The strange displacement of not living at home. I am finding it is one to get used to; perks and disadvantages. We are staying in the middle of a village, hemmed in by the water, where there are a number of the most beautiful houses. All week I have wondered by, peering over walled gardens, to glimpse some of the prettiest real estate in the country. So many are shut up and dark during the week, signifying that they are holiday homes or weekend bolt holes for Londoners wanting to head South. I surmise this, not really knowing, but assuming. We are living day to day, popping back to our real house which presently looks unrecognisable from certain angles. The building work continues relentlessly, which is good, as we had a pause for so long that the inactivity was making me tetchy. Now I am looking forward again, looking toward they day when I can move back into my white-washed, new place. It'll be months...
Living out of a suitcase limits what I can wear each day - at the same time liberating and frustrating. I miss the choice that my wardrobe offered. I come home and peer in it, wondering what I will need (facing the prospect of shuttling items of clothing across town) and then conclude I will make do; dress down.
A return to yoga, always always welcome. How I miss it when it doesn't feature in my life.
Reading '
The Goldfinch' by Donna Tartt...all 900-odd pages of it. Stunningly well written, I am only a third of the way through.
Constantly and endlessly formulating my book plot in my mind. Yet not actually writing much! Too much upheaval. Time to start in earnest...ever the procrastinator. There is a reason why not everyone writes a book; it's hard!
New
silky trousers that I can ill-afford but they did just speak to me. Impulse buy.
A funny old summer. And of course the weather is changeable and most of the time I wonder whether when September comes I will look back and think where did that summer go? It feels like time is skipping by at such a rate.
Living with less.
Reverting in all cases to my usual mantra that white is best.
Liking the free-fall but secretly missing the routine.
As ever, undecided; vintage Lou.
The Goldfinch, an excellent, excellent book. Am enjoying your blog :)
ReplyDeleteApparently only 44% of those who buy "The Goldfinch" finish it....or so I read! It took me a long time to even start reading it but I loved it, each section and different location is so full on that you feel like it's a book in itself, the whole novel is really something, one of those books that's an experience rather than just a book.
ReplyDeleteYour house rental sounds beautiful, nice to escape for a little, so glad that your work has begun again X
Ha! We'll be in the same boat again, you are living my parallel life, or I am yours, who knows? House under construction once we will be back from our holidays, living in a small rental out of suitcases with a storage space and hundreds of boxes in which you'll never find what you are looking for (where did I put that form again that was supposed to be sent back ages ago...?). Much love, Dx
ReplyDeleteLoved The Goldfinch, although I truly wish it had about 200 fewer pages. It was so beautiful, especially the end (stick with it!), but it seems like it needed a more aggressive editor.
ReplyDeleteHow long will you be living elsewhere? Will it truly be months? Man that's hard. I can't wait to see those white-washed walls and palm tree wallpaper though.
I'm back from a week away, but my sister and her family are still here, so it's chaos. I'll get back to the blog soon. August is funny as I start to crave the school routine again.
Happy Summer - Mary