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A Little Remembrance I Share Today
This isn't a story of something I know nothing about my friend, nor is it a tale of wonders half imagined in some fantasy land. It is instead a true tale, and it contains enough wonder to make it worth reading. It is a tale of escape, of beauty and intrigue and of a cat who has my heart. This is a tale of my home in Sussex, situated near the sea and the countryside. Where castles in towns close by are now ruins, not so far from the banks of the river where Virginia Woolf once chose to end her own life by drowning.
I live in a magical place, not some Narnia that I must access through my wardrobe, or a Hogwarts where they send me off to learn my own power. No indeed, our homes have power in themselves, to elevate our feelings and bring us joy and peace.
When I first came here I was very young. I moved from the centre of town and a large two bedroom flat, to a cosy little bungalow with a large garden. At the time it had over a hundred rose bushes, and I viewed it in Summer when they were in full bloom. The previous owner had died and it was empty. I half expected to see the police tape of their silhouette inside on the floor. It was empty and smaller than my last place, but it felt like a home should. You get that feeling of rightness, like it was meant to be. But it was the outside that sold it to me, as well as the great location. Even now I recall chatting to the Estate Agent whilst they fed off the plums in the small orchard at the bottom of the garden. "At last," I thought, "Althea (my tiny black and white cat) will be able to have trees to climb and space to run. I bought it then and there.
I moved all I had in one van. I didn't need much. I didn't have much. What is important is that you are happy and safe, and that you feel good in a home you chose. The rest, that comes later as you build on the love you have for the place. By the end of that day I was already mowing the front lawn. I live in a cul-de-sac. Nobody would pass through or come to park here, not unless they lived in one of the eight homes it was comprised of. It was a hot sunny day, so I thought it odd when an ancient lady in a heavy fur coat and flipflops came ever so slowly across the way to come speak to me. It took her a very long time, and I didn't dare guess her age. Old folk can be like trees, it's best to assume they've seen a lot of life, and unless you open them up to count the rings of good times and bad they've endured, just believe they deserve to be cut some slack.
I wasn't sure what revelations would unfold....
I live in a magical place, not some Narnia that I must access through my wardrobe, or a Hogwarts where they send me off to learn my own power. No indeed, our homes have power in themselves, to elevate our feelings and bring us joy and peace.
When I first came here I was very young. I moved from the centre of town and a large two bedroom flat, to a cosy little bungalow with a large garden. At the time it had over a hundred rose bushes, and I viewed it in Summer when they were in full bloom. The previous owner had died and it was empty. I half expected to see the police tape of their silhouette inside on the floor. It was empty and smaller than my last place, but it felt like a home should. You get that feeling of rightness, like it was meant to be. But it was the outside that sold it to me, as well as the great location. Even now I recall chatting to the Estate Agent whilst they fed off the plums in the small orchard at the bottom of the garden. "At last," I thought, "Althea (my tiny black and white cat) will be able to have trees to climb and space to run. I bought it then and there.
I moved all I had in one van. I didn't need much. I didn't have much. What is important is that you are happy and safe, and that you feel good in a home you chose. The rest, that comes later as you build on the love you have for the place. By the end of that day I was already mowing the front lawn. I live in a cul-de-sac. Nobody would pass through or come to park here, not unless they lived in one of the eight homes it was comprised of. It was a hot sunny day, so I thought it odd when an ancient lady in a heavy fur coat and flipflops came ever so slowly across the way to come speak to me. It took her a very long time, and I didn't dare guess her age. Old folk can be like trees, it's best to assume they've seen a lot of life, and unless you open them up to count the rings of good times and bad they've endured, just believe they deserve to be cut some slack.
I wasn't sure what revelations would unfold....
