That’s the view from the streetside in front of our house, looking directly down towards Sydney’s central business district. Of course it’s not the view from the house itself. The only water we can see is that of swimming pools.
After almost a week now since moving house I’m gradually starting to recover from the ordeal. It was horrible, as horrible as I imagined it could be. We were still shifting bits and pieces long after settlement time on our property and even managed to leave a few items behind. At least our removalists seemed okay, but there were so many scattered items that they couldn’t move because we had not packed them.
I remember the joy of moving into our other house on Christmas Eve, of escaping from parents and into our very own home. We had hardly any possessions then and little need to move them quickly from the in-laws.
It was so different to this move. The first few days I loathed our new house. All my memories of where stuff is located, how to use the home, it was all defunct. Alex kept hurting himself, jamming fingers, falling down stairs.
We couldn’t work out how to disable the child lock on the stove that first night, so a pasta sauce turned into an electric frypan cooking topping for rice cooked in an electric cooker. The next night the circuit breaker tripped on the house lights. There are ants everywhere.
I had so little sleep the nights before this move, a combination of packing late, working late and a disturbed Alex who looked to me, only me, for comfort. I was exhausted beyond my tolerance levels, no idea how I functioned.
I did manage to get the automatic pool cleaner working and actually had a swim with Alex yesterday, pushing our dog Kita into the water as well. We walked to the local shops, a longer walk with less and more expensive choices at the end of it than what I was used to.
Less and less do I feel the need for a house for everyday living. The concept of a hotel, where your life is stored in a suitcase seems so attractive now. A few clothes, a notebook computer, digital music (if only all my books, magazines and lecture notes were digitised!) what more do you need most days of the week?
I love the memories inherent in many of our possessions, the knicknacks, the books, the old computer software. You never know when they will come in handy – they usually do – but I so rarely need to see them that it doesn’t feel worthwhile unpacking them. I’d like my own little museum that I could visit now and then, but could safely ignore the rest of the time.
Though this is the first home with my name on the title, I don’t really feel like it’s my house yet. Right now it feels like a temporary pad. Ask me again in another week.