Barn Park Road to Venn Way and 14 in between

First things first, the kettle was on.

There was a moment to think, think about what was possible. I was alone in the space, it was a comfortable and familiar lay out, I could see the edges of the space and I was excited by a sense of uncertain optimism. I had chosen here because I prefer the traditional arrangement, the tried and tested set up which sets the scene for many dwellings in my city.  I like the sense of history here, the thought that many feet had trodden these steps as I was about to, up and down the hall to the kitchen and back, up and down the stairs to the bathroom.  I could really make my stamp here only restricted by the space, physical limitations and of course resources.

I reach out and begin placing things, filling the space and find myself quickly frustrated… I have seen this many times before. I reflect on a century of clocks in the centre of the mantles, and table lamps beside armchairs. I should do something different, I move this way and that, squinting to get a new viewpoint, shutting my eyes, chatting to myself, there is music, the radio and other sounds in the background and something else too which I can’t quite pin down. My mind wanders off to the places where things are organised already.

In the eves of the attic are the collected and gathered items which I carried carefully  from the last house. Paper and fabric mostly, my memories, keepsakes and records of my family’s history. References to my past, before my existence, evidence of that which set me in motion. I occasionally mull over the objects there. Sometimes they see the light of the sun as they did recently when I moved from the old property, uncovering briefly then recovering. I don’t expect that I will look at them again for a while but I feel comfort in knowing that they’re there and tangible, in the meantime they reside like negatives in the depths of my episodic memory.

I sip tea until the cup is half empty and goes stone cold on the hearth. I lose track of time and take another sip and am surprised by the temperature and resist the urge to spit it back into the cup. I keep going until I am happy that I have unpacked everything that I want to live in this room and I reach a point where I am finally content with my hard work. I sit to look and think, I start fidgeting again. Maybe it’s not quite right? Maybe I should focus elsewhere? Another space, another house?