"Mummy's coming home"

"Mummy's coming home".*

If it were not for the delight inherent in these words, this blog would not be here at all. Even the blog title is a bit misleading just now, as it isn't really for sale - yet; but it will be, in time. Please be patient, and if you can, read on.

*i.e. to Lincolnshire.

It's a winter's night in January 2014, and I'm wondering if there will be enough dry weather soon for me to be able to create a garden, very small, and really just a rudimentary version of what it would be if it were not for the title of this blog. It's winter and not Christmas, the very best of times in my opinion, when you can settle

Mmmmmmm, winter

down to looking forward to Imbolc, a time for new beginnings if you are so minded, and for Christians a great relief that Christmas is over and you can think wintry thoughts and feel wintry things undisturbed by conversations beginning, 'Have you... yet?' (people always seem to need to check up on me thus in December, and the answer is mostly No).

What's on my mind just now is how this house that I've been in  for four and a half months is shaping up well to the expectations I first had of it when I looked round it in June 2013, and knew within minutes of walking in that it was going to be the perfect place for me. It started as a very clean blank canvas, left thus by its kind former owner, and now it has become 'my house', with my colours and my ways stamped on it and made possible.

In memory of a marriage

I leave you now with a pic or two of what has happened here, and perhaps you will understand that with the kind of year 2013 was for me, very sad and even brutal at times, it was only when a big gash appeared in the wall that I felt really at home, that the house and I were one. Now the gash is a warm gash as well as a memorial to something, a new beginning, and life can continue as though not a lot were happening, and maybe it isn't; and it tells me that all is well in this moment, my coffee kept warm, yea warmer than it started, and the wine aired up to the proper temperature for winter drinking, and the dinner-for-one will be eaten with books waiting behind me, pyjamas warming, and the doors left open so the warmth can seep right into my bones later when I sleep, as I hope to after the caffeine that's needed to power me now has subsided.

First night in, with loom and rucksack

It all started with something like this, and it isn't quite like this any more, and it's becoming how I like it: it has now the feel for me like a clearing in the woods, but smaller than that, a leafy hollow is where I sleep, and so you will maybe wonder how I see it like that, when it started like this, and if this is what someone really wanted, they could have it, but I think it would be better to look elsewhere if so.

In the next few weeks, I'll be showing you round some of the rooms and special places in this house, explaining how they have been customised, what they are for for me, and maybe could be for you.