday...
But it's time for a new chapter and it's no wonder that I came down at 2am last night, I am so EXCITED I can't sleep. My life if full of boxes but when I'm not tripping over them, any spare moment you will find me looking at interior tumbler blogs or the kitchen sections on peoples pinterest pages. ( Yes at 2am.) Mostly my favourite my little things, rhubarb in the garden or local milk for the higgeldy piggeldy kitchens with miss-matched old cupboards and odd pots and pans. Functional, practical, homely ones. I want our new home to be comfortable and livable.
Sibila Sibella Court. I've kept an old magazine that I take out every so often and pour over the images of an apartment, that's a bit like a cross between a museum and a stage set, not realising who the owner was. Then I discovered her books and her website and I can't stop peeping at it all.
I've begun to collect some things that I don't want to use until we move. Old stoneware jugs that no one seems to value, that you can buy for a few pounds at flea markets. A massive white bowl for making bread. I think it once lived with a jug on a wash stand in some old house. There's the bargain Georgian full-length stand mirror, and the wooden coal scuttle. Old table and bed linens, and the horn handled carving knife for Sunday lunch. Even the cherry red, enamel Wee-Willy-Winky lamp, all rusty and chipped to burn candles on winter nights, and the Scandinavian socks from my sister P to hang by the fire on Christmas eve. Mostly projects waiting for a new coat of paint or for me to dye them. It will be a while before they get done. But there's no rush. There may be holes in the roof to repair first or broken floor boards to change. We want to get to know the house first to get the feel of it, and then to start all over again...
...I can't wait...
...do you steal time for a little bit of late night blog reading too?