I’m biking down the hill, non-peddalling, with the rain on my face. Drips, drips. Here it comes, the unavoidable sun, of what’s just happened and what’s been done. I’m flowing. I’m crossing the most beautiful bridge in the world. There’s a willow tree reaching down in the dark. No one will approach me.
Sometimes I’m walking, just walking, through the neighbourhood, wondering what’s changed. I’ve kind of lived here all my life, nearby, but it never struck me as happiness. Today the sun is out and Maarten and I are discovering. There’s this lingering atmosphere of decreasing and increasing interest at the same time, of raw versus posh cosiness. People are sitting outside cafés drinking cappuccinos and beers. I’m wearing my new sunglasses and holding onto a sweet hand. Carrying a see-through bag with a corny pillow portraying three kittens looking all dazed and confused. I’m all sweaty from walking these hills but I don’t care.
When I came home it felt like that immediately. Home! The sun made pretty figures on the floor in the living room: squares and squares and squares. In the morning the light wakes us and in the afternoon it returns, spreading out through the old windows, onto the bed. This is my favourite cat nap place to be. I carefully selected photos of trees and scenery and art and a frog and stuck them to the wall above the bed to make for comfy dreams, along with our green Andy Warhol cat. I get that I’m a weird cat person, but at least everything isn’t pink.
Yesterday our new table arrived and we put it together with screws and glue and 1,2,3, it was up. The table is huge and of a light wood, it has a very raw quality, looks as if we made it ourselves. Well, someone else did for us. This really is my corner now. I can feel incredibly excited just thinking about waking up on a sunny day, making a cup of tea or coffee and strolling over to our table, where I would read the Saturday news magazine and eat from a big bowl of yoghurt and fruit. There’s one really cute little plant in the middle of the table, looking way too tiny for the sea of wood spreading out beneath him. As I’m writing this, these particular items are around me: an empty bottle of beer, courtesy of my boyfriend, two glasses and a tea mug, the little plant, my camera, my phone, two Saturday magazines, a book, a zine, a poster book, a little to-do-list and a pen.
This morning we raced down our hilly street and brought our friend to the Institute of the Arts and went to a nearby record store for International Record Store Day! We bought five records all together, had breakfast with bagels and coffee and biked back home where we played lots of music. I’m still admiring our table an awful lot. I know I can’t seem to stop talking about it but it’s the most zen thing, having such an island of comfort in your home.
All of our friends are here, in this town. I feel like I’m on a really familiar vacation, one that’s just inbetween dull, comfy and a feeling of content-ness. I ate REALLY good aioli yesterday. We found the best tv-chair just around the corner, for free. It’s spring. About twenty people all gave us plants, cactusses and dinosaurs at our housewarming party two nights ago. Half of them went out with us that night and when I look at the pictures that were taken then I want to squee. This is a very happy post by an, at the moment, intensely happy person.
So, Arnhem, this is an ode to you. Home.