There is a medicine cabinet, a closet, I can stand up. Bolt upright in bed screaming, “Where’s the van?”
Okay that didn’t really happen.
Thanks to a previous post we are all up to speed on NZ housing. Now for thoughts about having housing of my own that is not Norman Clyde. Strange. It is not as if we haven’t seen the inside of a house over the past 18 months. From coast to coast, and now around the world we’ve enjoyed long stays with family and friends throughout our travels. Emotionally though the van was home, our escape pod from a life we didn’t want anymore. From the day it rolled out of our Lindy Lane driveway on October 7, 2008 till Febuary 7, 2010 when we paid rent for our little Gisborne flat it was the only place that we called home. I miss the van but it did it’s job. We aren’t in Lexington and that was the point.
Now though being in another space that is all ours seems very strange. There is a big empty medicine cabinet. It is suddenly worth my time to unpack my toiletry bag. Clothes are put away in a closet and dresser. And would you believe I have to go there and pick out what I’m going to wear? My wardrobe has grown so that I can’t decide while brushing my teeth what to pull out of a suitcase or plastic tote. I’m reminded of a character out of Barbara Kingsolver’s Poisionwood Bible who comes back to the states after spending years in Africa and is very pleased with what others would consider crappy grad school housing. The character was particularly pleased with the multiple sources of running water. I’m with her. The van had only one.
In much of my writing, I’m making fun of myself and this is no different but it honestly does feel particularly weird to have our own place that isn’t the van. This flat is small and basic but wow our own space that doesn’t have to be packed before you can leave. Sweet as.