This House

12:23 am

Things happen in this house. 

Sometimes the skylight is open and the rain comes in.  We don’t hear it for we are sitting in the living room listening to Chopin on the radio.  

Or maybe it isn’t raining and there are guests in the kitchen – passing visitors or some neighbours locked out of their house – sitting around the dining table, having a cup of tea. But the children of these visitors are bored and come running into your room because talk of your children’s book collection has reached the end of the street. Or so you wish. In reality, you only have a handful of books and the children have all read them anyway. But you are good at stalling and this skill comes in handy – there is no way you are missing out on a conversation with a child of about nine possessing an overarching knowledge of Pippi Longstocking.

Things happen in this house even on weekends. 

At the first acceptable time in the morning, the coffee machine is turned on and the smell of freshly ground coffee beans is everywhere. Someone may have baked their bread in the bread machine overnight and the smell of warm bread is now in competition with the smell of fresh coffee.

Maybe the day passes in non consequential bliss – cleaning the conservatory, climbing the tree in the garden, hanging your laundry.

Soon it is Saturday night and anything of any consumable delight, chocolates included, is placed on the table, ready to be assembled with efficiency on to plates on trays, to be taken to the couch to watch some subtitled crime drama from Scandinavia.

Laziness on Saturdays prepares us, because on Sundays, things happen outside the house, in the garden, while you are sipping coffee, eating some ice-cream and plotting an escape to the seaside. Maybe there is a barbeque and everyone from the street comes or maybe there is a gathering outside on the street. 

Things happen all the time in and outside this house, but sometimes nothing happens too.

That time when it isn't raining, when the skylight is closed, and you can’t really remember what day it is anymore. Then you sit with your feet propped up on your desk, watching the sun set outside your window and wonder about all the things that happened or will happen in this house.

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