I am beginning, after nearly seven months, to feel homesick. Which is to say, I am missing MY STUFF, and my idea of home. I moved out of Douglas Street in April and haven’t yet found my feet. It’s been a different kind of lovely, renting out other homes and trying on someone else’s life and surrounds for a bit (and, just so you know, I am a GUN when it comes to AIR BNB perfection) (Exhibit A, Exhibit B, Exhibit C and Exhibit D). And staying between friends’ and family this last month while I try and work out if Adelaide is for me has been a dream - I am very comfortable and grateful.
But when I saw this particular house my heart skipped a beat. It is, I think, my DREAM HOME. The bookshelves, that golden natural light, the soft floors, the moments of colour, the modernist paintings, the chairs… my gosh the chairs. It feels lived in and full of love, a real home, but not overdone, not crowded or too close.
I’m still firming up a few things for next year, wondering if I buy something, or rent for a while. If I stay, or head back to Sydney, or maybe try for a contract somewhere else. And all the while my things, all my things, are packed away in a storage container somewhere in Alexandria waiting for me. I miss my linen sheets and French candles, having all my favourite handmade ceramic mugs on hand and my Orla Kiely towels, reaching for the exact book I want when it comes to mind, the pictures and collected treasures.
Anyway, it’ll come.
NB Yes, of course this home is in Copenhagen. I am always homesick for Copenhagen.